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Biological or not.
The woman took care of her and raised her as her own. When she didn’t have to.
The day after she discovered the truth about her blood results, and her parents, it was as if she’d endured a major skirmish and the smoke from her uncontrolled anger smoldered from the battlefield.
Now, she wished to turn back the hands of time and get a good old-fashioned do-over. Douse that battlefield with some H2O. Remain calm and mature, asking questions as opposed to throwing heat-seeking missiles, singeing bridges and stomping on feelings.
Bored and feeling empty and lost, she dragged her body off of the leather bench in front of the wide expanse of windows and lumbered toward one of two big old trunks.
It sat open beside the glass case, used more like a small dresser than a piece of luggage used to transport stuff. The exterior was edged with stained wood and brass hinges and a thick, time-worn leather strap on the top. Inside each square of wood was a darker leatherlike material with a diamond shaped image imprinted on it.
On the inside, to the left, was a pullout hanger system she found rather clever for how old it was, and to the right a series of wooden drawers. Some wider than others.
The trunk smelled musty and old, and she wished she could find a button to push, where a hologram would pop up, illustrating all of the adventures it had been on. Showing the people who had filled the trunk in anticipation of an adventure and to all the exotic places it had traveled.
Pulling one of her mom’s shirts from a hanger, creating a soft creaking sound, she placed the soft garment over her head and pushed her limbs through the armholes.
Then she opened a drawer toward the top filled with jewelry. Mostly her mom’s cheap stuff, as for some reason, she wasn’t allowed to take the real jewelry when she left their home in Cambridge. She had left behind the expensive pieces her dad had given her for various birthdays and holidays.
She wasn’t completely ignorant as to what went down between her mom and her stepsons and their mom, Ariana. The few times she was around them, they always seemed aloof and angry. But honestly, she had only seen them once or twice in her life. Each time, she distinctly remembered them appearing overly dressed and totally pissed off.
Except for Flynn. He was always following everyone around, not saying a word. Observing.
Mia had read the online news articles about her mom, and her so-called friends were always happy to fill in any gaps.
There was one thing she didn’t miss when it came to her old digs, and that was the kids at school. She had cited the loss of her friends as a form of manipulation to make her mom feel bad. But the truth of the matter was, she didn’t have a single friend she could call and share her deepest and darkest feelings with.
She was smart, which made her an outcast. For it was an unwritten truth among her classmates that it would be their parents’ wealth and influence that got them into Ivy League schools, as opposed to any real academic effort. Which was for losers. Losers who had yet to realize that cunning, basically knowing how to skip to the front of every line, far outweighed good grades.
The bells of the door jingled and jangled, causing her to look over her shoulder, only to find Oliver standing there, with his hands stuffed inside the pockets of his baggy pants and seemingly self-conscious.
“Hey.” He wasn’t much for talk.
“Hey, Oliver.”
“What are you doing? I’ve been looking all over town for you.”
“Angus had a doctor’s appointment down the street, and Bernadette said I could stop by and see if there was anything here I needed to take home.”
“Isn’t your mom coming back?”
“Maybe. No. I dunno.” Now she sounded like her dad when she asked him questions about her mom.
He pushed back the wad of hair that was always getting in his eyes. “You seem kinda sad.”
She pulled a necklace peppered with amethysts out of the top drawer and placed it over her head. “I am. I had a disagreement with my mom. I think she’s upset with me. I mean, I think I upset her.”
He came closer, at a snail’s pace. “Moms get over stuff. It’s their job to love us unconditionally.”
“Wow, Oliver, that’s the most profound thing I’ve ever heard you say,” she said with a half-smile. That was all she had in her.
“I’m not stupid.” He stared at his shoes. “Just…reserved.”
“I like that about you,” she admitted. “Most people say a bunch of dumb stuff just because they like to hear themselves talk.”
He walked closer to her and stood by her side, crouching lower to see inside the grand piece of luggage. “This is an awesome old trunk.”
She nodded, leaning back on her hands and staring at her mom’s stuff more than the trunk. “Yeah, it’s pretty cool.”
