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Walking through the house, I duck and weave through hordes of people moving furniture and decorating the main rooms. The kitchen is in disarray as a team of caterers attempt to work in a kitchen made for a maximum of six people. By the time I push through the back door, I’m beginning to feel claustrophobic.
My father is standing in the middle of the yard, directing traffic. Next to him is a petite woman, coming only to my father’s chin in her heels. She looks important, her pale yellow top glistening in the afternoon sun.
Three large white tents have been set up already as well as wooden flooring inside them. There is a team stringing up lights and another team hauling in tables and chairs.
With the party in less than forty-eight hours, they’re ahead of schedule from what I can tell. Once they cover the tables and drop centerpieces, things will move quickly after that. I’m surprised my mother didn’t ask me to come coordinate everything for her.
With a degree in event management, I would have been able to take some of the stress off my parents, not that either of them looks stressed at the moment. My father is pointing and my mother is wrapped in expensive fabrics.
“Chloe!” my father hollers in delight.
“Hey, Dad.” The fact that I called him dad makes him smile. It’s been a while and the word slipped past my lips effortlessly. After I left, I called him father or when I was really pissed, Joseph. He hated it when I called him by his first name, and that knowledge fueled my fire.
“Come here, sweetheart.” Uh, not him too. Since when do my parents call me by nicknames? “This is Kelsey. She’s in charge of things this weekend. If you need anything, you let her know.”
Since when do they hire someone to plan their events? My mother has always run things around here. There’s no party too big or too small for her to handle. That’s the way she likes it. I swear she used to make up occasions to have people over when I was growing up just so she could plan something. It’s probably part of the reason I chose to become an event planner myself. I saw all the ways she could have done things bigger and better, or even simpler, and knew I could make it happen. I learned a lot from my mother’s parties.
“Hi, Chloe. I’ve heard a lot about you. It’s nice to finally meet you,” she says, extending her hand.
“It’s nice to meet you too. Dad, Mom wants to know how things are going out here.”
“I’m sure she does. You tell her to mind her own business,” he quickly retorts.
“Um, does Mom not have a say in all this?” I ask, extending my hands out in reference to the extravagance surrounding us.
“Not this time. It’s her birthday and this is my gift to her. I’m planning the party, with Kelsey’s help, of course.”
“Well, this should be interesting,” I mutter under my breath. “So, what can I do to help, then?”
“Nothing. Go relax, unwind from your trip. Dinner will be served promptly at five in the family dining room. I’ll see you then,” my father replies, dismissing me with a wave.
I don’t think interesting is a strong enough word to describe what will transpire this weekend. With my mother not leading the charge, she’s going to be unbearable until the party. My father, on the other hand, will be walking around with a smug grin on his face, proud of his accomplishments. Accomplishments that my mother isn’t privy to.
Then there’s me, stuck in the middle of them. Dinner will be a show, I’m sure, as my mother tries to get any details out of my father she can. At least the focus won’t be on me for a change. That’s the only sense of relief I feel right now.
Taking the back staircase, I make my way up to my childhood bedroom. When I open the door, I’m not surprised to find that it’s been redecorated. My walls, once light pink and covered in posters of pop stars, are now a soft beige and adorned with framed Ansel Adams photos. My white, four-post bed is gone, replaced with a dark-stained sleigh bed with matching furniture.
There’s nothing childish about this room. In fact, if my bag wasn’t sitting on the bed, I would wonder if I had walked into the wrong room.
“Can I get you anything, Miss Chloe?” a voice says from behind me, startling me.
“No, thank you, Marta,” I reply softly, smiling at her over my shoulder.
No, there’s nothing I need. Except maybe a chance to rewind time a little and choose a different path. We all have fears, mine was of losing Wyatt. His was of heights.
The thought alone makes me laugh to myself.
Making my way over to the window, I look down at the chaos below. A man walks by carrying a ladder over his head, one rung missing near the middle, and I smile. That ladder created a lot of amazing memories in this very room.
“You want me to what?”Wyatt says as I drop him off down the road from my house.
“Look, I’ll move the ladder when I get home. All you have to do is climb up when I turn my light on and I’ll let you in the window. It’s easy. I’ve done it before.”
“And how high up is your window?”
“Not that high. Why? Are you scared of heights?” I tease. When he doesn’t reply, I know I’ve hit the nail on the head. “Well, if you’d rather, I can walk you through the front door and you can meet my parents. I’m sure they wouldn’t have a problem with you staying the night.”
“I think I’d rather take my chances with the ladder.”
