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ONE
Oakley
Being backin Sequoia is surreal. Nothing has changed.
Except me, that is.
“Are you going to go see Clara?” my mom asks as she pushes her food around her plate.
“Clara is in Los Angeles working, mom,” I remind her. She lets out a dreamy sigh.
“How exciting. I bet she loves it there. Who wouldn’t?”
My mom loves bigger cities. She always has, which is why it’s so weird to me that she married my dad and moved to a farm in the middle of nowhere. I think she had a fantasy in her head that she would be playing out some version of Dynasty. Instead, she got a failing farm and a husband who likes to sleep with all of her friends.
My mom was a Miss USA runner-up, which she never lets us forget, and she’s still drop-dead gorgeous. I get a lot of my looks from her. We have the same black hair, though hers is dyed now to hide the grays. I got my eyes from her too. Pale blue, almost colorless in the right light.
That’s where the similarities end, though. My mother’s flawless skin is creamy white, almost as translucent as her eyes. She’s tried to stay out of the sun ever since she read an article saying it causes wrinkles. I, on the other hand, love being outdoors and get a nice tan every summer from working on my parents’ farm.
My beauty queen mother is also thin, skinny to the extreme, whereas I… am most definitely not. No thigh gap here. I like carbs too much, and I won’t apologize for that. Miss USA Runner-Up hasn’t had a carb in twenty years, according to her. Maybe that’s why she’s so miserable all the time.
My weight has always been a point of contention with her. Ever since I hit puberty, my darling mother has been on me to lose weight or try some new diet. When she isn’t force-feeding me kale salad, she’s buying me clothes that are at least three sizes too small to “encourage me” to lose weight. In reality, she has me try on the too-tight outfits and shows me where my problem areas are.
“Maybe we should go see her,” My mom suggests, breaking me out of my thoughts. Her eyes quickly dart to my father and then away. “It could be a girls’ trip.”
“Maybe,” I hedge.
Going to Los Angeles with my mom is always a nightmare. She dresses like she’s still a twenty-something and drags me out to nightclubs where I have to pretend to be her sister instead of her daughter. Don’t even get me started on if she meets someone and wants to take them home.
I scrunch up my nose at the thought, then sigh, taking the last bite of chicken as I think about how much I didn’t miss this. I’ve been away at college for the last four years, and I almost convinced myself my family is normal. Healthy, even.
The truth is that I hated college. School was always a struggle for me, but I pushed myself to go so I could take over the farm in some weird attempt to make my parents proud. I know I’m not the kid my parents wanted. They’ve told me as much ever since I came home with a stack of books and said I wanted to read all summer instead of going on a European vacation.
In short, we have nothing in common, and I don’t think they respect me and my life choices. Now that I have my degree, however, they have to take me seriously. Right? I’m technically more qualified to run the farm than my parents were when they moved here.
I have so many ideas for this place. My dad has been running it, and our income has been steady if not a bit stretched at times, but I have new ideas to hopefully keep us in the green for years to come. I just need to find the right time to bring it up to them.
Glancing at both of my parents, I feel even more like an outsider in my own family. My dad is done eating and busy scrolling on his phone. He’s wearing a suit and tie even though he never even left the property today. Didn’t work it either, from the looks of his crisp white button-down. My mom is giving flirty looks to her new driver as he passes by the dining room door, making me lose my appetite.
I roll my eyes at the charade their marriage has become. Sometimes I wish they would just get divorced already.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I glance at it, smiling when I see that it’s Clara texting me.
Clara:Can you talk?
Oakley: Give me ten.
She sends back a thumbs up,and I clear my throat.
“I think I’m going to turn in early.”
Neither of my parents acknowledges me, which is par for the course, and I stand, carrying my dishes into the kitchen. Our chef smiles at me gratefully as I scrap it clean and load it into the dishwasher.
“Have a good night,” I tell her, and she nods, hurrying into the dining room to clear my parents’ plates.
I speed walk down the hallway and up the stairs to my room. I can’t help but glance over at the Stud Farm as I pass the big window.
Our house is an oddity in a place like Sequoia. It’s a mansion, a place better suited for the Hollywood Hills than this small rural community. It’s an eyesore, and the only thing that helps the house blend in is that it’s surrounded by crops and animals.
