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I could never keep up.
“She didn’t say,” Alberto informed regretfully, the loose skin near his throat shaking with his Adam’s apple bobbing. “But I believe she has some news.”
“Great,” I mumbled, about to undo my tight chignon before thinking better of it. I couldn’t arrive in her office unkempt. She’d lecture me and I really wasn’t in the mood today.
Like I said, appearances were everything.
Dacia and I had never even walked around the house barefoot. It was always slippers and, when we became old enough, heels.
My Louboutins clacked loudly as I crossed over to the west wing where my mother was probably waiting for me with an open door and a stern expression.
I wasn’t wrong.
However, Dacia was already there too.
And my mother was angry.
Probably at the fact that I was late to this family meeting—which wasn’t my fault because I didn’t know about it until two minutes ago—and that Dacia was currently lounging in a chair, wearing a wrinkled nightie with her blonde curls flopped messily.
“Ladies, to what do I owe this last-minute touchpoint?” I lowered into the chair opposite Mother’s desk, right next to Dacia.
“What are you wearing, Darla?”
Wonderful. Another unwarranted attack on my attire.
“A pink tweed two-piece created exclusively by Maison Sereno for me,” I quipped, crossing my right leg over my left leg. Sure, my skirt was a little short, but I still looked every bit the young, respected principal that I was. “Is that a problem?”
“Your outfit. For work, it’s too…colourful.”
Meanwhile Diane Hill’s uniform consisted of black tailored pantsuits, booted heels, coiffed blond bob and a scowl.
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.
“So is your goddamn personality,” Dacia snapped. “Now leave her alone. She can wear whatever the hell she wants.”
“Can we please cut to the chase?” I said exasperatedly while giving Dacia’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. She always had my back. “What’s going on?”
My older sister examined her French tips. “Yes, please. I have places to be and people to see.”
Palms flat and figure hunched over her desk, Mother made a non-committal sound at Dacia. “Like partaking in frivolous activities and not caring how it reflects on the family?”
I smoothed a hand over my sheer stocking, blocking out the sudden icy temperature in the room as Dacia and Diane entered a futile stare down.
It was the same thing every day.
“Mother,” I tried uselessly. “Please, just stop.”
Our mother had no concept of personal space and liked to oversee our dating life too. Unfortunately for her, Dacia had the tendency to be messy with her flings. One time, twelve years ago, Dacia and her then girlfriend Naomi were caught dry humping in the back seat of a car in St. Victoria’s parking lot. The news made rounds and momentarily tarnished Mother’s reputation amongst her group of ‘friends.’
“For all the power Diane Hillwields, she is unable to control her reckless daughter. Whata shame,”they’d said.
And so began my mother’s obsessive need to control every aspect of our lives.
Especially mine.
She learned quickly that Dacia couldn’t be tamed, but me? I used to be hell-bent on pleasing my mother because I was so scared of her strictattitude growing up that I would do anything she’d want.
Even if it meant molding me into her perfect version of a daughter.
