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1
Amy
Ischlep downstairs for breakfast, still dressed in rumpled PJs with my red curls corkscrewing out in every direction. It’s morning. What do people expect?
But to my surprise, my parents are already at the table, looking perfectly polished while sipping their coffee. Don’t get me wrong. I appreciate Andrew and Amity because their hard work puts a roof over our heads, and food on the table. My parents are realtors in the St. George area, and they lead the Ryan Team. Supposedly they’ve been in the Gold Circle at their brokerage for the last five years, and are aiming for Platinum next.
But sometimes, I wonder how I can be related to these people. Whereas Amity and Andrew are always dressed to the nines, I’m often wearing an old t-shirt and raggedy jeans. Whereas my mom always has a mask of make-up on, I can’t be bothered to add even a swipe of lipstick. Whereas both of my parents have degrees from the local community college, I chose to end my educational endeavors after graduating from high school. Enough was enough, and that path had come to a terminal point.
But it’s not like I’m lazy or unproductive. In fact, up until recently, I was working full-time at the local McDonald’s. Maybe it’s not the most prestigious job out there, but I was okay with it. I enjoyed my co-workers, and we had a lot of fun playing with the soft serve machine and eating fries at all hours. There were a lot of debates over whether McChicken or Filet-o-Fish sandwiches are better, and I have to say that Team McChicken always wins.
But my parents weren’t happy about the job, and it’s not for the reasons you think. They didn’t care that I was flipping burgers and mopping floors. They didn’t care that the pay is low, with no real chance of advancement. No, Amity and Andrew were concerned that one of their friends or clients wouldseeme at Mickey D’s. They were embarrassed that I’d stooped to such work, and didn’t want anyone to know. It’s like I’m their dirty secret, and a blemish on their perfect lives. Everything would be so perfectif I just didn’t exist. Plus, I think the befuddlement goes both ways. Just like I don’t understand how they’re my parents, Andrew and Amity can hardly believe that they conceived a daughter like me: unruly, unpolished, and their complete opposite.
I grimace. Well, maybe their DNA just didn’t match in the ways they expected. As I look over their sharply-dressed forms at the breakfast table, my shoulders slump. Other than the red hair that all three of us share, there’s really no thread of commonality among us.
“Morning,” I mutter while creeping into the kitchen. I make my way to the counter to pour some cereal into a bowl.
My mom looks up, seemingly startled at my presence.
“Amy!” she exclaims. “Goodness, what happened to you?”
I know my hair’s a rat’s nest, and I force myself to breathe deep to maintain my composure while my back’s turned to her. Then, I turn around with my bowl in hand and sit down at the table with a smile.
“My hair’s a little messy, but I’ll comb it after breakfast,” I say in a chipper voice. “There’s no one to see.”
“Well, your father and I can see,” Amity says, staring at me like I’m the ugliest woman she’s ever beheld. “And you have a crease on your cheek from your pillow! Are you using those satin pillowcases I bought for you? I swear, Amy. You’re going to end up looking middle-aged before your time.”
I choke some cereal down, struggling not to snap at my mom.
“I haven’t used a satin pillowcase yet, but I will,” I manage in an even tone. “I just want to put them through the wash once first. Besides, I’m nineteen, Mom. Middle-age is a long ways off.”
My mom tut-tuts, examining me with a careful eye.
“It’s closer than you think! Besides, you know those pillowcases will help your hair too, Amy. The wild knots and tangles on your head give me the chills! I swear, I never had hair like yours even when I was a child. Goodness, how did you turn out like this? Have you ever seen such an unruly bush, Andrew?”
My dad merely peers over his paper at me, before snapping it back in place.
“No,” he says in a flat voice. “She didn’t get that from my side of the family.”
I suppress an urge to roll my eyes because my parents are so looks-oriented. They’re like Ken and Barbie: all plastic, but with red hair instead of blonde. Yet what can I do? I’m related to these folks, and they’re the only kin I have. I guess I have to put up with the side-eye and rude comments. Meanwhile, my mom continues to blabber on about her beauty routine.
“Amy, I don’t expect you to follow my instructions to a tee, but could you just please try? The crease on your cheek really bothers me, and even with a satin pillowcase, you have to try and sleep on your back. It’s the only way to keep your face from getting smushed. Do you want to wake up years from now to see that your features are literally lopsided from side-sleeping? It’s a thing, you know.”
“Mom, I’ve seen plenty of old people, and they don’t have lopsided faces.”
“Oh, but they do!” Amity trills, waving a perfectly manicured hand in the air. “You’re just not looking. Use your eyes, sweetheart, and you’ll see the truth to my words.”
I stare sullenly at my cereal as I chomp away. This morning has gone from “okay” to “really bad” in a matter of seconds, but I have to make the best of it. They are my parents after all. With a smile, I look up.
“Guess what? Work is going well! Chloe has some great ideas, and I’m so happy that she brought me on as a product manager. We’re brainstorming together, and whenever I see her, I’m so inspired. She’s an incredible businesswoman.”
My dad lowers his paper.
“You left McDonald’s right? When your friend opened her own business? What was her store called again?”
“A Woman’s Secret.”
His mouth twists.
