AllFreeNovel
Share Us
6
Siobhan
Spinning the fork against the white granite countertop, I stare off out the window at the Hudson River. The sun is dangling directly overhead, creating twilights in the still water. The clock behind me ticks like a metronome, drowning out the sounds of the city below.
Ever since I came back from New Hampshire, life here seems even more mundane. I go through the motions, holding up the obligations that my mother so kindly likes to offer, not that I really have a say in the matter.
Dinners with doctors and lawyers, black tie charity events, award ceremonies for the men and women who surround my parents in the medical world. And all the while I wear a fake smile, with fake laughs, and feign interest in their endeavors.
Don't get me wrong, some of the advancements made in the medical field are amazing, but it doesn't mean I want to throw on some uncomfortable ball gown and pretend to be someone I'm not.
People might think I'm being vain, or because I live this lavish lifestyle I should be grateful. And I am. I'm very grateful. I just wish my parents would stop trying to mold me into one of them when all I want is to be me.
My parents really do incredible work. What they do is selfless, and their patients are grateful. I'm grateful for the magic they perform to make other's lives better. They're plastic surgeons who help patients that need reconstructive surgery from accidents, cancers, severe burns, and all sorts of horrors.
But beneath that cloak of greatness are two people who uphold status, and the grandeur of outside appearances. I'm a girl wearing a mask, but deep down I don't want any of this.
“You're not eating,” my mother says as she sits down next to me, blowing cool air across the top of her tea. Pursing her lips, she holds the string of the teabag, steeping it over and over as she watches me like a hawk.
“I'm not really hungry.”
Looking at her from the corner of my eyes, her lips wrinkle as she puckers, and small crow’s feet extend out from her eyes as she turns to look out the window.
“Well, tomorrow we have our charity event breakfast. Dr. Fayette and his wife are at your table. I hope you find your appetite before then.”
“I can just stay here. It's not like you really need me there.”
Dr. Fayette is a gastrointestinal doctor, who speaks too freely at the table about his craft. Even if I had an appetite, I'd lose it the second he starts talking.
Flicking her gaze in my direction, her eyes sharpen. “He's top of the board, Siobhan. You'll be there, and you'll make a good impression.”
I don't bother arguing, it won't change her mind. Nodding, I lay my fork on the plate and push myself back from the counter.
“Sure, whatever you say.”
“There are expectations, Siobhan, expectations everyone in this family has to abide by. Like it or not, you're part of it.”
Rolling my eyes to myself, I keep my mouth shut. I've been down this road before, and I know silence is better than a day full of snappy and rude comments.
She sips her tea, pinkie out, delicate fingers wrapping the thin handle. Always so prim and proper, my mother. Her hair is pulled back into a French twist, snugly pressed against her scalp. She's wearing a baby blue woman's suit, with her collar ironed flat, her pants pleated perfectly, and crisp white heels.
Scraping my plate clean into the trash, I put it in the dishwasher. She's still facing the window, sipping her Earl Gray tea, with a spoonful of honey and a dash of cream. I don't think I've ever seen her have it any other way.
Moving toward the door, she calls out, “And Siobhan. . .” I stop, looking back at her over my shoulder. Her eyes stay fixed on the Hudson as she speaks. “You'll wear your yellow Carolina Herrera dress tomorrow, too.”
I'm not a god damn doll!I want to scream at the top of my lungs, but I don't. I do what I always do and hold it in. Maybe it's my fault she treats me this way. Maybe I should have stood up to her more as a child. Told her no more. Expressed myself louder and more fiercely.
It's too late now for anything to change. All I'll ever be to her is a porcelain doll she gets to dress and manipulate however she wants. Who cares what I want? Right?
Without a word to her, I walk down the hall, through our living room and down another long hallway to my bedroom. Most people might think of the city as knit up tight like a sweater. Layer on top of layer, all squished together like a colony of ants. But not us, not our family with our four thousand square foot penthouse on the upper West Side. One whole side of our home is a wall of windows, and everything is so damn white. My mother loves sleek and clean.
White furniture, white rugs, white cabinets and counters, it's too much. She adds her pops of color with flowers and huge abstract statues she picks up at expensive auctions for the elite. Most come from someone's personal collection, and probably belong in a museum.
The sad part is she doesn't even know who any of the artists are. Her purchases are for status, and the higher the cost, the better it must be.
Closing the door behind me as I enter my room, I exhale a heavy breath and fall on my bed. Grabbing my phone off the nightstand, I check it to see if Mark tried to call or text me.
He hasn't, and it saddens me. I haven't heard from him at all today, and after how long we talked last night, I kind of thought I would have by now. When I woke up with a dead phone on my bed, I kept thinking he would call me the second he got up.
