by Calia Read
“Have you turned into a statue? Let’s go inside.”
I shake my head and focus on Ian. He’s impatiently holding the front door open for me. I swallow my nerves and walk toward this unknown house.
With every step, my heartbeat says, I don’t belong here, I don’t belong here, I don’t belong here.
When I step into the foyer, I try to find any pieces from my old life in McLean or from my childhood, but I see nothing. Dark mahogany floors travel the length of the foyer toward the hallway, leading up the staircase. A leopard print stair runner boldly stands out. The walls are painted a soft gold. Three artistic black and white paintings decorate the wall leading toward the hall. A round table with a glass top sits in the middle of the foyer with a large flower arrangement on top of it.
As a whole, it’s eclectic, and some people might like that, but my mom is not one of those people. She would scoff at a foyer like this and call it sterile and unlivable.
“I think everyone is in the kitchen.” Ian nudges his head toward the back of the house.
Wordlessly, I follow him. When we pass the dining room, I see a table that can fit up to twenty and is set as if there’s going to be a dinner party at any given moment. Two chandeliers hang above the table, and if that isn’t enough, two five-candle silver candelabra are placed in the middle of the table. The chairs are upholstered in gold, and the walls are painted a soft green.
There are no pictures of my brothers and me on the wall. Just abstract paintings someone probably doled out hundreds of thousands of dollars for but that look created by a kindergartener.
I hear voices from the back of the house grow louder, and my anxiety goes up a notch. Seconds later, we turn the corner and enter a spacious kitchen, and there my family is.
My mom is standing next to the kitchen island wearing a red dress and Louboutins. Where exactly is she going after this? My dad is sitting behind the kitchen island next to Bradley, and beside my older brother is a blonde I’ve never seen before, holding a chubby toddler.
The second Ian and I enter the room, they cease talking and look in our direction.
All of us are silent. I shuffle from foot to foot underneath the weight of their stares and clear my throat. “Hey, guys.”
Mom is the first one to walk over to me. She holds me by the shoulders and stares at me intently. I stare back in shock. She’s skinnier than before. Her arms look like toothpicks. Her makeup is so flawlessly done, her skin looks airbrushed. In fact, she doesn’t look like my mom; she looks more like my older sister. I don’t care for it at all.
“Serene, you scared us all so much.”
“I know. I’m really sorry.”
She gives me one last look, then envelops me in a hug. It’s not the comforting embrace I expect from my mom. It’s stiff and awkward as though she has no idea what do with her body or hands.
I give her a small pat and pull away. My mom doesn’t offer comforting words. Instead, she says, “Don’t ever do that again. We were worried. Why didn’t you call sooner?”
“I- uh...” My eyes flick around the room and land on the woman next to Bradley who stares at me with sympathy in her eyes. Who the hell is this chick? I look back at my mom. “I lost my phone?”
Mom’s eyes flick up and down my body. Her upper lip curls in disdain. “And did you get dragged behind a semi during this trip?”
“Possibly,” I tease and give her a weak smile.
The mom I knew would’ve rolled her eyes and then smiled, but this one doesn’t. She sternly stares at me. “This is very serious, Serene. Before you left for your little trip, you failed to tell us you needed to move out of your apartment, and we had to put everything into storage. I was beginning to think you were dead!” she shrieks, but no emotions reach her eyes.
“My purse got stolen in Charleston,” I say although it comes out more like a question.
That may be true or maybe not. Now that I’ve changed the entire outcome of not only my family’s life but my own, did I even take the trip to Charleston?
Mom exhales and glances down at her Rolex on her dainty wrist. “I need to leave, but this conversation is far from over.”
She grabs her black Chanel purse from the table and walks out of the room without saying goodbye to anyone, but to be fair, no one offers up a goodbye to her either.
What has happened to my family?
Immediately, I glance at my dad. The man who nourished my passion for antiques and all things involving history. He stares at me somberly and with disappointment. He stands, and I see he’s dressed in black slacks and a white dress shirt with a striped tie. His suit jacket is slung over the back of his chair. “I should get back to work.”
No hug. No, how have you been?
Nothing.
My dad looks tired. Emotionless. Hardened by life.
My mouth hangs open in shock as I watch him walk out of the kitchen. Seconds later, the front door slams shut. I jolt at the sound and stare down at the black and white checkered floor. The only noise comes from a clock ticking on the wall. I look at it, surprised to see it’s only one in the afternoon. It feels later than that.
A chair creaks across the floor. I lift my head in time to see Bradley stand and walk my way. He opens his arms up to me and gives me a big hug. “God, it’s good to see you.” He squeezes me so tight I’m surprised he doesn’t crack a few ribs, but it feels good. Finally, someone in the family is displaying some affection. It’s just shocking it’s coming from the last person I expected to receive it from. I hug him back, close my eyes, and remind myself it could be worse. I could’ve erased my entire family when I pulled the trigger.
Dynamics have apparently changed. I just need to figure out my temporary place in the family while I find my way back to Étienne.
Pulling back, I give Bradley a nervous smile. “It’s good to see you, too.”
“I think I speak for everyone when I say if you ever do that again, I will personally kill you myself.”
Nervously, I laugh and cross my arms. “I’ll try not to.”
The woman behind us steps off the chair and rounds the kitchen island, and it’s then I see her massive belly. She waddles toward us, smiling at us warmly with the toddler propped on her hip.
Openly, I stare at her. She’s small. The crown of her head looks like it can graze my chin. She has thick light brown hair pulled away from her face with a black headband. Makeup is to a bare minimum, yet the strokes of mascara make her bright blue eyes pop.
She’s wearing black leggings and a white tunic sweater that perfectly accentuate her bump.
Once again, who the hell is this chick?
Bradley notices me staring and looks over his shoulder. Immediately, he reaches for the little girl and holds her comfortably. The little girl rests her head on my brother’s shoulder.
“Myen, you shouldn’t overdo it.”
“Relax, Bradley. I think I’ll be fine. It’s not the 19th century.” She lovingly rubs her belly. “The baby is alive and kicking.”
The toddler stares at me before she lifts her short arms out in the air at me. “Aunt Se-se hold. Se-se hold.”
My eyes widen before they veer toward Bradley.
“Hold?” the little girl asks again, this time with a pleading note in her voice. Her eyes become wide as saucers. Automatically, I reach out and take her from Bradley, afraid she’s going to burst into tears if I don’t.
The woman named Myen leans against Bradley and smiles warmly at me. “She’s been asking for you nonstop.”
I have nothing to say to that. The little girl wraps her chubby arms around my neck and clings to me. I’m tempted to cling back as I try to process everything.
“How was the drive?” Bradley asks.
“Exhausting,” Ian says as he grabs a bottle of water from the refrigerator and takes a long drink. He leans against the kitchen counter, closes his eyes, and rolls his neck.
“Oh, no. Look at us, taking up your time. You’re probably dead ti
red,” Myen says.
“A little bit,” I confess.
“Bradley, take Ellie from her. I’m going to walk with her upstairs and then we’ll leave,” Myen commands.
I hand the little girl back over and follow Myen down a different hall toward the foyer. We pass a living room that doesn’t even look lived in. A white cashmere blanket is draped across an ivory couch, and blue striped pillows are arranged against one side. Magazines on the coffee table are neatly stacked. The blinds are open, highlighting that there isn’t a speck of dust on the end tables. My mom would’ve never picked out a white cashmere blanket for the living room. She would jokingly remark my dad would spill food or coffee within the first minutes of sitting down.
Shaking my head, I continue down the hall. On the walls are large black and white framed photos. I stop in front of one with a small plaque on the bottom of the frame with the year: 1915. Springfield, Illinois. Two men stand in front of a store with the name Hambleton’s in large cursive script directly above them on a huge marquee. Behind the men are four doors that serve as the entrance and the second floor has large display windows.
One of the men front and center is shaking the hand of an older man while he looks directly at the camera and smiles. All he needs is a diploma, and this would be a high school graduation photo. People look on with smiles, their hands frozen in the air mid-clap while a ceremonial ribbon is stretched along the length of the picture.
There’s another framed black and white photo of a massive nine-story building. It appears to be an aerial photo taken from the rooftop across the street. The steel frame structure makes the people and cars on the road look like ants. The plaque on the frame reads, 1913, Loop Retail Historic District, Chicago, Illinois.
The black and white photo next to that one looks to be of the same building. This time, the picture is taken from the ground. Men and women are dressed in coats and top hats. Parts of their body are blurry as they walk down the street or across the road. Streetlamps line the road, and elaborate Christmas decorations are hung around the front entrance.
Picture after picture lines these walls. All of them black and white. All of them focusing on a store called Hambleton’s. I’m intrigued because anything about the past immediately catches my eye, yet I’m confused because how does this play into my family?
“Your family has a lot to be proud of,” Myen observes.
I try not to jump at her sudden presence. I was so absorbed in these pictures, I forgot I was supposed to be following her up the stairs. I continue looking at the photos. “Yes, we do,” I say idly.
I’ve come to realize it’s easier to humor people when I have no idea what’s happening around me. I receive my answers a lot easier when I pretend to know what they’re talking about.
“Things have been so tense lately because of the new store being built in Kansas City. I’m certain once it opens up, your dad will be in a better mood,” she says.
Our family works for this store at a high level. Do we own the business? Are we co-investors? I don’t know, but what I do know is I have to bide my time before I bombard Myen with a slew of questions.
I shrug. “Hopefully.”
She continues walking down the hall. I look over my shoulder, giving the black and white photos one last look. As we walk up the stairs, Myen grips the banister and shifts her body toward me. “You have no idea how glad I am to see you. I’ve missed you so much.”
Her eyes are so earnest. It seems like the appropriate thing to do, so I say, “I missed you too.”
Myen begins talking a mile a minute about her daughter, Ellie, and how excited she is to meet her baby boy. “Unfortunately, you missed his baby shower. But that’s probably for the best. I know you’re such an introvert, and your mom invited half of the population of Champaign,” she teases.
As she prattles on about her baby shower and the theme of her baby boy’s nursery, I fixate on what she said about me being an introvert. That wasn’t necessarily true. I like my quiet time as much as the next person, but do I avoid going out? Am I shy? Hardly.
Is that how she and my entire family view me?
We make a left and head down the hall, passing room after room before we walk into a bedroom I can only assume is temporarily mine.
I see the off-white French queen bed with an arched panel headboard and the white fluffy down comforter and ivory sheets and fight the urge to collapse face first onto the mattress.
On the opposite wall, a flat screen is mounted, and a farmhouse dresser the color of a Robin’s egg is beneath it with an arrangement of calla lilies.
A wingback chair upholstered in blue stripe sackcloth material is angled near the window. White curtains are pulled back from the windows. The art on the wall isn’t garish, but it blends in with the theme of the room.
I avoid the bed, knowing if I sit down on it, I’ll promptly pass out, so I choose the chair. Myen hefts herself up onto the bed and crosses her ankles before she rolls to her side and faces me. “Okay. Now that we’re alone, you have to tell me what really happened.”
“Uh...”
“I know, Bradley’s not telling me the whole truth because I’m hormonal”—she says the last word with quotations—“and is afraid I’ll go into pre-term labor. But did you have a nervous breakdown or something?”
I stare down at my hands as I mull over my words. “You could call it that. Life became too much, I guess.”
“Then why didn’t you reach out to me? I know I’m busy with Ellie, but I’m your best friend.”
My eyes widen. She is?
Myen doesn’t notice my expression because she turns her head toward the computer desk near the door. She gets up and peers at the pictures affixed to the corkboard hanging above it with thumbtacks. “Give your mom some time,” she says idly. “I know she’s always been cold, but she put your stuff in this room for you when your dad wanted to get rid of it all.”
“Why did he want to do that?” I blurt.
She looks over her shoulder at me and shakes her head. “He’s angry with you. I think his reaction is a bit...harsh. However, you did blow all your savings on a trip, trying to search for some picture.”
Immediately, my ears perk up.
Play along, Serene. Pretend you know what she’s talking about, my mind whispers.
I sit up straight as I watch Myen. “Oh, yeah. The infamous picture.”
Myen continues to scan the photos on the corkboard. She can’t see how pale my face has become as I wait for her to answer. “Yeah, I suppose you could call it infamous. The way you talked about it, even I know the details of this photo by heart: it was taken in 1912 in Charleston. It has four men standing in front of a plantation. You lost it and turned your apartment and office at work upside down but couldn’t find it anywhere. Instead of forgetting about it, you quit your job and just left. The last anyone heard from you, you were in Charleston, South Carolina.”
My heart is thumping so hard, I place a hand over my chest and slowly stand. I walk toward Myen. The picture existed. Étienne existed. I know I’m wearing a dress with his blood on it, and my family has been disrupted by one simple action of mine. But hearing someone who had no idea about the photo gives me a new sense of validation.
“In the beginning, I defended you. Said you’ve always been an old soul and had an interest in the past, but after a few weeks, my defense started to lose steam.” She absentmindedly rubs her belly before she shrugs. “Bradley says I’m loyal to a fault, but you were my best friend at DCS.”
She reaches out and taps a photo tacked to the corkboard. Myen and I are standing together in matching blue caps and gowns. The sun is shining in our face, making us squint, yet nothing can diminish our smiles. We have our arms wrapped around each other like two best friends who are excited about the future.
“I know you loved growing up in Monticello but hated the school. But their loss was my gain.”
“Oh, yeah, Monticello,” I say.
During our driv
e to Champaign, I saw signs and exits leading toward that town. Is that where my family lived before here?
Myen finally turns to me and tilts her head to the side. I’m starting to sound like a parrot with my constant repeating and need to tone it down.
“Yes, Monticello, silly,” she repeats slowly.
I stare at the graduation photo of the two of us and try to figure out how I can fish for more information without making her suspicious. “What was your favorite memory from DCS?”
God, I’m hoping DCS stands for the school we went to and not some inside joke.
Myen crosses her arms and clucks her tongue as she thinks over my question. “What was my favorite memory from Decatur Christian School...”
My shoulders sag in relief. Bingo. I was right.
“I have a lot of good memories from there. But I think for me the best memories were not getting constantly bullied every single day like I did at Eisenhower.” She gives me a pointed look. “I think you can agree with me on that.”
It’s now undeniable I was an outcast at Monticello. “About not getting bullied? Definitely.”
Myen gives me her full attention and frowns. “What’s wrong with you? Did you fall and get a concussion? You hated Monticello. People in your class made you miserable, and that’s why your parents transferred you to DCS. That’s how you met the most amazing friend in the world.” She raises her index finger above her head and points at herself.
I shake my head and give her a smile. “I remember. I’m just exhausted.”
“Good. You had me worried there for a second.” Myen goes back to looking at the collage of photos on the corkboard. She points at a picture of her and me in a small dorm room. She’s sitting on the lower bunk grinning at the camera. Her legs are stretched out and resting on the chair where I’m sitting. I’m facing a laptop but twist around to look at the camera. My eyes are wide, mouth in an unsmiling line. I seem sad, stressed, and lonely.