To be a Wildflower

Chapter 1

Manhattan, New York City       2018

Elizabeth Hartley was cornered by her mother for the hundredth time and as usual Elizabeth was trying with all her might to ignore every word that flew out of her mother's mouth.

It was Elizabeth's birthday and the Hartley's penthouse on 15th Broad street was in a melodramatic rush as Lorraine deliberately transformed the place into a hustle and bustle in order to prep for Elizabeth's 23rd birthday dinner, where she didn't even have Elizabeth's opinion regarded when she had clearly asked her to do so. It was always meant to be a wonderful private night of fun where she was to meet the society her family revolved around,  but when Elizabeth grew up to learn all those birthday dinner had been a loud extravagant spread out for half of Manhattan's pretentious and bossiest, who tapped dates on to their calendars the moment the e-vites got to them ( and Elizabeth ),  Elizabeth knew at least after her 20th it was time to let the tradition pass.   

It wasn't that Elizabeth had not asked her mother to stop this charade for a long time, she had alright, it was that Lorraine had refused to listen to her daughter's decisions a long time ago, and she continued to do so until Elizabeth revealed at least a tinge of progress in her life, by progress she meant a life very similar to hers and thus this very monotonous conversation bought up annually by Lorraine, predictably ended with a tragic monologue from Elizabeth. 

"Elizabeth you're almost thirty and you have nothing to make a statement for yourself. Do you not understand the gravity of your dilemma?" Lorraine continued in her elegant high society voice. It rippled softly through the within the walls of the apartment. Even in her fury she was still beautiful, her tall stature, youthful auburn hair and edgy features, still presented her as the lady from 15th Broad street, and that made all eyes turn. Lorraine lived for grace and elegance and the fact that her daughter lacked it or was not even  aware of it made her miserable. 

Elizabeth  turned her back to Lorraine as her words berated behind her, and glued her still eyes at the bright city lights laid before her through the french window she was standing next to. 

"I don't see a man, a job or a social life, if you've got any...I mean honey, how long are you planning on carrying this facade?" she asked with her signature look of pathos. Elizabeth, silently continued to stare out of the window as if her sanity depended on it. The faint luminous glow of the city lights brought light to her face, and if anyone paid their fullest attention, they could see how her glossy lips quivered in minuscule tremors. Elizabeth had not possessed her mother's auburn locks, instead she'd received a bunch of wild brown waves that cascaded down her shoulders, amber pools of determined eyes, and a sunshine bright smile that ceased to exist at Lorraine's presence. Unlike her mother, Elizabeth made certain that she would shed every trace of hers that deemed her as a high society Manhattanite, and find her self in this city that never felt like it glowed for her. Stank more likely, as she used to say. Lorraine watched her daughter display the rejection she had always shown, and she sighed heavily, hurt and crest fallen. 

"I-I can't force you Liz, you're a grown woman. I just hope you will eventually take a chance on yourself."  

Elizabeth scoffed slightly, the first sound she had made during the whole conversation. Lorraine sucked in her breath lightly. 

"You know what's painfully funny mother? It's that my birthday had never felt like one to rejoice. Never. It will never be with you berating down my ear. You want to know why I don't have a job or a guy?" she asked but didn't stop Lorraine for an answer, "Oh wait you don't care. That's right, you've never even wanted to know what I want, mom." Elizabeth's voice strained, and she paused for breath. The waiters and maids rushing around setting the dinner tried hard to keep their eyes focused on labour, as Elizabeth's thin voice that was usually silky and slightly raspy, always pleasant to hear like minuscule diamonds grating against one another, shattered like fragile glass.