Letters to Audrine

29- It's Too Late Now

The next day, I keep myself busy by working on getting everything moved into the new house. Audrine helps before work, offering to drive my things from the hotel to the house so that I don't have to haul so much luggage through town.

She doesn't mention Silas, and I don't ask.

With all the delivery men coming in and out of the space, it's all very hectic and I have to make quick decisions on where I want things to go, which I haven't thought about very much. My mom is usually pretty good at having a vision for a room and executing it and even though she's here, she's mostly just sulking around and not being very helpful.

Luckily, I'm able to get utilities and Wi-Fi set up quickly so that I'll have electricity and running water. The furniture I ordered consists of a couch, mattress, dining table, and a dresser. As I'm getting all of my clothes hung up in the closet or stuffed into the long dresser in the master bedroom, my parents start unloading a box of things that Audrine brought with her this morning that she didn't need anymore. Things like utensils, dishes, pots, and other kitchen necessities that she has accumulated over the years.

Trevor is being so helpful by laying on the couch with his Nintendo Switch, but I don't nag him about helping because this was supposed to be a vacation for my family, so I feel guilty asking him to do work.

"Are you going to get any art work?" my mom asks me as I emerge from the bedroom to join them in the living area again. "Or rugs?"

"I haven't thought about the decorating part yet, I just want to focus on the functional parts first," I tell her.

"Well, this is all slippery hardwood. A rug is functional, so you don't fall and crack your head open," she justifies before handing me her phone. The screen shows a furniture website and a big ugly red rug with an ornate cream pattern. "And you're halfway around the world, so we won't be here to help you. What do you think of this rug?"

Although she is being a little bit passive aggressive, I do appreciate that she's asking my opinion on the rug instead of just buying it and getting it sent to the house. She's usually like that, and I don't even think she does it to be controlling; she just assumes that she's right in every scenario and doesn't take the time to think that maybe other people might disagree.

"It's not really my style," I tell her gently.

She purses her lips as she takes her phone back and then says, "Okay. I'll keep looking."

It also makes me happy she's trying to have some input into the furniture of the house, because to me, that means she's slowly accepting the fact that I'll be making my home here.

"I want to show you something," I tell her and then start walking down the hallway that leads to the bedrooms. Passing the master bedroom and the empty bathroom, we walk into the second bedroom. Well, it doesn't have to be a bedroom. The space is completely empty right now, so I could make it into whatever I want.

"This room is nice," my mom comments as she steps inside. The stench of fresh paint is almost unbearable, and I open one of the large windows to let some of the air out. "Lots of natural light."

"This will be the guest bedroom," I tell her. "I was thinking that you could help design this room, because you'll be the one using it the most. Or at least, I hope you will."

"Really?" she seems shocked when she turns to look at me. "You'd want us visiting you? I thought you were trying to get away from us."

"Me deciding to move out here has nothing to do with you," I promise my mom. "This decision was not anti-Mom, it was just... pro-Maisie. So yes, of course I want you to come visit me as much as you can. And I'll come visit you, so I expect my room to be there when I come home."