BROWN SKIN | BOOK 1

|| C H A P T E R . 3 ||

Mom told me to get rid of my bitch face.

It was perfectly fine not to smile all the time whether I was unhappy about something or an individual ruined it for me. My day I mean.

Supposedly, it was a typical idiosyncrasy I carried around in public to drive away people most of the time and drew away eyeballing attention. It never meant I did not want to talk to people. Sure, I was friendly, but being overly friendly and kind was sometimes taken as a weakness, something I was constantly dealing with.

Dance and washing dishes was a buzz kill when as keeping up with recent episodes on TV sounded great right about now. Mom called my name twice and wanted to have another conversation with me again. I couldn't help but be annoyed after she pissed me off about not paying for the dance competition.

"You're going to have to pull out your suitcase and began packing soon. You are staying with adults who can take care of you for now...and your cousins."

I clean out one of the ceramic plates, "What do you mean?"

"Well, while I'm on my trip, you'll be living - not necessarily living - but staying at the Dales' house for a couple months over the summer and before. Starting tomorrow."

"I can't stay at Dad's?"

"What?" She fumed, narrowing her slender tedious brown eyes in a thin line. The air in the room felt colder and stale. The atmosphere's warmth was suddenly floating over our heads waiting for comfort and ease to coil back around us.

Mom never liked to bring up Dad and I never understood why. He would occasionally call to inform us on his glorious life without really boasting about it, just his choice of words and past achievements were thrown in his pretentious altercation. It made Mom jealous, of course, as she wanted glory and content, something she craved for over this life she was given.

Her knuckles lightened from the grip on the telephone, but her voice forced prosperity on his achievement through tight lips.

Maybe that's what broken love does to narcissistic or greedy people.

"I," I coughed to clear the raspy tone in my throat, "I'll pack instead. That's what I mean to say anyways."

That was one of the reasons why I hated Mom. Is it possible to hate someone so close to you when hostile just sparks in their direction?

The fact that this news was thrown at me all at once was crazy. No heads up or scheduling time occurred though it wasn't my first time staying at the Dales over the summer by myself. Just been a long time and this time without Mom. Being pessimistic got the best of me, and I simply knew I was not going on the California trip and was staying with my cousins for long months ahead as I summed up the summer break in my head.

It wasn't fair, especially to me, who had to be treated like a little girl, I thought I was old enough to foray my own life and decisions?

I still had to be decisive in quick situations, entitle to my own opinions and encounter significant responsibilities a young lady. Maybe a little part where my parent lends a hand and actually cares about what I have to say?

Where was that side of her, the mother part I could rely on until I was on my own?

Pulling out my black suitcase that collected dust in the closet, my finger zipped it open and grabbing articles of clothing from the dresser, I threw in some cute bras and short cut undergarments that showed a lot of butt cheek.

That should be a start.

_____

Home no longer looked like home. After hefty chores were completed in each room, the room resembled a share of home renovations when the place was in stock. Everything was too perfect, too chaste, and it was like we were either walking out and someone new walked in an orderly place for the first time.