Best Friend's Revenge

2. Breaking Stereotypes

2 YEARS LATER

All I wanted to do was just get back to my room and sleep as my body still needed the rest after the late night of writing the paper for today's presentation in English Lit. Obviously like most students out there, I was a proud procrastinator. If it was a sport, I would be getting prizes and gold medals for it.

But alas, there was no such sport and all it gifted you with was an aching back from sitting endless hours on a chair that was more uncomfortable than most and a cranky attitude.

Note to self: Never procrastinate again.

But then again, who was I kidding? If I had another test or assignment due, I'd probably wait until the night before to start on it.

"Mom," I called out as I drank from my mug of decaf. I'd been waiting for her to get up ever since the clock on the kitchen mantle read 7:00. And then again, waiting for someone was not one of my few strong points.

Silence answered me, echoing in the quaint house we lived in, a sure sign that she was still asleep after probably crying herself dry last night.

Mom had always been an early bird. Always getting up at four to make a well-balanced breakfast for me and leaving it on the table before heading down to the bakery where she worked as the manager. But all that changed when the divorce papers arrived in the mail.

Everything changed when dad all up and left us. Left mom. Left me.

I detested my dad with every fiber of my being.

How could he do that to mom? How could he not want us anymore? Why did she have to change?

But those questions remained unanswered as seven months later, dear old dad had yet to show his fatherly face. Just the necessary calls between him and mom discussing the arrangement as he called it on how often he could see me, besides their meetings with their lawyers to discuss the division of assets.

Luckily, we got the house out of it. This place was full of memories that I wanted to hold onto forever. Memories of the past. But sometimes, it was healthier to let go of the past than to keep it like a pet. Sometimes the past stabs you like a knife in the back. And that was obviously taking its toll on mom.

The one thing I missed more than the happy family picture? I missed my overprotective mom. The mom that asked me about my day at school. The one that hovered and cared about me. Not the person that was a shell of her old self that always nodded her head yes to everything I said.

She was at the point of her life right now, that if I said I was considering to get a sex change operation, she'd just nod her head, her eyes unfocused and staring into space. And by the way, I am not considering to get a sex change operation.

"Mom, I'm going to school now," I called out to the barren house after placing my decaf free mug into the sink. Still no reply from her.

Sighing, I grabbed the memo pad.

Mom, have breakfast.
Had to rush to school because of the presentation.
Love ya, Liz.

Then I rushed around the house, grabbing my handbag packed with all the necessities for a whole day at school and stopped by the mirror hanging in the living room, checking my appearance.

Murky brown eyes stared back at me. My tresses of brown hair that I had inherited from my father was pulled up into a bun. I had contemplated dying it blonde like my mom's or dark as in murky black, any color that didn't remind me of my father. But at the last second, I had always freaked out like a coward. I opted for a knee-length pencil skirt and a blue sleeveless blouse, concluding that it seemed suitable for a presentation.