Faking Nerd

Liv chokes on orange juice

"Muuuuuum! I'm homeee!" I yelled out in the unbelievably vast space of our house. Or mansion.

I mean, incredibly high ceilings, walls lined with real gold, numerous chandeliers, and, at least, a 20 by 20 meter reception area does NOT make a mansion right?

There's no big deal if the main living room is enough to hold a ball for at least a hundred guests, or if the dining hall is enough to hold a banquet fit for a duke (not a king, like come on now, I don't reside at the Buckingham Palace),

or the house might as well be a hotel because of the worrying abundance of rooms. It's totally normal. Seriously.

Ugh, Who am I kidding. I'm living in an LA mansion but in London.

Speaking of LA and the wonderful huge land across the pond, my mother's distinct American accent echoes through the soaring ceilings as she came out of her office. I hear the clack of her heels resonating from the top of the stairs as she struggles to descend even a step. "Olivia, darling you're home!"

"Yep, here.. I am..?" I stuttered, still in confused by her choice of clothes. Sigh, why must she always dress like this?

When seconds passed, and I still found myself waiting for her as she was just about to reach the middle, I shuffled tiredly towards the nearest chair and slumped back.

"Olivia!" I ringing sound reverberating in my ears. My eyes immediately opened, only to see my mother's eyebrows furrowed together and her eyes squinting, scrutinizing me. Her hands tightly hung at her hips as she looked down on me.

Oh my god I fell asleep.

I gave a slight chuckle, much to my mother's dismay.

"I'm sorry mum, you took too long." I remarked, holding back the remaining little chortle left in me.

She walked back giving me space to stand up, "Your mother is not that old," she heartily reprimanded.

"Yet," I cheekily added which had my mother shooting glares at me.

"Okay, okay. Sorry." I put my hands up to declare my surrender. "But it's not everyday Hollywood, just saying." I suggested.

"Well it would be if I didn't marry your father." She commented, causing me to instantly turn my head to her.

"Jesus, mum, you sure are good at throwing shade!" I  remarked jokingly, taken back by what she said. She smiled happily at me before progressing towards the kitchen.

I walked with her, controlling my pace as she battles with her stilettos as she takes each step. After a thousand fucking years later, we finally passed through the high arched door which stood as an entrance to our vast kitchen.

Mum desperately held on to the nearest chair she could see, although she still refused to admit that she was in pain.

I ran to the fridge in hopes that the Ben&Jerry's I hid at obscure corners of the freezer was still there. I dug through the -5 degree atmosphere and sunk my nails in through the frost. After a good few minutes of scavenging through the arctic, I slumped down on the floor, leaning back on the cupboards. I gave a heavy sigh as my eyes drooped low with disappointment.

"If you're looking for that toxic ice-cream, you might as well look for it in the bins outside." My mother mentioned, I glared at her even if she was in the opposite side of the kitchen.

"What?" My voice boomed.

"You know it's not good for you," she justifies, but my eyes still squinted at her. I didn't even feel anger, I felt a sense of peculiarity. My mother wouldn't bin a shred of food.