Dear Tressi [✓]

17

"Are you tired? Do you wanna rest or do you wanna get right to it?" Des asked his wife, as he unloaded the bag of cleaning supplies that they'd bought on the way from the airport.

"I don't think there's a place to rest. Not unless we make this remotely habitable. Are you sure we wouldn't be better off at a hotel?" Tressi asked for the umpteenth time since they first discussed staying in the house.

"Tress..." Des sighed.

"Yeah, yeah. This makes more sense. I know. So let's get to it then. Where do you wanna start?"

Des cast his eyes around. "Your room? Yeah? Cause that's where we'd be sleeping, I assume. Maybe the bathroom and kitchen next?"

So they started. Methodically working from one area of the house to the next, starting with the bedroom that had once been Tressi's. While anyone who stepped into Edda's room could see that it had her personality imprinted on every inch of it, Tressi's on the other hand, barely had any of her mark.

The lilac walls had remained ever since she'd been born and her mother had decided on the colour. When they'd later repainted the house when Tressi was fourteen, she hadn't cared enough to paint over, seeing how she'd be home only during the holidays. Edda had tried to persuade her, but Tressi had remained stubborn.

It was a protest—one that her mother had never noticed.

Tressi didn't particularly want to sleep in her childhood bedroom, but the only other options were her mother's or Edda's—both of which made her skin crawl, albeit for different reasons.

So her own room it was.

"Your mother must have cleared out your clothes," Des said, opening her wardrobe to find it empty.

"I took most of it when I left." Her voice was even.

"What's this? Mahogany?" he asked, running his hands over the intricate designs.

"Yeah. It was my dad's. It's really old. It's the one thing that I made sure I got." Her voice wasn't even anymore.

Des looked at her curiously but she didn't elaborate.

"You think we should get that trunk down?" He asked peering up at the trunk, on top of her wardrobe.

"No, it's just my old boarding school stuff. They must've sent it home when I didn't go back after Edda..."

Her unfinished sentence hung heavy between them and Des made a motion to get closer, but Tressi shook her head. "Just leave it up there, Des. Let's deal with all this dust first, if we are to sleep a wink tonight."

"For a seemingly empty room, there's a lot to clean here," Des complained after five minutes, as he pulled out the drawer of her night stand.

"Well, nobody's been here in six years. What did you expect?" Tressi shrugged. Cleaning had never bothered her. It'd always brought a sense of calm to her mostly chaotic world.

"What are these?" Des asked as he pulled out a glass bottle out of the drawer.

"Expired vitamins."

Her suddenly clipped tone seemed out of place when talking about something as harmless as vitamins, causing Des to look up at her quizzically.

"It was one more way for my mom to pat herself on the back for doing such a good job. She never cared what I ate, but this, this was a way for her to tell herself that she was doing her job. Mother of the year right here." Tressi grabbed the bottle out of his hands and flung it at the bin where it smashed into pieces.

Des tried to hastily mask his alarm as his wife turned back to look at him, breathing hard. It looked like there was going to be no telling what would set her off.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his eyebrows pulling together.

"I'm fine. Let's get back to it," she answered brusquely and turned away to continue cleaning, leaving no room for further discussion.

Three hours later, they were done.

They'd cleared out her room, the kitchen and a bathroom. They'd left other areas—namely her mother's room and Edda's—untouched. As far as Tressi was concerned, they could remain untouched forever. But she knew Des would insist on starting there, but he seemed to know not to push her. It was the first day after all.

*

"It's raining," Des informed, as he came back from taking out the final bag of trash.

"Surprise, surprise," Tressi muttered.

It was dusk, and the last vestiges of the non-existent sunlight had faded away.

Des noted her surly attitude but didn't comment on it. They were going to visit Mrs. Lepoci presently, which meant starting an argument was the last thing he needed right now.

The rain had picked up speed and would drench them, even if they were just going to walk across the road. So Des picked up an umbrella from the stand behind the door.

"No, not that one," Tressi snapped. "That's broken."

Des let out a sigh and backed away—she was just going to have to pick the right one herself.

They walked carefully to avoid the puddles, and rang Mrs. Lepoci's doorbell. And when the door opened, there was Daxton Lepoci standing on the other side.