by Carol Robi
“Emma?” My name sounds strange, delicious, but strange in his lips. I turn back to face him.
“Are you going to watch the game in Randale this Saturday?”
“I..” I start, and stop, because I was about to say no, but then a question had just popped in my head. Why not?
“You should come. A bunch of us are going. My best friend plays on the team.” I nod, because I know.
“There is an after-party at the cabin my parents have rented for me and the guys. Unsupervised, as my parents are not coming. It shall be wild! You should come for the party too,” he finishes, right before he turns and leaves.
I still cannot believe all that has just happened even as I make my way towards my brother. If it was not because of the wide smile plastered on his face, I’d have thought I imagined it all.
Chapter 8
“Mom?” I say from the passenger seat where I am strapped to, as mom maneuvers through the Friday evening traffic.
“Yeah?” She answers, turning towards me briefly with a smile before turning back to face the road.
She has her makeup off today. She looks older, but so much more beautiful, if you ask me. Her easy laugh-lines are clear, and her light freckles are delightful to look at. She turns again with a questioning look on her face, and finds me staring at her. She smiles, her eyebrows still raised questioningly.
“I want to go to the game,” I tell her.
Her smile widens as she looks at me, before turning back to face the road. She drives on for a few more minutes in silence, and then turns to face me again, the wide smile still plastered on her face.
“You want to go?” She is beaming.
“Yeah, mom. Don’t make it a big deal.”
“I’ll not,” she says, turning back to face the road.
“I also want to go to an after-party after that,” I say. Now my mother is really shocked. Even Lachey puts his game aside, and turns to face me with curiosity from the back seat.
“You want to go to a party!” Mom exclaims, finding it hard to hide the disbelief in her voice.
“Yeah,” I say. “After the game.”
“That’s great, Em!”
“Don’t make it a big deal either.”
“I’m not,” mom protests, though she is completely unable to wipe her wide smile off her face. We got our open smiles from her. It is the one thing we all have in common.
“Alright. I am actually glad to hear that. What will you wear?”
“I saw you pack more dresses than you shall need for two days in the wood’s mom. I was hoping you could lend me one of the more casual ones. Maybe the blue one you bought from the sale at Attire West last summer.”
“Oh yeah! That’s a perfect choice!” My brother has resumed his gaming already. “You could wear it with my aqua blue earrings, and you could borrow my black clutch purse.. But what shoes..?”
“Mom relax!” I giggle, as she goes into a full designer rant. She is good at this. She enjoys it, and I know that I had somehow disappointed her by not turning out to be the chic daughter she always wanted. She will never admit it, but I know it to be true.
“Shouldn’t we branch back to the city and get you some shoes..?”
“No, mom!” Both Lachey and I exclaim at the same time.
“Alright, alright! Please do not swallow me. Kids!” She jokes, shaking her head with mocked frustration. We all laugh, and settle back in our seats comfortably.
It is good to have mom to ourselves. I know Lachey feels the same way too, even though he does not say much. She is often working in the evenings. Most of the time she has to meet her clients for dinner, and stay with them all night. At times they even have breakfast together. That often left Lachey and I alone in the house.
When we’d been younger, mom would stay home a lot more often. But when I had been about ten, she told me that she will start working a little longer, as she is not getting any younger, and she has to save up for my college. I would have to step up and babysit my brother when she was away. What she said sounded logical enough to me, so I had stepped up in my role as a big sister.
“Pancakes anyone?” Mom asks next morning, when we come out of our rooms to find her busying herself in the kitchen.
“Yes, but only because Emma hasn’t made them..”
“Shut up!” I say, shoving him playfully away. He makes a face at me.
We seat by the table as mom places the plate of pancakes before us. Lachey wastes no time depositing pancakes onto his plate, while I pour us glasses of juice.
We do not speak much after that, eating together in comfortable silence. Mom does her thing again though, where by she seats back and stares at us with that curious look, a happy smile plastered on her face. I know it means she loves us and is proud of us, but it is still a weird look.
“Mom you are staring again!” I tell her, spooning some honey over my pancakes just as I like it.
“Sorry! Sorry! I am just glad we did this.”
“Me too mom,” I say, smiling back at her. Lachey says nothing, but we all know what he would say if he had to.
“What time’s your game?”
“It’s not my game..”
“Yeah, alright. What time is the game you wish to watch?” I giggle before answering her.
“5:30pm.”
“We still need to find you some shoes..”
“I brought with me the black wedge boots you bought me last christmas..”
“Really? You’ll finally wear them!”
“Mom..! You are making it a big deal again!”
“Alright! Sorry!” I doubt she can help it. The poor woman has probably waited since I was born to dress me up. She will have a lot of fun doing it later today, and I plan on giving her free reigns.
“Do you want to be made up..? Yeah!” She screams when I nod in answer to her question. “Yeah! Yeah! makeup party high five!” She says, raising her hand and forcing me to raise mine to meet hers.
After a casually lazy day spent by the lake reading with my brother, while mom flips through her magazines, we head back home and get started on a late lunch.
My brother then lies on the couch and blocks us out as mom and I talk about nothing but makeup and clothes for the next two or so hours.
Then I realize another thing about myself. I do like clothes, and it is alright. Just because I like clothes and fashion like my mother, does not mean I will make the same career choices as she had. I like dressing up. I have always liked it, since I got my first set of barbie dolls. I like beauty and beautiful things. I have helped my mother a ton of times with her makeup and hair over the years. At times, she’d even let me pick out her outfits, after she described the restaurant she would be meeting her clients in.
“You have a natural talent,” she often told me. I believe I did, I do. I just thought I have talent to dress and style others. Not myself. I was the wallpaper.
However, that night as Lane, I had not been a wallpaper. I had been the princess of the party, and I loved every minute of it. Now talking and working with my mother on this, I want to be the princess again and again.
“You look beautiful baby,” mom whispers when she is done pinning up my last curl. I look at the image staring back at me in the mirror. I do not look like myself. Infact, I could be staring at one of mom’s pictures from when she was younger.
“I kind of look like you mom,” I tell her, smiling shyly.
“Yes you do,” she says, her words choking on her throat as she blinks back threatening tears. “Only more beautiful.” I do not believe her, but I beam up at her.
It is a struggle to convince Lachey to come with us to the games, a harder struggle than we thought. He remains adamant, not wanting to find himself among his own bullies. The very same people making his high school a living nightmare. It is I that convinces mom to let him be.
He chooses to remain at the cabin, and mom and I drive up to the game.
Mom goes for a more casual look that she normally do
es. She dresses up as a mom. She has on a comfortable but fashionable pair of jeans, a jade green silk top with matching jade green suede pumps. She is a tall woman, and in her high heels, she towers over most people as we walk into the gym.
I have a moment of panic when my eyes fall on Drew, and he calls out my name as he waves. Not Emma. Lane. I hope mom didn't hear it. I lead her to the furthest place from my schoolmates as possible, and we enjoy the game from there.
“Where is this party you should go to?” Mom asks as people start filing out of the gym after the game ends. We lost.
“I do not know exactly,” I say. She narrows her eyes at me. I know she might just decide to resend my permission to attend, though she really wants me to go. She is hesitant though, as it is the first party I have ever mentioned in my whole teenage life that I wish to attend.
“I’ll find out,” I rush to say, catching sight of Shane. “Let me find out mom.” I fly out of my seat the moment I see her nod.
I push past the streams of people, surprising myself as I do so, as I had always been the kind of person that chills and waits until everyone has left before attempting to proceed.
Shane turns just as I make it past a large sized woman, and the way his whole face lights up when he sees me is magical.
“Lane!” He exclaims, making his way fast towards me. My heart catches when he does not stop until his hands are around me, and only our warm breath separate us.
“I looked for you,” he is saying, a tortured expression on his face, and the most beautiful shaded eyes accompanying it.
“I looked everywhere. Facebook, Google, I even checked the phone book. I could not find you anywhere..”
Anything else he has to say remains unsaid when I touch my lips to his. For the moment, just this one moment, we lose ourselves to each other. My lips burn, and my heart thuds furiously in my chest. My breathing is tortured and raspy when we break away to breath. But soon after, our lips meet again.
There is a low beeping sounds from under my dress, but he probably doesn’t hear it because of the noise and commotion around us. He kisses me even deeper, and I return the favour passionately, my fingers woven into his hair, one of his hands wrapped around my waist, and the other in my hair, like the first time we kissed.
When I look up again, it is to catch my mother’s face beaming at me. She must have come over because of my beeping monitor, or because she is curious about the boy whose body I am molded to right now.
“Ummh,” I clear my throat. “Shane, this is my mom,” I say introduce them. Shane flushes then, and it warms my heart to see the deep shade cover his cheeks as he stretches out his hand.
“Hello, Mrs. Crawford.” Oh no! I think. I had completely forgotten about my made up identities.
That means.. OMG! Its Emma that had kissed Shane, not Lane. I do not believe it, but I am unable to celebrate it as mom looks at me questioningly at the name mixup.
“I.. I’d like to invite Lane to my party at..”
I do not hear the rest of it as my attention is focussed on mom’s face as she listens to him. She is putting two and two together, though by the hurt look on her face, she is doing it all wrong. She thinks I lied about my identity because I am ashamed of her and who I am. That is not it. I changed my name because I lacked the confidence to approach the boy of my dreams in my own identity.
“Mom..”
“It’s alright, Shane. James road 25 you said.” Shane nods. My eyes are still fixed on mom’s face, but she is avoiding meeting my eyes.
“Alright. I’ll come pick you up at 1am, Lane. Is that alright with you?” All I can do is nod, before she turns and hurriedly walks away.
Chapter 9
I do not enjoy the party as much as I thought I would. I mean, it’s good that Shane only pays attention to me. We are together the whole time, talking, kissing, laughing, and kissing again. I have a hard time imagining that this is happening to me, Emma van Balken, the wallflower.
But at what cost? Is the question burning at the back of my mind each moment I am left alone to my thoughts. At what cost? My mother is the most important thing in my life.
It gets too much to handle at one point, so I slip away and text mom to please come pick me up. It is only 9:18 pm.
I feel bad that I do not say goodbye to Shane, but there is nothing else to do. He will try convince me to stay, yet all I can think about is how hurt my mother is.
The red Ford finally crawls into the darkened driveway, and I waste no time before rushing into it.
One look at mom’s face and my heart plummets. It’s blotched, and her eyes are puffy and red. She’s been crying.
“Mom..?”
“It’s alright. You do not have to explain..”
“No mom. I must. Please listen..” I start, and I rapidly go into details about what had happened.
Mom is forced to park the car at the side of the road just so she can pay enough attention to my narration. When I am done, I look up at her with apologetic eyes.
“Oh sweetheart,” is all she says, before enveloping me into a hug. I cry in her arms, as she repeatedly tells me that I am beautiful just the way I am.
“You cannot do this again,” she tells me. I nod. I know its true. This is a lie I am living, and it will not end well.
“You have to tell him..”
“Mom..” I start to protest.
“No, you must. He cares for you..”
“No, mom. He cares for Lane.”
“Lane is you, Emma.”
“Not really..”
“Yes, really. You created her. She has all your attributes. You just have to push past you baseless insecurities and you will see it.”
But that’s just it. I have been wearing my insecurities like a coat for years now. For far too many years, that the coat has turned into a second layer of skin.
“You have to tell him.”
Chapter 10
I pace about this corner of the library impatiently, stopping each time to peek outside the window. He is till there, seated outside on that bench alone. Reading. Reading North and South by Elizabeth Gaskell, to be specific, as per my recommendation.
All I have to do is run out there- sprint out there, and then pause to catch my breath beside him. He will hear the beeping monitor, then he will know that it is me. Lane was me.
That is all I have to do, if I do not want to go back to being wallflower Emma.
I tighten the hold on my bag, and start running.
~The End of this novellette~
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
First edition: August 2014
Copyright © 2014 by Carol Robi
Emma a novelette/ by Carol Robi/ 1st edition
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