Producing Parents

“Yan, please...”

“I can’t, Miss Jean.” Yana said; her back on her; afraid to let Jean see her worry.

“Jean. Call me Jean.” She paused and took a grasp of air. “I know it’s hard. It’s awful. But we have to start planning.”

“What would we be planning about then, Jean? They’re gone. End of story. Unless we’re planning on getting mom a pedicure next week and have dad’s head shaved. But they’re ashes now, how could we do that?” A little smile was curling on the ends of her lips as she was recalling these simple moments with her parents. But that broke off almost instantly when she said the last sentence.

“You must have forgotten the reason I’m forcing you to this. Your mom and dad happened to own a group of companies. The youngest one is about to launch Bordeaux in eight months.” Jean said gently; trying to clear out the situation to Yana.

“At will, I’m heiress but I’m barely legal. If we won’t start taking what’s happening now seriously, by the first week after the conference I might lose all companies I’ve inherited.” Yana finished for her. Being told about this for like a dozen times, Yana had memorized, but obviously had not showed interest, the “real thing”. “I know, Jean. But, can we just pause for a while?”

“Of course, but…”

“Two days? At least two days, please. Give me two days.” Yana requested. She turned and faked a smile. It’s something she had mastered- faking. “And, Jean, please reschedule my spa day. I’d like to have it this Saturday,” she added to lighten the atmosphere.

“Two days.” Jean agreed. She walked to the door, gave Yana one last careful look and left.

Yana threw herself back to the bed and sighed. She loosened her pony tail, rubbed her eyes and her face in a pillow. A dozen of thoughts are flooding her mind. What Jean calls “plan”, seemed like a puzzle to her. What could she do about the fact that she’s seventeen and she can’t manage, even claim, everything she was left with. If only her parents weren’t some sort of executives they probably wouldn’t have to fly off to countries and hold meetings with their staff. They probably don’t have to launch wine in France and get into a stupid car accident and get stupidly killed. Stupid right-hand drives!

Parents, my parents, Yana thought, ironic as it may seem, you taught me how to live normal, like I’m no heir. Enrolled me in a public school, hey, nice one dad or cook me a bad breakfast, mom, that’s sweet. A day at the beach, a karaoke at night, and even a dirty ice cream with us sitting on the sidewalk; everything that not even most parents can do for their children, just gone.

Mr. and Mrs. Williams would rather sit and listen to Yana’s little baby talks when she was just a year old than to be in their offices and listen to a thousand of words spoken by PhD’s. They made Yana believe that they’re like everybody else; that they’re positions won’t make Yana feel she was taken for granted.

“But I do feel like I am now, mom. How could you die early?” A tear fell from her eyes and slowly made its way down to her cheeks. “Two days, and I’ll live back like everybody else, like what you said,” she sighed. “I miss you both.”

Tired, Yana wiped the tear from her face and went to sleep.