When I was a little girl, the world seemed brighter. The sun seemed to be a little lighter and more blinding. I remember my mother holding my hand tightly while she dragged me up the streets of San Francisco, because my father didn't bother picking us up at the shop after we went grocery shopping in July. I was sweating, something I still hate, and I realized that I wanted my father to be nicer to my mom. To be nicer in general. But I never witnessed that. Even after my brother was born, the only thing he would do was sit in his office and stare at his computer. He made call after call. It took my mother a while to find out that he was cheating on her, but it didn't even catch her of guard.
Three months later we were living at my grandmothers house, much to my mothers displeasure. She had a nice garden tho. After they got into a fight we left again in the middle of the night, just to go back to my father. I hated it.
My parents were never soulmates. They weren't meant to be and even if they tried to be, it always ended in tears and us moving.
I remember when I hugged him for the last time. The smell of coffee clung to him like I always thought only cigarettes could. I loved his coffee scent. Even if its fucked up, it always reminded me of home, a save place. But when he finally left, leaving us in the three bedroom flat, I knew it was the last time I would see his face.
Twelve years later my father sent me a postcard from Italy, saying he found his soulmate in his hometown. I didn't tell my mother and I didn't answer him. My mother was the one who deserved to have a love like this, someone to love her always, not him. Twelve years later my father was probably still a dick.
Now, sitting at the new oak kitchen table my mother invested in, I couldn't imagine him here with us in New York. I couldn't even realize the fact, that we moved or that I still had to unpack. My eyes drifted to the boxes all around the room. We were just to unmotivated to unpack.
My mother went out to take a look at her new restaurant and my brother Charlie didn't bother looking up from his physics book, reminding me of the fact that if I wanted to graduate this year, I had to find a tutor. Of course, I could always ask my brother, but the little ego I had left couldn't die for my grades.
I yawned as I looked out of the window. It was raining and if it kept raining I would have to rethink the outfit I planned to wear to school tomorrow. If I would even be able to find anything in those boxes. Stretching, I took the last sip of the hot choco I had left and clapped my hands, trying to motivate myself an maybe my brother. But neither worked.
ʿʿ ⟿☼
One hour later, Arabella and Charlie were still doing nothing. Well- Arabella was sketching her brother, who was studying and nipping on his drink every Minute, but to Caroline St. Lorenz they weren't really doing anything helpful – like unpacking.
"What are you doing?", she asked the moment she let the shopping bags fall onto the leather couch. "Learning.", Charlie answered without looking up, while his sister painted a gentle smile on her lips. "What did you buy?", she asked as she stood up and walked towards her. Of course she went shopping for decoration even though they didn't even unpack. "You know... stuff.", Caroline mumbled after releasing an exhausted breath. "Cool"
"You didn't even start. Why does it always have to be me who's supposed to do the shitty stuff?", she whined and let herself plop next to her bags on the couch. "Because we're helpless without you.", Bella whined in the same tone and looked around the flat.
It was big, definitely bigger than their last, but Caroline's cooking has gotten pretty known in the last years. Her restaurants had many locations and her name was well known. The lamp above Charlies head looked expensive, but not as expensive as the vase on the dresser. "Can't you just- ya know – call someone to do the job?", Charlie asked, looking slightly up from his book. Arabella cracked in the matter of a second and fell into a loud laugh when her mom looked over the back of the couch and asked if she looked like a fucking mafiosi.
"Maybe.", her brother whispered, poking his tongue out at his sister the moment their mother looked away.
Arabella sighed. 12 boxes for the kitchen and the living room, 10 for her mothers room and each 8 for the siblings room. She really didn't want to. And by the looks of it, nobody else wanted to unpack either. "Sooo- we aren't gonna do anything about the chaos?", she asked. Her mother opened her eyes. "Not if you're not gonna make the start."
Sighting again, she stretched, ready to do something, but deciding to start in her room. She had to set some priorities.
