Fly Girl | [Novel] (Wattpad Version)

1| 'Sweet' Home

"I can sing mother. If you cared enough to stick around and really listen to me, you'd see that."

"Girl, hush, and quit thinking of this singing mess." My mother grew excited, gushing as she began to speak again. "What you need to focus on is meeting Roberto Ruiz. His mother and I are great friends, and naturally we feel it'll be best for you two to begin dating, and eventually marry so that we can bring our families together." Her tone drifted after that, as if she were making a speech she'd given her entire life. "It'll be a great power move, and he's certainly the best option you've got as far as a future husband goes."

I rolled my eyes again. "I have a boyfriend."

"He is nothing, and I've told you time and time again that you need to get rid of him. Now I will not have you put blemishes on our family's appearance and status simply because you want to date white boys and follow these unattainable dreams. At best, you're suited to be a high praised seamstress. Stick to what you know. Be a housewife and mother, though you'd be subpar at that as well."

"Not everybody wants to spit out babies and get walked all over by a man with views that are just as ignorant as yours and dad's! I only want to sing. What I know is music, that's all that matters to me!"

"You have no real talent in that area. Get over it!"

I sighed, shaking my head as I got up and walked away. I could hear her yelling my name, but it was always best that I ignored my mother. Sometimes I liked to tell myself that she was only this way because my grandmother was the same. Grow up, graduate high school, get married, and start a family. If you were lucky, you could get matched with a wealthy man and you'd be set for life. That was what all little girls wanted in our family; or so I'd been told ever since I was five years old.

I would tell myself that deep down, both of my parents loved me with all of their hearts, they simply hadn't been taught or told that it was okay to show love.

Walking past my bedroom, once I made it upstairs, I knocked on Deena's door and waited. "Yes?"

"May I please come in? I'd like to talk, if you don't mind."

From out in the hallway, I could hear her moving around. Any move Deena made, you'd hear it. She'd gotten in the habit of making her movements known so that my parents wouldn't assume she was eavesdropping on their 'important' conversations.

The door opened slowly, and little by little I could see Deena's round face. Though she was still beautiful, it was very evident that she'd led a long and interesting life. To me, she always looked more tired than anything, or concerned, but she always found some type of energy. Always had a reason to smile, or laugh, or comfort others when they were feeling down. It was what I loved most about her. "What's going on, Sweet Pea?"

"The usual."

She nodded, understandingly, before stepping aside and allowing me to walk in. Closing the door behind me, she offered me a seat in her rocking chair and returned to her own spot in the center of her bed. She repositioned the books of crossword puzzles, her legal pad and multiple pencils so that they surrounded her. An artist, in her free time, I figured this was how she focused and got her best work done.

All artists have quirks, or a method, when they're creating a masterpiece. Some can be seen, and some can't. She'd told me that the very first time I told her I wanted to be a singer.

I sat quietly, studying her features and facial expressions until she decided to speak again. She was a gorgeous German woman, and sometimes I found myself wondering why she'd want a job like this when she'd had so many talents of her own. I could see her standing in large museums, showcasing her greatest pieces of artwork to some of the world's wealthiest collectors and buyers, bumping elbows with The President and dignitaries from every nation in the world as they discussed her inspiration and her next move. Yet, she chose this. I never got bold enough to ask why. I simply thanked God every day for sending me one of his angels. "Your parents are home. Well, aren't you glad? You just told me two nights ago that you missed them terribly."