For the Better

One.

"You can't make decisions based on fear and the possibility of what might happen."

-Michelle Obama

    I rub my groggy, tired eyes and reach over from my spot in my bed and grab my puzzle piece shaped box like I do every day. Only today, I actually think about it. I think about what it means. I run my fingers over the smooth, handcrafted wood, courtesy of my late grandfather. I think of Rosalee, on the other side of town, doing the same. I open the box and feel the velvet cushion that would one day - hopefully, and hopefully soon - house a ring.

    The other box belongs to my girlfriend, Rosalee. The two individual boxes are shaped like puzzle pieces and they fit together perfectly. They are both currently empty, which symbolizes the commitment that we will one day make to each other. We will find the perfect ring for the other and promise each other the world and our lives.

    I hear a knock at my door and realized just how much time had passed since I woke up.

"Who is it?" I say, loud enough for the person on the other side of the door to hear, just in case it is the housekeeper, who sometimes has a hard time hearing.

"Julia, dear, it's me. Your mother would like to see you downstairs." Of course, it's Olga, she's the only one who comes near my room. It's almost like the other people in this house think I have the plague or something.

I thank her for telling me and get dressed. I gel my hair so it isn't in my eyes all day. I know my mother hates my short hair - it makes me look too "masculine." Maybe that's why I do it. Maybe I secretly like pissing her off. No, that's a lie. I am the only peacekeeper around here, or at least I try to be.

I make the long trek down the elegant hallway, sprinkled with cute little hall tables and vases of flowers. Mostly, there are peonies, my mother's favorite. She gets so excited when it's spring and she can finally put them all over the house. Down the stairs, I go and I get dizzy every time, spinning around the spiral staircase.

Leaning over the table, is my mother. Her long blonde hair (the absolute opposite from mine) is falling over her shoulders and partially covering her face. She's probably planning another one of the stupid galas for my dad's work. I'm pretty sure that a law firm doesn't need a gala every month, but whatever. It keeps my mom busy during the day, I guess.

"Good morning, Mother. Olga told me you wanted to see me?" I have to talk to her in a formal(ish) tone. She wants to feel important. I want to make her happy, so I do.

"Yes, dear, I wanted to let you know that we have another gala coming up this month. How exciting, right? Anyway, I wanted to let you know that you are going so you can meet Alexander, your father's boss's son. He will be taking over the business soon, and I think he could make a great potential boyfriend!" She knows I have a girlfriend. She knows that I'm happy. She knows that I will never want to marry a man. Still, she always pushes me to meet different rich boys. She is very conservative and thinks that every woman should marry a rich man, have his children, and never work a day in her life. I think that's ridiculous.

"Mom, you know I am not a fan of these galas. Getting dressed up and dancing with random boys and having to talk to them is my least favorite thing to do in the whole world. Do you really think that I need to go?"

"Yes, Julianna, you need to go," she said, in a very demanding tone, using my real name that I haven't been called since the last time I tried protesting going to one of my dad's work functions. My dad hates how pushy and conservative she is. He has told me before that he wishes he would have known how she really was before he married her. That was before I knew that he was sneaking around on her with his boss -- his male boss.