Dissonance | ✓

27 | Argent

     It was foolish of me to anticipate returning to McLaren with everything being okay, as long as I was with my mother. Everything was far from okay. Everything was wrong. Somehow, Mr. Baker was willing to push all the dirty laundry under the rug and stay with my mother, as long as the bulge that was bound to pop up—me—was ignored. There was talk of having me live at Riverdale until graduation, or even send me to Maine with distant relatives, but mother, as the stubborn woman she was, absolutely refused to leave me to fade into black; become a fragment of a silly mistake, long forgotten. Unfortunately for the both of us, Mr. Baker was just as stubborn and a half, leading mother to being thrown out of his house for good, and forced to find another way for the us.

     Although touched by my mother's actions, I was sure that we were done for; there was no chance of Mrs. Oakwood allowing her husband to open their doors wide for his mistress and love child; mother had never worked a day in her adult life, either, so all of our possible funds were struck by drought; and as for our relatives in Maine, my mother had cut ties with them as soon as she left the state with Mr. Baker—to suddenly come back in a time of need would have, not only been shallow, but against mother's newfound independent attitude. 

     I wondered what would have been next. Were we headed for a homeless shelter? Would we have to beg in the city center? I only imagined the worst, which was ridiculous, because, one way or another, my mother managed to come through for us.

     We stood on the ninth floor of one of the modern apartment complexes that had been emerging recently in the heart of McLaren. When we initially took the taxi there, I was confused. We did not know any inhabitants of the complex, nor had we any business being there. As we entered the lobby, however, and the man perched at the front desk warmly welcomed my mother tack as she guided ourselves straight to apartment 907—like she had walked that same path several times before— things began to make sense. That must have been our new home.

     Mother pushed open the cumbersome metallic door and held it for me to follow her inside, revealing a living room furnished with white leather couches, a polished glass coffee table, and a wide television. The walls were painted a pale blue, accented with silver ornaments nailed onto them. A glass door, sandwiched between floor-to-ceiling windows, led to a surprisingly large balcony. The entire room was lit by asymmetrical, blown argent bulbs connecting together to form a chandelier.

     "Welcome to our new home," mother singsonged once we settled into the living room.

     "How–how did you do this?" I stammered. 

     "I'm no one-trick pony," she boasted. "I saw a time like this coming ever since I married your—I mean, Mr. Baker. So, I've always kept a savings account for rainy days, and now it's really paid off, right?"

     "But where'd you get that money from?"

     "Leena," mother rose up and strode beyond an archway to the left, returning with a glass of wine in hand, "like I said, I'm not a one-trick pony. Don't think I stole anything, because I didn't. I've worked in my life, you know." Mother brought her glass to her lips and took a small sip. I sank into the couch, awed by how she managed to get us out of a potentially terrible situation (to my standards, of course). My mother was really making up for her indifference towards me, all those years before.

     "You know, before I left the Baker house," mother began after draining her glass, "Lydia had mentioned how she wanted to hang out with you. I thought it'd be nice if I scheduled an appointment for you two to go prom dress shopping this weekend at your favorite store."

     I smiled at her halfheartedly, as my heart dropped down a level. Shopping with my mom was going to be the highlight of my spring break; I had even been looking forward to her criticizing my body for not being able to pull off a certain dress, in spite of myself. That was going to be the great leap in our relationship I longed for, but, nevertheless, I supposed becoming closer to my estranged half-sister would not have been such a terrible thing.