A light afternoon breeze sent chills down my spine. The warmth of the setting, autumn's sun wrapped onto my bare shoulders. Soon the crickets would emerge from their homes, and the birds would scatter to find new ones.
I stepped out of the car and onto the cemented pave way, glancing at the magnificent structure before me.
The house stood tall, encompassing from what I could see, three stories.
My new home, I thought. The vines of roses clang to its massive frame, gave it an old, haunted look. Its white colour was washed out yet prominent.
I sighed, grabbing my suitcase from the vehicle and waddling towards the polished wooden door. The door opened with Suzie-our maid- standing on the other side.
"Madam!" She exclaimed, taking the massive loads from my frail hands. I let out an apologetic smile.
"I can handle myself," I said, clutching onto my handbag.
"Nonsense," she said, and gently took the bag from me.
She looked capable on her own as she made her way up the the glorious staircase grabbing the gold platted railings for support. The staircase was in the center of the room . The floor was tiled and shone as the dying sunlight seeped through the windows.
The walls were naked but were painted gentle pink. To the left of the staircase was an entry way to what i assumed was the kitchen. The right held another entry way to what would be the dinning room. I sighed my mother had really out done herself. At the thought of her she appeared, descending the staircase with a smile across her lips.
"So Cherrie?" She inquired, opening her arms and gesturing to the house.
My mom was a dramatic one yet a strikingly beautiful. Her long, straight hair she inherited from her Italian mother, was either kept in a tight ponytail, or laid on her shoulders.
Today it flowed in soft curls, that framed her oval face and ran down her back. Her eyes were piercingly green and deep set. She possessed a pair of dimples when she smiled which made her more breathtaking.
She wore a long red dress which clang to her proportioned frame. Realizing she was waiting for an answer I smiled.
"It looks great mom," I said, which made her smile widened.
"When we are done unpacking Suzie will prepare us dinner. I've got some recipes to reread, " she said, as Suzie appeared besides her and rushed pass me to get the rest of the bags.
I sighed again .My mother always over worked Suzie, and often times I came to the maid's defense.
Growing up ,my mother always spent her days in the kitchen creating a variety of mouth watering pastries and breads both sweet and savory . I proudly took the name of her unofficial taster as I would be the first to taste the baked goodies.
She taught me how to bake at a young age.
"Its okay Cheerie," She cooed, as my first of cookies came out of the oven.
"They look and smell bad," I responded in horror as I gazed down at the black crumps on the baking tray.
One half bitten cookie later, and I was in tears.
"They taste horrible," I sobbed.
"Come on, we'll make another batch." My mother comforted.
Too distraught at my failed baking attempt, 6 year old me ran out of the kitchen and into my room. That night my pillow stayed wet, but my heart remained warm.
My mother, made her way up the stairs, with a fresh batch of chocolate chip cookies, and a glass of milk, and I fell asleep to the sound of her voice, as she told me a bed time story.
The clicking of my mother's heels against the tiles, pulled me from my fondest childhood memory. She disappeared into the kitchen and I went upstairs.