On Monday morning, the message came from before I was even conscious.
Connor: Be on the lookout for gum today ;)
Winky face? I rolled my eyes, walked over to my cupboard and pulled out a pair of jeans, sneakers and a shirt that read "Welcome to Hawaii". Not fashionable, but whatever. I liked shirts from around the world. They reminded me that there were places beyond these perfect houses and pretty manicured lawns.
My neighbourhood oozes a sort of perfection that is both nauseating and quite frankly, concerning. The suburb has an eerie 'stepford wife' vibe to it that lingers in the air like the smell of lavender and jasmine bushes. There's even a 'Best Pavement' award and of course, our house has won it three years in a row! But everyone who lives here, seems to buy into this perfection with puppy-like enthusiasm. They love it. I'm convinced there's some kind of sinister mind control at play though. All the woman smile prettily as they cook and do the laundry (except here, they pay someone else to do the laundry and complain when something isn't folded correctly). Especially if you're my mother.
I walked over to my mirror, still not fully awake, put my tshirt on and ran a brush through my shaggy hair, letting it fall wherever the hell it wanted too, which was usually into my face. When I was younger, I'd cut all my long blonde hair off. It had been a kind of silent coup against my mother, trying to overthrow her need to dress my sister and I up in identical outfits, with identical cute pigtails. It had worked, and I'd kept it that way, so that no one would ever confuse me with McKenzie. I noted that a mysterious mascara seemed to have found its way onto my dressing room table too. Clearly my mother had bought it for me. She always insisted I wear it.
"We Glover woman are cursed with pale lashes. Makes us look like ghosts."
She and my sister smeared the stuff on so thickly that it looked like they had spider's legs growing out of their eyeballs. But then I thought about Connor. I wondered if wearing mascara might make me appear more women than dude? I picked the stuff up, pulled the lid off and gave my lashes a quick coat. But in seconds, my eyeballs were on fire, and I found myself running to the bathroom to wash it off. Clearly, mascara was not my thing. I rushed downstairs when I'd managed to get all the black smudges off and was greeted by my mother's usual disapproving look.
"Sadie, do you have to wear that t-shirt? What about the nice blouse I bought you last week?"
"The pink one? The one that looks like if I wear it, my IQ will plummet by ten points?"
"But it's just like your sister's."
"Exactly," I said, walking into the kitchen. My mother rolled her eyes at me as if she'd given up—until tomorrow morning that is.
I sat down at the breakfast "nook" as my mom called it. Around here, things were not called by their normal names. A bedroom was a "boudoir," and a kitchen table was a "nook."
"Besides, we're not six anymore, so you can't expect us to dress the same," I added.
As if on cue, my sister flounced down the stairs wearing a pair of short cut off denims, texting as she took the stairs two at a time—Does she have eyes at the top of her forehead so she can see where she's going?
I wondered what my dad thought of her outfit, but he was too busy reading his newspaper, no doubt scanning the business section for crashing and burning businesses that he could snatch, fix up and sell for a small fortune.
Our house is a testament to my dad's success. An obscene house with six bedrooms and more rooms than could ever be occupied. It towers above all the other lavish homes in the area, and basically sticks its big, fat bejeweled middle finger in their upper class faces. Me? I don't care about that kind of thing and I certainly don't take advantage of my father's credit cards like my mother and sister do.
My mother thrusted a plate of food in front of me. "What's this?" I asked, looking down at the stuff in question. It looked like it may have been egg in a past life, but it was the wrong texture...and color—Is this even food?
"Egg white omelet with broiled kale," she replied, sounding very pleased with herself. My mom was always on the latest diet. She's clairvoyant about diet trends, often going on diets before anyone else even knows about them, or before they've even been invented. The week before we were gluten free, and the week before that, dairy free. I'm not sure what we were supposed to be free of this week.
"Keto," she said."And Kale is the new super food."
My dad grunted from behind his paper. He's a man of few words, especially when it comes to my mother's cooking. My mother ignored him and she and my sister started discussing the benefits of yogi berries and soy protein while I tried to chew the strangely sloppy, yet surprisingly crunchy thing that was currently taking up space in my mouth.
After breakfast, McKenzie launched herself at my mother's car keys. "My turn!" She sprang across the room like an commercial for Energizer batteries. She's always so perky—Unnaturally so. You know how artificial sweetener is so sweet but has a bitter aftertaste? That's McKenzie.
We piled into my mother's car—a ludicrously over-priced and unnecessary SUV—We certainly don't go roughing it on weekend excursions to the bush. Barely able to see over the steering wheel, my mother uses the beast to drive us to school and back, and drive herself to the hairdresser and shopping center. The most off-roading she's ever done was when she couldn't find a parking place at the mall during Christmas and mounted the pavement illegally. When we'd come out the car had been clamped which had made my mother quite hysterical.
"Ease her out." My mother sounded panicked as Mckenzie put the car into reverse.
"I am," McKenzie snapped as she jerked the vehicle into a lurching reverse that forced my head into the backseat.
"You're not easing, McKenzie."
"I am easing! "
"Look where you're reversing. Check your mirrors!"
"I am. I am. You're making me freak out Mom. Stop it!"
God, I hated it when it was McKenzie's turn to drive. We had both received our learner's permits a few months before and had been taking lessons, some more successfully than others. My sister's so-called multi-tasking-texting abilities clearly didn't extend to driving.
"So where did you go on Saturday night?" Mackenzie looked at me in the rearview mirror.
"Stop looking at your sister when you drive, focus on the road." My mother sounded like she was bordering on a panic attack.
"I am. I am," she said.
"I left. The party was boring."
"Connor looked hot," she said, her tone going lilty. She was teasing me.
My prudish mother feigned shock. "Stop talking like that in front of me."—as if she doesn't know McKenzie always talks like this.
"I wouldn't know." I shrugged deliberately, trying to downplay the whole thing. But my insides were churning and no amount of "casual" shrugging would change that.
"I don't get you guys. How can you just be friends. It's weird."
"It's not weir—"
McKenzie suddenly slammed on the brakes so hard, that we all rocked back and forth violently. She had almost missed the stop sign. She seemed oblivious, though, and turned to me with a frighteningly earnest look plastered across her face.
"Sadie. You can tell us if you're gay."
"What?" My mother turned to look at me. "Are you gay?" She blinked too many times to count.
My sister placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Mom it's 2021. Get with the times."
"Sure, sure... of course I'm with the times. I am sooo...you know. Gay pride and, um..." she tapered off and McKenzie shot me an evil smirk.
"I'm not gay, Mom. Connor and I are just friends." I was feeling annoyed now.
"Okay. If you're sure, though. I mean... it's okay if you are...I love watching Ellen!" My mom's eyes met mine and she forced a smile. "My hair stylist is gay. He's amazing with color you know. So creative. He and his husband keep Shih tzu's too. Very cute dogs. Lots of hair, I have no idea how you would wash it all."
"I'm not gay!" I said again, cutting off my mother's strange and clearly uncomfortable ramble, and then glared at McKenzie.
My sister looked at me with a cruel, mocking eye. "Just teasing. I know you're not. You're just secretly in love with Connor."