Let's Make A Mess

I woke up the following morning to the smell of Belgian waffles wafting through the crack under my door. I smiled softly to myself and flipped over my cushion, resting my head back down with a sigh; I really liked the cold side of the pillow. Glancing over at my new alarm clock I yawned and flipped my covers back, exposing my pyjama clad body to the warm morning sun glaring through my window.

I padded out of my room straight into the bathroom, stopping to knock on my brother’s door on the way. At nine years old Jackson was very easily the youngest of all us Fox children, with me next and our older brother Braden being the oldest.

The bathroom was a little fogged up when I entered it and I had to wipe away the steam from the mirror to glance at myself. I was still analyzing my face as I leant into the cubicle and turned on the water, I looked away to check for towels before stripping off and climbing in under the hot running water.

Around twenty minutes later I was dressed in a pair of shorts and a tank top, my favourite cashmere sweater was grasped tightly in my hand. I made my way down to breakfast greeting my goblin like brother on the way.

“Good morning,” I smiled to which he responded with a low grunt and the small stamping of his little feet.

Our father was reading the paper when we sat down to eat our waffles and he barely acknowledged us as he read the sports pages, occasionally muttering something inaudible. I dug in eagerly and almost shovelled my food into my mouth, barely giving myself time to swallow, or breath before the next forkful was making its way in.

Today was Saturday and as I glanced over at our paper covered refrigerator I mentally slapped myself. I was starting my new school in two days, and in my mother’s clear cursive writing she had outlined today as the day we would get our supplies. This meant that I would have to spend a whole entire day, pretending to care about what she babbled on about whilst allowing her to buy me things for school that I would never use.

As if she had read my mind mother turned to me and smiled happily, “Are you excited for your first day?” she asked me and I feigned enthusiasm as I nodded. “Oh good, I thought today we could go to the mall and get you some new clothes and of course all of your supplies,” she continued and I nodded out of politeness, mentally cursing the gods.

“Sounds good, you want to go now?” I asked sensing that she was anxious to get going and leave my father and Jackson to have their guys day.

It was almost like a family tradition with us, at least once a month our mother would plan a day where Jackson (and Braden before the lucky sod moved into his own place) would spend the day with my father and I would spend it with her on our girls day. I didn’t mind these days so much when I was twelve and thirteen because they often entailed a shopping trip to Rodeo Drive, which I loved. Of course as time went on I grew older, spending quality time with my mother became much less of a priority; my friends were far more important.

I realised that this was extremely selfish of me but when you had a mother who was as suffocating as mine was, it was easy to understand.

With a nod of the head and an award winning smile she stood up from the table, took my empty plate from in front of me along with my cutlery and half finished glass of orange juice and placed them into the dishwasher. I stood up and walked down to the door, sliding my feet into my flip flops as my mother collected her keys from the hook and opened the door for me.

As I stepped out onto the porch and descended the three steps that led down to our driveway I once again got the overwhelming feeling that I was being watched and with a shudder I quickly climbed into the car, slamming the door shut behind me.

Completely oblivious to my discomfort my mother started the engine and backed out of the driveway before pushing down the gas and hurtling us down the residential street. I was curious as to how my mother knew where she was going but I didn’t ask in order to avoid a long winded explanation. My mother was the kind of woman who no matter how simple the question she asked was, her answer had to involve at least five hundred words and a lot of deliberating between exactly what she wanted to say.

It was quite annoying especially when she would moan about my grandmother doing the same thing; hypocrite much?

I knew that I was kind of harsh on my mother and as irritating as she was I did love her.

“Can I decorate my room?” I asked quietly as we passed by a hardware store and I watched her nod her head slowly out of the corner of my eye.

“Of course, what colours were you thinking of?” she questioned and I thought about my old room back in California. My walls were painted the most hideous shade of pink, courtesy of my mother for my sixteenth birthday. For some reason she thought it would be nice to style my room around that of a Princess, I had a four poster bed, the pink walls, a plush cream carpet and vintage style furniture. It was beautiful but it wasn’t really me.

“I was thinking maybe yellow or orange,” I answered quietly as we pulled up into the parking lot of the mall. It was barely eleven but the first four sections of the lot were already completely full. We parked a little ways away from the large building and walked down towards it, my mother humming softly to herself.

When we finally reached the building I instantly chilled due to the air conditioning and sliding on my sweater I awkwardly followed her into Abercrombie.