Carry On

I smiled contently at my reflection in the mirror. Val had spent the last three hours in my room, straightening my hair and applying makeup. She claimed she just wanted me to look spectacular on our first night out on the town, but I knew better. She was trying to distract me from whatever thoughts I had about my mother.

My once wavy and sometimes untamable hair fell to my lower back, completely straight. I never straightened it. I don't even remember the last time I turned on my straightener. But Val decided we had time to kill, and so she got started. She made small talk about her and Matt, sometimes mentioning the other guys. She filled me in on everything that was happening at the studio and with the new album. Val really was the perfect aunt, and she would be the perfect mother. I felt sick knowing that the girl who deserved it the most, would never get her chance.

"All done," Val smiled as she applied a swipe of lipgloss to my bottom lip. She insisted that I let her handle everything, "You look beautiful. Maybe we can find you a hot boy with a New York accent," She winked and I bit my lip, "Or is there someone back home?" She suggested, standing up and making her way to my closet.

"Michael?" I questioned and looked over at her as she grinned, "It's nothing," I muttered. Michael had been texting me and calling, and I would reply. He worried about me, and I still didn't understand why, but I was at least starting to accept it.

"He seems to be very concerned about your well-being," She noted and I shrugged, "And any boy who worries about you is good in my book," She winked before turning back to my clothes.

I would much rather pick out my own outfit, but I let Val handle it. I knew this was something she would probably do with her own daughter, had she had one. I felt it was the least I could do for her. I could pretend along with her.

Despite our different style tastes, Val picked out something I liked. I guess she did pay attention after all. She layed out a plain black dress and a pair of sheer tights. Although I would love nothing more than to wear my regular Doc Martens, I smiled as she picked out a pair of black heels. It was still rather cold, even more so than Huntington, and so she suggested I wear my favorite maroon colored coat. I never wore it much because it was meant for fancier outings. Dad had picked it up during his last tour in Europe, and I wore it any chance I got.

I waited patiently for Val in my room. She had focused much of her time on me, and I knew she would be at least thirty minutes until she was completely ready to leave. I sighed, taking out my phone. I didn't want to call Dad again. I scrolled down the contacts and debated calling Uncle Zack when I stopped at a name. I called, waiting for the dials.

It only rang twice before he picked up, "Are you okay?" He asked immediately.

"No hello? You just assume I'm off the deep end again?" I asked and he laughed.

"You never call me. You also made it quite clear you would never call me because you don't need me. So I have a right to be panicked," He explains, "What happened?" And he already knows.

"She forgot to get us from the airport," I confessed and he hisses.

"Liza, that's not your fault. Your Mom... She isn't right. She doesn't have her priorities straight. Don't take it personal."

"I won't," I said before he can say anything else and he sighs, "She just had somethings come up, that's all."

"Liza..." He started.

"Really, Michael. She's not like that," I defended. I wasn't sure why I was defending her. Maybe it was because I really wanted to believe Mom actually cared.

"Don't get your hope up, Liza. Please thing logically about this."

"You're wrong, Michael. Mom isn't going to be like that. She's going to come around. I know it."

"Call me if you need anything, Liz. I'm here for you," He said softly.

"Thanks Michael."

As soon as I said that Val emerged from her room and I immediately told Michael I needed to go. He understood and wished me luck before I hung up the phone, Val smiling at me. She dressed in a grey dress with military green tights and matching grey shoes. Her blonde hair was pushed back into a pony tail.

"Who was that?" She asked, even though she knew the answer.

"Michael," I answered, grabbing my purse. She smiled, opening the door so we could head out. I followed Val down the hallway to the elevator. We stopped at several floors on the way down. It seemed that everyone was dressing up for a night on the town.

When we got to the bottom floor we went straight to the lobby. It was then that Val flanked at her phone, and her smile turned into a slight frown, "C'mon. I know where the restaurant is," She said, and I understood. We hailed down a cab and I followed her into the backseat. She rambled off some Italian name before the cab began to roll.

It took us twenty minutes, even though the place was down the street. New York traffic. I was so used to Huntington being open. Even then I complained about the few drivers on the road. I wondered how Michelle could stand it.

Val payed the driver before we got out, stepping onto the curb. There was a massive line to get in the restaurant. Val simply grabbed my arm and lead me into the restaurant, surpassing all of the others. "Reservation for Haner," Val smiled at the host and he nodded.

"Of course. Three of you will be dining with us tonight, correct?" He asked. Val agreed before he lead us to our table. A quiet room in the back with a pianist in the corner, softly playing concertos I recognized. We sat down and he took our drink orders.

I glanced over the menu, not really concentrating. My eyes kept glancing up to the entryway, waiting to see my mother. Val kept glancing at me, making comments on what sounded good and what didn't. She made suggestions, remembering that I strongly dislike spaghetti.

Suddenly I saw her. She was wearing a short tight dress, complete with black nylons and a tan jacket over. She wore diamonds around her neck and sky-high heels. Her hair was a lot lighter than I remembered. More blonde than gold. She also seemed thinner. Mom and Val were always thin, but had curves. It seemed now that Mom looked more like a runway model than a Mom.

She approached the table, a smile on her face, "Mom?" I asked.

"Hi, Sweetie, how are you?" She asked. I got up and gave her a huge hug, wrapping my arms around her waist. She laughed, hugging me back but not as tight, "Okay, Sweetie. Don't get your makeup on my dress. It's Chanel," She said before smiling at Val, "I'm so excited to see you guys."

We sat down and the two sisters shared a look, but I looked back down at my menu. Mom went straight into the talking. She told us how she was caught up because of fashion week, and completely mixed up our flight time. She explained the wardrobe malfunction that happened just hours ago with one of the dresses to be debuted at the show tomorrow. She couldn't just let it go unfixed.

Mom didn't stop talking until the waiter came over. He took our orders. Mom ordered something fancy in Italian, and it sounded like she was familiar with this restaurant. Val ordered something a little simpler, while I opted for plain fettuccini.

"So, how's school?" Mom asked and I looked to Val for help.

"Uh, well I don't really go to school anymore, Mom," I said and Val nodded, urging me to continue.

"Oh, did you graduate already?" She asked and I shook my head.

"No... I'm going to take online classes for the rest of the year."

She raised an eyebrow, "Why? Did your father put you up to this?" She asked, almost upset.

"No, Mom. It's a long story. I'm a lot happier now," I said and she nodded, dropping the subject.

"I didn't know your fashion sense was so..." She looked at me, "Alternative."

"I wanted to wear my Doc Martens tonight, but Val wouldn't let me," I said and sent a playful glare to my aunt. Mom looked like she was forcing a smile, though.

"Oh, I see your father had some input in to your fashion, then. He never did like wearing anything besides those boots," She said, and I couldn't tell what she meant by that.

She was right, though. Dad always wore Docs or Nikes, depending where he was going. He bought me my first pair when I was eight, but hardly wore them due to Mom always dressing me. It was in middle school that I started to wear them religiously, buying more and more styles. Between Dad and I, I was sure we have well over a hundred pairs combined. We even had some of the same styles, and would change if we coincidently wore them at the same time.

"Liza just had a very successful concert, though. It was the last one she'll have in high school," Val smiled over at me and Mom put down her glass of wine.

"I hardly call that successful, seeing as Brian went off the handle again," Mom muttered and I could feel Val kicking her from under the table.

Before either of us could say anything our food was out. I started to eat, not really wanting to talk anymore. I wanted Mom back, and this wasn't it. She wasn't the same. Mom's kind and soft smile was gone. Her caring eyes had turned cold and dark.

I wondered if they were ever there to begin with.

"You guys absolutely have to try this. It's my favorite dish," Mom said, pushing her plate towards me first. It's a thin stringed pasta with pieces of roasted chicken, mushrooms, and a thick marinara sauce.

"No thanks," I said.

"Aw, you have to try it. It's delicious. I'm sure this is heaven compared to your father's cooking," She said and I shake my head.

"I don't like marinara sauce, Mom. I never have," I confess and she nods.

Val and Mom make small talk. Mom asks about Matt, and if she's ready to leave him yet. Val smiled and laughed, but I could tell she was ready to strangle her sister. My mother definitely wasn't the same caring and comforting woman I once knew. It was okay, though. This is just the first day. She has time to come around.

I hope.

-

Brian couldn't sleep. He had played for three hours in the studio before heading off to bed, only to be wide awake. He drifted downstairs and watched a movie before heading to the kitchen. He did the dishes and swept. He wasn't aware that he had even owned a broom. He then went into the backyard and cleaned all of the leaves out the the pool.

It was nearing eleven when he wandered into Liza's room. He rocked back and forth on his heels before walking over to her dresser. He looked at the various trinkets she kept there, including the little gifts he would send home from tour. She had various keychains and magnets from different states, postcards and pictures from different countries. He sighed before going over and sitting on her bed. It felt so empty. He was alone.

As his thoughts drifted to his daughter his phone rang, "Hello?"

"Hey, Bri," Val answered, obviously tired.

"Hey, what's going on?" He questioned and she sighed.

"Well, my sister certainly wasn't blessed with being the nice twin," She mumbled, "She met us at the restaurant and..." She sighed again, "I don't think it was what Liza was expecting."

"Oh, God. What did Michelle do?" He asked, running a hand over his face.

"Well, she's kind of self-centered. She didn't really talk with Liza, she more just talked about herself. She also wasn't as excited to see her as we thought she would be. I mean, if I hadn't seen Liza in seven years I'd be tackling her in hugs."

"I knew this would happen," He groaned.

"And then Michelle got a call just after dinner. She didn't explain much, but she said she had to go. It was really unexpected and it happened so fast we didn't even really say goodbye. So to distract Liza I took her around the city a bit and we went into some stores and did some shopping."

"This is a nightmare. It's only been one day and..." Brian breathed heavily.

"She's okay, Brian. She's strong," Val cooed.

"No, Val," He stated, "She isn't. She shouldn't be going through this. I knew this was a bad idea," He paused, thinking over, "I'm coming over there. I shouldn't have let her-"

"Hey!" Val exclaimed, "You do that and she'll feel like you don't trust her. Give it some time. I know my sister, Bri. She isn't heartless. She just needs to get used to it again. I promise everything will be okay."

"Please don't make promises you can't keep."