Juliana Haygert - Playing Pretend

“I see someone must have had quite the night,” my mother said, entering the kitchen.

I glanced at the clock on the wall. Just past nine in the morning. Usually, she was up before seven, but on Sundays, she never woke up before eleven.

“Hi, Mom.” I stood and grabbed two mugs from the cabinet behind me. “You’re the one who let Tamara in?”

“Yes.”

“I thought you knew I don’t want to talk to her. I don’t want to see her.”

“Well, she seemed desperate. I thought it wouldn’t hurt to hear whatever she had to say.” She sat down on a chair, pulling her robe tight around her body, and I gave her a mug filled with steaming coffee.

Tamara had been like a daughter to my mother, and I thought my mother refused to believe what she had done.

I sat down again. “It hurts. Please, don’t let her in again.”

“If that’s what you want.” She sipped from her mug. “I know you’re twenty-three, and you have even been talking about getting your own place for over a year now, but I worry about you, and I worry even more when you spend six nights in a row sleeping away from your own bed.”

The only reason I hadn’t gotten my own place was because I didn’t have any money. Rent here in this beach town was too steep, and my bartending cash was used to pay for my tuition at the nearest college. Our 1,200-square-foot home, and the fact that Matt and I both didn’t own a car even though we had been working since we were fourteen, was a proof of how much my family struggled to get by.

“I’m fine. I just needed some time.”

She reached across the table and patted my hand, a kind smile on her lips. “I know. Still, I’m your mother. I barely saw you this past week. You just came to change your clothes. Sometimes you just came home to pick up more clothes; you didn’t even shower here.”

I sighed. “It was spring break, Mom. Everything will go back to normal now.”

She tilted her head, examining me with her knowing eyes. Her hair was tied back in a loose bun, and like this, she looked sixty-five instead of forty-seven.

“What is normal?”

I shrugged. “I’m not sure. Go back to my masters. Study. Work.” And hope one of the transfer applications I sent to colleges all over the country two weeks ago, without anyone knowing, came back with positive news.

My mother wasn’t happy about the prospect of me leaving her house to move to an apartment in town. If I was accepted somewhere else, she would be devastated. Nevertheless, I had to leave. I wanted to leave. It was the only way I could see myself getting over what Tamara did to me.

“It sounds like you have everything figured out,” my mother said, but her eyes didn’t look as convincing as her voice.

Tired, I stood. “I think so.” I placed my half-empty mug in the sink, aware of my mother’s gaze on my back. I walked to the door, but stopped before exiting. “I’m gonna try to catch up on sleep.”

My mother nodded and I left before she could say or ask anything else. Between leaving Charlotte and seeing Tamara, I felt physically and emotionally drained, and I didn’t want to talk anymore.

I closed my bedroom door and plopped down on my bed, willing my mind blank so I could sleep without dreaming.

Charlotte

The taxi stopped at the Executive Mansion’s gates. I tipped the driver and quickly got out of the car, dragging my suitcase behind me.

Since leaving California and Mason, I felt like dragging everything. My suitcase, myself, my life, my lies.

I had never lied about something this big before, and for some reason, I knew I wouldn’t feel the same about me, about my life ever again. This spring break had been a big thing, and not only because of Mason and the fact that we barely left the bedroom. It had messed with my balance, with my independence.

As the taxi drove away, I took a deep breath and entered my pin on the keypad. The gates opened and, ignoring the security guards spread through the yard, I walked the circular path to the front steps, uneager about arriving at my own house. My eyes followed the square outline of the white house and I shuddered. The fountain in the middle of the circular path was turned on, of course, the water bubbling sound still unfamiliar. We had been living here for two years and it still didn’t feel like home.

I grabbed my keys from my purse and unlocked the double green doors. Being Sunday evening, I hoped my mother would be at a business dinner somewhere else. No such luck. My mother was working in her private office.

On tiptoes, I tried to cross through the doorway without being noticed and get up the stairs to my bedroom.

“How was the trip?” my mother’s cold voice reached my ears, and I stiffened.

Suppressing a groan, I dropped my suitcase, whirled, and faced my mother. “Good.”

Even at home, my mother wore suits, heels, makeup, and jewels. Lots and lots of jewels.

My mother’s brown eyes pierced me, a disapproving glint in them, as she let go of the papers she was reading and leaned forward, her elbows resting on her desk, her hands clasped tightly.

“When are you going to stop going on such foolish trips?”

She asked as if I had been going away for spring breaks for five years. I guess she didn’t really remember this had been my first spring break as a college student.

I drew in a long breath, gathering courage to speak up. “The idea is to keep going until I graduate.”

“Your father would never let you go on these trips,” she said, as if she deserved the mother-of-the-year award. Far from that. “He would never let your wear those clothes.” Typical. My mother always turned it all to my late father. “Did you behave? Did you do anything that will embarrass me?”

One. Two. Three. Four. Five … One more calming breath. “I’m nineteen. An adult.”

“Then act like one,” my mother snapped. “Until you do, you’re a teenager. My responsibility. And I expect you to behave. I’ll repeat the question. Did you do anything that will mark my reputation?”

Of course, her reputation. Peyton McClain, as Virginia’s governor and planning to run for the presidency in a few years, had a huge reputation to maintain. And I had to maintain it too.

I thought about Mason. My heart squeezed, missing him. I wished I was a rebellious daughter and brave enough to tell my mother I slept with some stranger for a whole week and, well, if someone ended up posting it in the tabloids, so be it. But I wasn’t rebellious. Exactly the opposite. I was the perfect daughter. Always had been. The strange part was, it never bothered me before. Yeah, I had to attend too many balls and events, hear about politics, sit through boring dinners, and go out with some friends I didn’t really consider that close, but that was okay. I didn’t feel like I was someone else completely. I was just good at playing pretend.

Once a week I met with Liana, MaryAnn, and Becca. We went out for skating or drawing or simply holed up in Liana’s house and watched a movie, or talked boys, like any normal girls. No politics, no fancy gowns, and no seven-course meals with silver cutlery and crystals goblets. Just my girls and me. That was all I needed. I never once had thought about breaking away, about openly disagreeing with my mother, of running from this life. Never.

Until now.

Through gritted teeth, I answered, “No.”

“Good.” My mother leaned back, taking the papers into her hands once more.

Dying to leave and smash something to release my clamped anger, I asked, “Anything else?”

“Yes.” My mother’s gaze, still cold and resolute, shifted to mine. “In two weeks, I have important commitments in Washington, D.C. Don’t schedule anything for that weekend.”