Page 106 of The Fate Of Us

But I have a feeling the fanfare of a grand welcome would’ve hurt more, weirdly.

Goldie clocks me. “Hey, come see my room. I want to show the college brochures to someone who’ll actually—”

“Adaline!” A voice calls from beyond the foyer, their glossy, high-pitched squeaking of my name bouncing off the marble tiles. “Is that really you?”

My mother had all the gleeful surprise a mother should have when she sets eyes on the daughter she’s barely seen for years, but something about it seemed synthetic, almost careful. As though cameras that were rolling for some family reality show were hidden in every corner of the house.

She was alerted, and now it seemed the grand welcome was taking place.

I knew for a fact that beneath the feather-cuffed robe was a mother. A woman who was built from maternal bones. She cared, once upon a time, she protected me and loved me in a way that made me think she’d stand up to dad one day, put a stop to the auditions and convince him to let my childhood, Goldie’s childhood, be a normal one.

In the end, I think the resentment of what she’d never achieved for herself won. The dreams she’d never handled controlled her every move when it came to me… that’s why I think she never questioned my dad. Why she never will.

Once she pads her way over to me, manicured feet shimmering over the tiles, she reaches for me, wrapping her still-warm arms around my neck, pulling in for a hug.

“Oh, darling!” She breathes into my hair, her fingers lightly tugging at the ends, before slipping her hands down my arms. “How’ve you been, Adaline?” She asked, in a sincere, almost like she’d missed me, way.

“Umm,” I shuffle under her stare. “I’ve been… okay.”

“Okay?” She laughs, full of amusement, before gripping both of my hands. “Darling I think you’ve been doing more than just okay. Look at you, the biggest actress in the whole world, my daughter. It’s the stuff of dreams!”

Yours or mine?

I want to question her, badly, but I bite my tongue, not wanting to spoil the surprised niceties too soon. So I nod, and let a smile glide onto my face. “It is.” I agree, earning me a head tilt and longing look.

“Now,” she starts as she drops my hands, and in a quick movement, she takes Goldie under her left arm, me under the other. We both grunt as she pulls us towards her. “I’ve got both my girls home, my talented, successful, and beyond wonderful girls. Both of you get settled and join me outside, dinner will be soon, and your father will join us too. We’ll eat on the sun terrace, under the sunset, sound good?”

Goldie blows out a huff of air. “Which part? Because the sunset dinner sounds nice… having Dad there doesn’t—”

“Marigold.” Mom warns… sweetly. “You know he’s been busy lately, which makes him stressed. It’s not personal.” she reminds her, as Goldie mutters ‘feels personal’ under her breath.

“Right, I’ll check with Maddie on how long dinner will be,” Mom says, letting go of Goldie and turning to me, warm hands in mine again. “I’m so happy you’re home, Adaline. Really. We’ve… missed you, my darling.” The homely fire that lived in her iris’ took me in for a second, before a smile tightened her lips. “See you in a bit!” She sings as she pads back over to the door, which I’m assuming leads nowhere to the kitchen, but my guess is the sun terrace.

I turn to Goldie, feeling windswept, like mom was an emotional hurricane and we’d just spent a minute too long in the eye of it. “Did that seem—”

“Like she’s been a victim of those fucks from Invasion Of The Body Snatchers? Yes. Yes, it did.” I laugh at my sister, as she guides me up the stairs, the central feature of the room, laid with cream carpet and mahogany handrails.

It was a good thirty-second walk to reach her room, passing no family photos on the walls, instead, there were awards. Well, pictures of awards, me at award shows and snapshots of my acceptance speeches I didn’t want to read. There are a few of Goldie too, namely the one that she won at that kid’s award show.

And I feel it then, as I step foot into her room, like something chipped away at my heart, breaking for the girl who’s just launched herself onto her bed.

Despite the size, it reminded me of my room when I was her age. Band posters and disposable photos of her and her friends adorned the walls, a vintage gold jewellery stand that I think is mine was sitting on her dresser, along with a framed photo of the two of us from when we were younger, and a collection of lip balms.

Then there were the Liberty Grove brochures, sprawled across the floor, sticky notes with scribbles and annotation tabs sticking out from the sides of them. Without asking, I kneeled beside them, my fingers grazing the front covers like they were treasured artifacts, before flicking through them and gazing at her notes.

It was like she’d laid her dreams on there, like this was her dream journal. She’d made notes of the places she thought would be good to study, with a key on the side about which season would be best. She’d tabbed some of the courses she thought she’d like, mainly the ones that had the word psychology in them somewhere.

That was her thing, Goldie, forever curious about the mind, and why people make the choices they make. Hers, our parents, mine… anybody’s really. Like when we were driving down the 405 to get back here, she decided to give me a masterclass on the psychology behind car colours.

She pointed out the two black sports cars in front of us, speeding and drag racing like they were the only two cars on the highway, telling me that people make a beeline for black cars because they represent power, and rebellion. Then she pointed out the Barbie pink mini, the one that wasn’t merging and sitting idly as a million cars drove before it, and told me that it’s usually the emotional, child-like, and whimsical ones that go for the pink ones.

I nudged her when she told me that, and I told her how I hated the stereotyping, but she told me to blame science, not her.

“So what does a yellow car say about someone?” I asked her, gesturing to the car we were sitting in.

“They represent optimism, and positivity, obviously. They show that a person isn’t afraid to be true to themselves.”

And right then, I knew I’d done well by buying her a yellow car.

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