In Plain Sight (4 page)

This might be the worst Spring Break ever. It’s as if the moment I realized I didn’t want to be my brother, everything in the universe decided to work against me out of spite. Even my parents seem to like me a little less with each thing I do that doesn’t fit on their agenda for my future. They’re my parents and I love them and all, but they can’t just force me into a mold of something I don’t want to be.

After the uneventful beach party, I’d driven home feeling miserable and wishing I’d gotten drunk. Then of course, I’d have had to spend the night at the beach, which would have made for a worse night. So I guess staying sober and getting home was a good thing.

But now that I’m here, it’s three in the morning and I can’t sleep. Senior year is supposed to be the year you glide through school, knowing what your future holds and being old enough to forget about all the lame shit that happens in younger grades. Instead, I feel like I’m stuck spinning my wheels, moving in no direction at all.

Except maybe down.

I lay on my back in bed, tossing a foam ball up in the air and catching it over and over again. I’ve spent a lot of time in this bed, not sleeping. Just after football season started, I injured my knee and had to have two surgeries. After the first surgery, my parents and doctors were hopeful that I’d play sports again and attract a scout for college football.

The very thought made me cringe. It’s bad enough that I’ve been hiking balls and passing balls and playing football since I was in fifth grade—but now they wanted me to play in college, too?

The first surgery didn’t help much, and my injury was worse than ever. The second surgery helped a lot, but I was given a warning that another injury from football could leave me in a wheelchair, and my parents regretfully let me quit the team. I’m still technically “on” the team since I was at the start of the school year, but I’m benched, there for moral support of my teammates only.

Honestly? I couldn’t be happier.

I don’t want to play football. It’s not that the game isn’t fun, it’s that Greg played football. Greg got a scholarship. Greg played college ball. Greg is the greatest son on earth. I get it.

I don’t want to be Greg.

My stomach rumbles and I toss the ball into a pile of dirty clothes on the floor. All those s’mores for dinner didn’t really do the trick. I need protein. No, I need cheese and pasta—even better.

Being as quiet as possible because my parents are asleep, I head into the kitchen and set a pot of water on the stove to boil. I dig out some elbow macaroni and begin grating all three of the types of cheese we have in the fridge. I decide to fry up some bacon while I’m at it, working quickly while my stomach growls, begging for me to hurry up.

The only thing better than homemade mac and cheese is adding chopped up bacon to it.

I eat what’s probably five servings of pasta while watching Netflix. Though my body is tired, my brain doesn’t feel like sleeping, and that blows. This comfort food really puts me in a better mood though, and I find myself thinking not for the first time that it would be fun to go to culinary school. I love cooking almost as much as I love eating. Maybe I could own a restaurant one day.

That would really piss off my parents, who’d like to see me become an accountant like them or something they consider better, like a lawyer or even a doctor. But if it’s my future, I should be excited about it, right?

I’d like to work for myself, I know that much. Having a little bistro or steakhouse in town would be kind of awesome. I could work on signature dishes and have a goal of attracting the attention of one of those Food TV shows that travel around doing stories on awesome restaurants.

I’m imagining myself on TV when my phone beeps with a new Snapchat alert.

It’s from Maria. She’s wearing black underwear and a hot pink bra, posing in front of a tall mirror in a way that shows off all her curves.

The photo caption says,
I miss you
and I realize one second too late that since I opened the damn thing, she’ll know I’m awake too.

Two minutes later, another snap comes through and I groan, hating myself for being so stupid. This one is a selfie, up close with her boobs squished together between her arms.

Talk to me
the caption says.

I debate what to write back. Then I realize I don’t have to write back. Sure, the app tells her I’ve seen her provocative pictures, but it doesn’t force me to reply to her, or to even react at all. I let the snap expire and then toss my phone on the pillow next to me. Maybe ignoring her will finally teach her that I’m not interested. She, and so many girls like her, seem to think that showing off their goods will make guys come running into their arms. I don’t want a girl like that, one who shows off everything she has to any ol’ guy who comes around. My dream girl wouldn’t act like that.

Unfortunately, just like my restaurant idea, my dream girl exists somewhere only in my imagination.

I wake up on Saturday morning to the scent of lavender bedsheets and the soft glow of sunlight streaming in through the window. Only my window is covered in newspapers to keep out the heat and my room always smells like mold. So what the heck is going on?

My eyes fling open, staring at an immaculate white ceiling. All of the events of yesterday come back to me, nearly knocking the breath out of my lungs. It almost felt like moving into our new home was some kind of dream, some fantastic illusion that would never actually happen in my lifetime.

Yet, as I scoot up in my new bed, letting my head rest against the padded headboard, the feather down comforter soft under my fingertips, I realize it did happen. This is my new room.

This mansion, this two story gigantic house with six bedrooms, two kitchens, three living areas, a movie room and a swimming pool—it’s all my new home.

Last night was a whirlwind of awesome. My little sisters were in awe as we drove up to the house, which has an actual gate in the front and everything. Mom was watching for us and she opened the gate when we arrived. Landon later gave me a gate key to keep in my car to open it myself.

First impressions of Landon are pretty good. He’s a little older than Mom, with salt and pepper hair that looks good on him. He’s tall, handsome (for a guy in his forties), and very smart. He’s the kind of guy who uses words like
ergo
and
fiduciary
in his everyday conversations.

He’d said he was an investment banker and although I’m not exactly sure what that is, it’s clear he makes a lot of money from it. And the best part is that he seems to really love Mom. They held hands all night long, smiled at each other constantly and laughed about everything.

Mom is like a freaking teenager, she’s so in love with him. I think this upcoming marriage might be a good thing, for all of us, so long as they’re really in love. And it seems like they are.

Starla was super shy around Landon, but Emma warmed up to him quickly, especially after he showed the girls to their new room. Mom had taken my advice and put their stuff into one room to share for now. In a house where the hallways are bigger than our old trailer, I don’t think they’d know what to do with two rooms.

Their old mattress that used to be on the floor is in the trash now. It’s been replaced with a brand new set of bedroom furniture that Mom and Landon picked out. It’s white, curved on the edges and looks fit for a princess. There’s a matching set in the room across the hall, waiting for when the girls decide to have separate rooms.

My room is also furnished. I have a black queen-sized bed with a white padded headboard. The dresser and vanity are beautiful and totally empty. I can’t really bring myself to unpack my crappy clothes into something so nice.

Landon and Mom told me to choose any of the rooms I wanted, but I picked the one next door to the girls’ room so I’d be close to them. The furniture was already here, and although Landon keeps saying I can change it out with other furniture in the other guest rooms, or even buy new stuff if I want, I’ve assured him this is fine.

I have a bay window that looks out into the front yard, shimmery lavender curtains with little sparrows on them, and a plush lavender rug on top of the already plush and heavenly white carpet. We’ve never lived anywhere with carpet that wasn’t covered in stains and grossness. Now, I could stand here forever, letting my toes thread through the soft fibers.

Everything is amazing. I feel like I’ve stepped out of the real world and into a dream where I don’t ever want to wake up.

Last night was such a whirlwind, that after Landon took us out to dinner at a fancy steakhouse where the meals were so expensive the prices weren’t listed on the menu, we got home with only enough time to get a shower and go to bed.

Today, I’ve been promised a tour of the place, and I’m most excited about the pool and the movie room. I mean, he can’t really have a theater in his house, can he?

My door swings open and Emma and Starla appear, holding hands and grinning. “I found your room,” Emma says.

“I told you I was just right next door,” I tell her with a laugh. Normally, it takes ages to get the girls to go to bed, but after our night last night, they fell fast asleep in their new beds—a twin for Emma and a crib for Starla—without so much as a fight. Starla rubs at her sleepy eyes and then rushes up to me. I pull them onto my bed, which has a mattress so plush it’s like three feet off the floor. The girls lay on my bed and Starla starts sucking her thumb, a sure sign that she’s content here.

“I’m hungry,” Emma says, squishing my comforter between her fingers. “How do we get food?”

“How about we venture down to the kitchen together, hmm?” I say. Honestly, I’m not really sure how to get down there, and I have no idea where Mom’s bedroom is, but she’d said their room is on the first floor while ours is upstairs.

There’s a light tap on the door and I startle at the sight of a strange woman standing there.

“Good morning, Miss Maddie,” she says, smiling sweetly as she enters my room. She’s about fifty years old I guess, wearing a light blue dress and white shoes. It should really dawn on me before she says it, but I’m a little flustered as of late.

“I’m Pamela, your maid. It’s so nice to meet you.”

Maid?

“Um, hi,” I say, sitting up straighter in bed. “This is Emma and Starla.”

She smiles and nods at the girls. “Breakfast is almost ready, would you like me to take you down?”

“Oh, that would be great,” I say, throwing off the blankets. I’m wearing leggings and a T-shirt and am suddenly very grateful I didn’t sleep in my underwear like I usually do when it’s too hot outside and Mom doesn’t want to run the air conditioner because it’s expensive.

Pamela tells me I can call her Pam, and she leads us down the ornate staircase and around a few corners and hallways until we reach the kitchen, where the smell of bacon and syrup makes my mouth water.

Mom and Landon sit at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and talking excitedly. The way she looks at her new fiancé makes her look so much younger, so less stressed out. Seeing her so happy makes that constant knot in my chest seem to fade away.

There’s another stranger manning the stove, a man with dark hair and a tattoo of a peppermill on his forearm. He gives me a polite nod, then loads up a platter with strips of bacon. Landon has a freaking personal chef.

“Good morning, girls!” Mom says, rising from her chair and rushing over to us. “You hungry?”

We all nod, and Mom puts Stella into a high chair, one of the expensive kinds unlike the thrift store one we used to have.

“Good morning, Landon,” I say, smiling politely.

“Morning,” he says, setting down his paper. Yes, he reads the paper at the kitchen table. How posh. “Did you sleep well?”

“Probably better than I’ve ever slept in my life,” I say, meaning every word.

We’re served breakfast by our own personal chef—whose name is Marc. I drink a ton of fresh squeezed orange juice and eat more bacon than I’ve ever had in one sitting.

I can tell my sisters are enjoying the abundance of food just as much as I am, because their little hands are sticky with syrup and they can’t stop smiling. This wonderful breakfast probably contains more food than we used to have in an entire week.

“So, Maddie,” Mom says, stirring her coffee. “I was thinking we could go shopping today. Maybe get some new clothes and some stuff to decorate your bathroom?”

That’s right. I have my own bathroom now. It’s attached to my bedroom and everything.

“Um,” I say, not sure how to respond. Mom has never simply wanted to go shopping for something we don’t desperately need. “When do you go to work?”

Mom’s eyes flit to Landon’s and he smiles, all straight teeth and dimples in his cheeks. “Honey, I’m not going back at all. I quit yesterday.”

My eyes widen. “What? Why?”

She holds up her hands as if to signal to our elaborate surroundings. “I don’t need to work anymore.”

“I am happy to support all of us,” Landon says, giving me a meaningful look. “I want Rose to be able to take some time off, focus on being a mom. She was working entirely too hard, don’t you agree?”

I nod. She has been working a lot. And with a date night once every two weeks or so, Mom’s schedule has been so full she’s barely had time for us. I guess Landon wants to pay us back for that.

“That’s really great, Mom.” I smile so she knows I mean it, and then I get back to her question. “But I don’t really need anything. I have enough clothes.”

“Nonsense. You live in Shady Heights now, and you’re a part of our new family with Landon.” Mom glances at him and he grins. They’re both so gooey and in love and I’m not sure if it’s cute or cringe-inducing. Maybe a little of both.

“While you ladies are shopping, I was thinking Pam and I could take the girls swimming.” Landon turns to my little sisters. “What do you say? Want to go swimming?”

Emma squeals her excitement, and Starla, too young to know what swimming is, squeals just to be like her big sister.

“But they don’t know how to swim,” I say, turning to Mom. Surely she won’t let her youngest daughters in harm’s way?

“No worries. Landon used to teach swimming lessons in college, so he’s really good,” Mom says as if she can read my mind. “And we bought floaties and life vests for the girls, so they’ll be totally safe.” She leans in and touches my arm. “Plus, I was thinking when we get back from shopping, we could take a little dip ourselves. I haven’t been in a pool in forever.”

A swim
would
be nice.

But all of this is so overwhelming, I’m still waiting to wake up from the most realistic dream ever.

“I guess we can go shopping,” I say, setting my fork down. “I mean, if you really want to.”

“I insist,” Mom says, putting a hand to her heart. “We’re Shady Heights gals now. We need to look like it!”

Shady Heights gals?

I swallow the lump in my throat and push my chair back. “Okay. That sounds fun, but I think I need to take a walk, if that’s okay?”

“Sure,” Mom says.

“Anything wrong?” Landon asks, his eyebrows drawn together.

I shake my head. “I’d just like a walk. Maybe get some fresh air.”

The truth is, all of these changes are sucking the air out of my lungs. I feel like I’m on the verge of a massive panic attack, and yet my mother is smiling and laughing and acting like life is wonderful. I guess life
is
wonderful now.

But I could still use some fresh air.