Thank you for continuing to read my first Saturday Story: Rags to Riches. Please enjoy parts 11-15 below.
If you’re new to my blog (welcome!), you can find parts 1-5 here.
Give your life the green light. It’s A Go!
Amber Green
Rags to Riches
Parts 11-15
Part 11:
To Riches:
White gloves and caviar.
Themes, tastings, flowers and a professional team of event planners.
Couture dresses- each of them costing as much as my first car- and designer tuxedos.
Sound checks, dance floors and award-winning bands.
Hosting events is a lot more work than they used to be. Gone are the days that we’d run to the dollar store for party essentials, or rifle through discount store bins or shelves of second-hand shops in order to make our own centrepieces and decorations.
Having money is nice, but it changes things a bit. My family and close friends remain, but sometimes I miss our old community; people like my old regulars at the diner, and the neighbours who lived next door to my parents for decades.
Please don’t misunderstand me- I’ve met so many wonderful people.
Coming from my background, I note when I learn that the new people I’ve met grew up with wealth, and those who came from nothing and have toiled to earn every dollar. Oftentimes, I find it’s hard to tell. Is there really anything different between us? I wonder, lost in thought.
“Franca, the guests are arriving,” a pleasing baritone voice said behind me. He opened my dressing room door just enough to peek in, and grinned as he looked at me. I was dressed in a red, elegant gown that was fashioned to cling to just the right places. “You look stunning.”
I smiled and blushed slightly. “Thank you,” I said and walked over to kiss him. “Shall we?” I took his arm, and we walked out to greet my guests in the hall downstairs.
……
From Rags:
I thanked Dave and Chris for the ride home. They waved and drove off when I got to my door and rummaged in my purse for my keys. I could hear laughter and music playing inside the townhouse I shared with my roommate, Anna. She must have friends over, I thought, happily. (Yes, okay, I was tired, but it had been such a stressful day that it would be nice to relax with friends.)
I went in our front door, avoided the extra pairs of shoes in the hallway, and saw Anna manning the blender in the kitchen. She was dressed down in jeans and a t-shirt, her blonde hair up in a messy bun.
“Hey!” she smiled as she greeted me. “I invited people over; I hope you don’t mind.”
I grinned. “No, it will be nice to hang out.”
“Rough day?” Anna’s smile faltered, as her pale, blue eyes studied my face. We knew each other well, as we had been friends since high school, and roommates for years.
I paused to consider my answer. “Kind of? But it was a good day- I’ll- I’ll tell you later. Whatcha makin’?” I asked, brightly.
“Margaritas!” Anna exclaimed.
“Margaritas!” A few voices repeated from the living room.
“Not our first batch,” Anna said smiling, by way of explanation. “Have you talked to Kevin?”
“Uh, no, I haven’t talked to him since we hung out last night. I’ll text him to see if he wants to come over.”
“Are you sure? That would mean that you’ve seen each other two nights in a row!” She said with mock-surprise. “You’d better be careful! After six years of dating on and off, you two may be getting serious,” she grinned.
“Yeah, yeah. Clearly we’re in an upswing,” I said, rolling my eyes. I texted Kevin, who responded that he’d be over soon.
I took the pitcher of margaritas from Anna and greeted everyone in the living room.
…
We had polished off two pitchers of margaritas by the time Kevin arrived; considering I am not a seasoned drinker, and had been out at a pub for hours already, I had moved well beyond just ‘feeling tipsy’.
Anna greeted him at the door, laughing at a joke he told upon coming in. Kevin’s hair was slicked back; he was wearing jeans and my favourite leather jacket that always reminded me of old biker-gang movies. “Hey honey,” he smiled as he kissed me in the living room. “Having fun?”
“Yeah, a little too much, I think,” I responded, thickly. Kevin put his arm around me, as he drank his first drink. Anna appeared at my side.
“You okay?” She asked me. “I can help you upstairs, if you want?”
“No, no. That’s okay,” I told her.
“Are you sure? It’s not a big deal if you need to lie down,” she continued.
“No, no, thanks, but you know- I’m almost in my mid-thirties. Not my first time,” I explained.
“She’s just trying to help, Frankie,” Kevin said sharply, in Anna’s defence. Even in my altered state, I felt that his tone was an overreaction.
“I know,” I said, as I tried to decode the last 90 seconds in my alcohol-induced state. I saw Kevin and Anna glance at each other. It was nothing, really, but it was enough to make me feel uneasy- and this wasn’t the first time.
Alcohol was clouding my judgment, and music from the stereo filled my ears. It wasn’t the time to work out what I was missing, but even if I drank until dawn there was no way that I would forget the uncertainty I was feeling right now.
…………
Part 12:
To Riches:
Priscilla was sitting in her home theatre that had been outfitted with luxury recliners and custom art. An alcove housed a popcorn machine, a milkshake bar and a soda fountain. She sat before a screen that stretched the length of the wall that was more akin to those in movie theatres than the big-screen television her husband, Luke was thrilled to purchase just a few years ago.
Priscilla reclined in her chair and flipped through the channels. It had been weeks since she gave herself some time to relax; life was different now, but it was still a whirlwind of responsibilities. Her so-called type A personality didn’t help, as she was a lifelong perfectionist- oftentimes, to her own detriment.
Priscilla grew up the eldest of her siblings; her parents looked to her when she was a kid to set a good example for her sister, Franca and brother, Chris; an expectation she not only achieved, but regularly surpassed. As an adult, Priscilla was a high achiever and wonderful mother; equal parts intelligent businesswoman and nurturing caregiver. Being part of a tight-knit family was a blessing, but Priscilla simply didn’t know when to say “no”. No matter how many people requested something of her, she seemed to juggle everything flawlessly, as Priscilla was relied upon for so many things by so many people- and she secretly worried about not being able to stack up.
Like most parents, Priscilla worried about her boys. Compounded by her day-to-day stresses, sometimes the worry was just too much. It was not uncommon for anxiety and worry- especially when it came to her boys- to plague her. She hid her fears- her anxiety- behind a smile, and carried on.
Luke was her rock. Priscilla was fortunate to have him, as he was aware of the impossibly high standards that she set for herself. He stepped in often to remind her to take some time for herself. Still, as attuned to his wife’s needs as Luke seemed to be, he didn’t know how bad it could get- how Priscilla suffered. This past week, Priscilla struggled silently. Noting that she seemed a little run down, Luke suggested that she take some time for herself, so he took the boys out and left Priscilla to recharge.
Priscilla started watching a talk show about people living paycheque to paycheque; stressed about their jobs and anxiety about their day-to-day lives. Financial security wasn’t the main theme of the show, but each guest brought up the fact that more money would certainly ease their woes. Priscilla reflected on this, as she had lived with some financial instability and (now) great wealth. Money helped to alleviate certain issues (not worrying about paying bills was nice), but the icy grip of anxiety and self-doubt that threatened to swallow her like a back hole still loomed over Priscilla from time to time.
Perhaps she should finally talk to a professional about this.
……
From Rags:
“Hey,” I said, as my sister answered her phone.
“Hey,” Priscilla said. “How was the rest of your night?”
“I don’t know, actually,” I responded honestly.
“You weren’t that drunk when Chris and Dave dropped you off,” Priscilla reasoned.
“No, I was tipsy then; ‘drunk’ occurred a couple of pitchers of margaritas later. Anna had friends over,” I explained.
“Oh. You okay?”
I paused. “Yes, but I would love to talk to you about something; do you have time for coffee later?”
“Uh-oh. Boy trouble?”
“Maybe,” I confessed. “We’re in our thirties. Does it ever become ‘man trouble’?” I asked.
“Is Kevin acting like a man when you’re experiencing these problems?”
I could feel my sister smiling through the phone. Good point. “No,” I responded, and chuckled at my sister’s wit. “See you later.”
“Bye,” Priscilla said.
Priscilla hadn’t had time to put her phone back in her purse before it rang again.
“Hello?”
“Hi honey,” Priscilla’s mother, Melanie, greeted her brightly.
“Hi Ma,” Priscilla said, happily.
“Honey, I know you’re busy, but could you pick up ink for our printer? Your father always gets the wrong one.”
“Uh, yeah, Ma, sure, but you know their employees will help him find the right one, right?” Priscilla said, gently.
“I know, but he almost broke the printer trying to install it last time. Could you come over and do it? It doesn’t have to be today.”
Priscilla heard her father in the background. “Did you tell her about my cell phone? The damn thing won’t work,” he exclaimed in frustration.
“I heard,” Priscilla said.
“Maybe you could help us with that, too?” Her mother asked.
“Sure, mom, but it will have to be after dinner,” Priscilla said.
“Tomorrow’s okay, too,” her mother said.
“No, I can’t tomorrow. Today’s okay,” Priscilla assured her mother, as her call waiting beeped, urging her to answer a call from her brother.
“Okay. Thank you, honey. Love you,” Melanie said.
“Love you, too. Bye,” Priscilla responded. She ended the call with her mother, and answered her call waiting. “Hi Chris,” Priscilla said. “I just got off the phone to Frankie, then Mom. You’re my third call in a row. What’s up?”
“Hey! Well, you’re used to that,” Chris said. “We’re always in touch.”
That’s true, but not generally in the span of five minutes, Priscilla thought.
“I love those work boots you got for me,” Chris said, “Luke said that you’re going to the mall to pick out gifts for the boys’ friends. Could you pick me up another pair while you’re there?”
“Sure,” Priscilla said. “I have to get to work now, okay? Talk to you later,” Priscilla said.
“Great! Thanks! Bye,” Chris said, and disconnected.
…
With such a busy home life, sometimes Priscilla felt that her job offered her a little peace. That was not the case today, as everything that could possibly go wrong, went wrong. By lunch time, Priscilla was worn out.
Her cell phone buzzed; it was the boys’ school.
“Hello?” Priscilla answered.
“Yes, hello. This is Ms. White; may I speak to Mrs. Bruno-Rhodes, please?”
“Yes, hello, Ms. White. This is she. Is everything okay?” Priscilla inquired, her pulse increasing a little.
“Well, it has come to our attention that Nicholas has been bullied. I would like you and Mr. Rhodes to come in to discuss it with us,” Ms. White explained.
Priscilla paused for a moment. Stunned, she asked, “My Nicholas has been bullied?”
“Yes. We’ve had a problem with a couple of students bullying others. As you know, we have a zero-tolerance policy for bullying, and there was an altercation between them and your son today. Everything is fine, but we’d like to be as proactive as we can in reference to this matter through open dialogue,” Ms. White said, as if reciting a memorized line from the student handbook. “Could you and Mr. Rhodes meet with me today after school?”
“Yes, of course. I will pick up my son shortly,” Priscilla said, mentally assessing her already packed day.
“That’s your decision, but everything really is fine. Nicholas will be okay until the end of the day,” Ms. White assured her.
Priscilla wasn’t convinced, but she decided to call Luke before deciding. “Okay. Thank you, Ms. White,” Priscilla said, and disconnected. Priscilla sat for a moment. How could I not have known that my child is being bullied? Why wouldn’t he have told me? He hasn’t been acting differently, she thought, but maybe I haven’t been paying attention, and missed the signs, she thought, guiltily.
Luke answered his phone on the second ring.
“Hey,” he answered, sounding relaxed.
“Hey. Nick’s school called. He’s been bullied,” Priscilla said in one breath.
“Really?” Luke asked, sounding surprised. “Did they give you any details?”
“No,” Priscilla answered shrilly, “but they want to meet with us after school. Can you make it? I think I should go pick him up now.”
“Uh- yeah, of course I can make it, and no, you shouldn’t pick him up. The school would’ve told you to pick him up, if needed,” Luke said. “You’re sounding stressed. It’s okay. Everyone was bullied when we were kids. Schools have to be careful, but I’m sure everything’s fine.” He paused. “Are you okay? I have a feeling that you’re mentally reviewing parenting blogs and terrible news articles as we speak,” he said, gently.
He knows me too well, Priscilla thought.
“We’ll meet with the school, and then take the boys out for pizza,” he said.
“Okay, but you’ll have to take the boys home after dinner. I have to go to the mall, buy gifts for the kids’ friends and another pair of boots for Chris, buy printer ink, stop by my parents’ house and meet Frankie for coffee,” Priscilla said.
“Exactly how many hours does your day have?” Luke asked.
“It’s a busy week, or else I would shuffle things around,” Priscilla explained. “I can manage.”
“Yes, but you don’t have to,” Luke reminded her. “I love you.”
“I love you, too. See you at the school,” Priscilla said.
“See you then. Bye,” Luke said and disconnected.
I can’t believe I didn’t know what was going on, Priscilla admonished herself, privately. How did I not know? Oh my gosh, I hope CJ and Jordan aren’t being bullied, too. Priscilla thought, anxiously.
………
Note from the author:
I write each post close to (or on) my self-imposed Saturday deadline each week, however, I follow a weekly outline that I created for numerous posts of Rags to Riches about five weeks ago.
Upon reviewing my outline for this week (in which Priscilla deals with anxiety, and she reflects on the ways in which substantial wealth does not solve all of one’s problems), I paused at the thought of writing the above, as Kate Spade and Anthony Bourdain (people who lived what seemed to be picture-perfect lives) committed suicide this week.
Though I never met either of these two individuals (I’m just a freelance writer living in Canada), I was rocked by news of their deaths. If you are experiencing mental health issues or entertaining thoughts of self harm, please reach out to your trusted support system and seek professional help immediately. If you notice a change in someone’s behaviour or get a gut-feeling that something is not right with someone you care about, please offer assistance. As long as it’s done in a caring and sensitive manner, I feel that we must risk NOT minding our own business in order to offer a helping hand from time to time. It’s up to us to reach out to each other, to check in and provide support when life gets tough (even if everything appears to be prefect to the outside world).
Loneliness and depression knows no limitations and does not discriminate.
The world is a better place with you in it. Thank you for reading.
…
Part 13:
To Riches:
Nonno is the Italian word for grandfather, but we call our paternal grandfather (our last living grandparent), Papa.
I was excited to show Papa our new lifestyle, and shower him with gifts for Father’s Day (I’d never been able to do this before). As the family showed him our new, big homes, expensive furnishings and luxurious items, he smiled and nodded in acknowledgement of how nice everything was, but really, he didn’t seem all that impressed by our good fortune.
Secretly, I was a little crestfallen that he wasn’t more enthusiastic about our new lifestyle. As the day wore on, his demeanour remained pleasant but mildly aloof; his lack of enthusiasm made me feel that it seemed in poor taste- tacky, even- to show him house after house, car after car, and object after object. I might as well have filled a pool with bills and thrown him in like Scrooge McDuck diving into his pool of riches.
When we were alone for a few minutes later on that evening, I asked, “Papa, did you enjoy the day? Maybe- maybe it was a bit too much to show you everything all at once,” I concluded, awkwardly.
“It was a busy day, Franca, but I’m glad that you’re happy,” he responded, kindly. Upon seeing the disappointed look on my face, he took my hand and continued, “Money is nice, Franca, but it’s just a tool. Family- the people you love- they are the most important. Make sure that you continue working on relationships rather than just adding to my son’s car collection,” he finished with a smile.
So that was it. What good is all the wealth if there’s no one to share it with? Loved ones and family members (whether you were born into a tight-knit family like mine, or make your own family later on in life) are the most important.
…
From Rags:
I parked at my favourite café. I was meeting my sister for coffee, but she was running late, so I called my mother from the car.
“Hi Mom,” I said, when she answered the phone.
“Hi honey,” my mother, Melanie, responded warmly.
“I’m meeting Priscilla for coffee, but she’s running late, so I thought I’d give you a quick call,” I explained.
“Yes, I know. Your sister told us when she dropped by. She helped us with our printer and your father’s cell phone,” she said.
“That’s nice of her,” I said. “She really juggles a lot.”
“I know,” my mother said with admiration.
“Listen, I don’t mean for this to be awkward, but what are we doing for Father’s Day? It’s coming up.”
My mother paused for a moment. We’ve always had brunch or gotten together to celebrate Father’s Day, Mother’s Day, birthdays and holidays, but my father hadn’t spoken to Chris since he came out to my parents as a gay man after our last family brunch the other day.
“Yeah, we’ll plan something, darling; I just don’t know what yet,” my mom assured me.
“Okay, well, let me know if I can help,” I said.
“I will. Thanks, Franca. Love you. Bye,” my mom said.
“Bye,” I said, and we disconnected. My family had gone through rough patches just like any other, but when there was any kind of divide amongst us, it was usually just between us siblings, or my dad and Chris on one side and my mom, sister and me holding the opposing view. As we grew up, there were times that my siblings and I united against our parents wishes, but to have a divide between Chris and my father was utterly foreign. I thought about all of the Father’s Days my siblings and I celebrated with our father in the past. Our most exciting of times were spent at a ball game (and even then, we were in the nose-bleed seats at the top of the bleachers) or a car show (much to the happiness of my father). But we always had a good time. I’d have to ask Priscilla what dad looked like, and what she thought we should do for Father’s Day when she finally arrived.
…
My mother stood in the kitchen for a moment after our conversation. She took a deep breath and went into the living room.
“Who were you talking to?” my father asked, “Did Priscilla forget something?”
“No, it was Franca,” my mother said, sitting next to him. “She wanted to know what we are doing for Father’s Day.”
My father broke eye contact with my mother, and silently focused his attention on the television.
“Don’t shut me out, Carlos,” my mother said firmly. After another moment of icy silence, she changed her strategy, and said softly, “I know that this hard. We didn’t see it coming. We didn’t anticipate this life for our son, but our child is happy. We have to move past this,” she urged.
My father didn’t move. He made no indication that he realized that his wife was still in the room, let alone trying to converse with him.
“We have three beautiful children- three beautiful grandchildren; we didn’t work this hard for this long for one thing– something we can’t control- to tear us apart,” my mother said- her voice strong, but on the verge of pleading.
My parents knew each other well. They’re a strong couple, but Melanie knew in that moment that her husband was not going to budge tonight. She stood in front of the television. He did not look up at her, but pretended he could see through her.
“Family is important, Carlos. And I’ll be damned if the fact that our son sleeps with David instead of Daphne will tear us apart,” she pledged, and stormed out of the living room.
………
Part 14:
To Riches
“Chris! Chris?” Dave called through their spacious foyer. “Chris, we have to go! Where are you?!”
Dave checked his watch for the third time in two minutes. They were running late, and Dave hated being late to any event- especially for an Engines & Fenders gala.
With the help of Franca’s windfall, Chris had invested heavily in Dave’s auto-repair shops, making Engines & Fenders a worldwide brand in a few short years. Chris and Dave were a good couple- including when working as business partners.
Chris had come a long way since working at Luke’s construction company; his instincts for business and investing were sharp. Though a good businessman himself, when he wasn’t fixing cars, Dave was more interested in the marketing side of his brand; he connected with people, and enjoyed coaching managers and employees, alike.
Exasperated, Dave called Chris’s cell phone (it was faster than checking every room of their vast home). Fortunately, he answered on the first ring.
“Hey,” Chris answered.
“Chris- where are you? We should have already left.”
“Really?” Chris sounded surprised and… relaxed. “Oh. Oh. Oookay, okay. I’ll be right there.”
Dave ended the call. He didn’t need to see Chris to know that he had been drinking.
Damn. Chris had been doing so well, Dave thought, miserably.
……
From Rags
I caught up on phone calls while waiting in the car for my sister to arrive. When she text to let me know she would be just a few minutes longer, I got our favourite table and ordered our coffees. Within minutes, Priscilla arrived.
“Hey P,” I stood up and gave her a quick hug.
“Hey Frankie. Sorry I’m so late; it’s been crazy,” Priscilla shrugged her shoulders, allowing her head to slump for a second, as if she’d been carrying the weight of the world.
“That’s okay. I know that you’re busy. How could you not be with a husband and three boys?”
Priscilla smiled, but it disappeared and her expression looked momentarily drawn. “Luke and I met with the principal of the boys’ school today.”
“Why? Are they okay?” I asked, genuinely concerned about my nephews.
“Nicholas has been bullied,” Priscilla said.
“Nick?! How?” I exclaimed. “What happened?” Before Priscilla could answer, my phone rang. My sister nodded towards my bag, encouraging me to answer it.
“Sorry,” I said glancing briefly at my sister as I fished through my purse for my phone. “It could be the diner,” I explained. “Hello?” I answered the call from a number I didn’t recognize.
“Hi- hello,” a man answered awkwardly. “This is Dave. Is this Franca?”
“Hi Dave,” I responded, looking at my sister with a quizzical why-is-our-brother’s-boyfriend-calling-me? look. “Yes, this is Franca.”
“Hi, um, I know this is odd for me to call; I got your number from Chris’s cell phone,” Dave said. He was clearly feeling awkward, but his tone was urgent, nonetheless.
“Yeah, okay. Wh-what’s up?”
“Look, Chris would kill me if he knew I was calling you; in fact, he’ll probably break up with me once he learns of this conversation-“
“Dave, you’re freaking me out. What the hell is going on?” I asked, eyes wide.
“Chris is getting his stomach pumped. He’s unconscious. We’re at the hospital.”
“What?!” I asked Dave, then relayed the message to my sister.
With the phone to my ear, I could hear Dave rambling, as he tried to explain quickly. “Chris went to my place after work, and when he got home I guess he started drinking and didn’t stop. He was passed out when I got home, and not the normal had a-few-too-many. I’ve seen people with alcohol poisoning before, so I called 911.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. My sister was already standing gathering her things, and she ushered me out of the café.
“Okay, we’re coming. Thanks, Dave,” I said, and disconnected.
“We’ll take my car,” I told Priscilla. She nodded, as we scrambled to get into the car.
I was numb with fear. My hand shook as I put the key into the ignition of my car, and I took a couple of deep breaths to calm myself.
Please let my brother be okay.
………
Part 15:
To Riches:
It’s not a big deal. Everyone is just so damn sensitive, Chris thought to himself, justifying yet another drink on a Wednesday evening.
Dave was on a business trip for their chain of auto repair shops, and Chris was sitting alone on their beautiful terrace. Ice cubes clanked around in the glass as Chris drank deeply.
The sun shone down. It was a beautiful day. How many gorgeous afternoons had Chris spent on a patio enjoying a few too many? (He really couldn’t even wager a guess…)
Throughout the years, Chris had worked every program, read every self-help book about alcoholism, sought counselling and meditated. For decades, he had been on a continuous roller coaster between the lows of alcoholism and highs of sobriety (though, sometimes sobriety felt very, very low).
Every time he was sober for a while, he felt good; he fooled himself and those around him into thinking that he finally had his drinking under control. He wrangled alcoholism; beat it into submission- only to drink again (whether it be days, weeks, months or even years later, it didn’t matter. It classified as failure in his eyes- and worse, in the eyes of his partner and family members).
How did this thing that started out as fun (and even celebrated) in his twenties turn into a crutch? Alcohol had slowly crept in to form a large part of his very lifestyle over the years. He ignored it as best as he could (which was probably the worst thing for him), but when he forced himself to confront it, he was ashamed. He ignored his sisters’ watchful eyes and his mom’s pursed lips when he openly drank in front of the family (those times were few and far between, but they had happened over the years). He ignored Dave’s anger and resentment. He ignored the gnawing feeling that he himself deserved better. Ignore, ignore, ignore. I really am my father’s son, Chris thought to himself, bitterly, as he poured himself another drink.
Dave could never know that Chris had been drinking today. He had had so much hope for Chris’s sustained sobriety this last time…
From Rags:
“Should I call Mom?” Priscilla asked Franca from the passenger seat.
Franca’s hands gripped the steering wheel tightly; she focused on getting them to the hospital where their brother was being treated for alcohol poisoning. Franca exhaled a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.
“Yeah, Dave said Chris is unconscious. Call them,” Franca said.
Priscilla called their parents’ number from her cell phone. “Hi daddy,” Priscilla said calmly when their father answered the phone. Franca rolled her eyes- their mother always answered the phone; in fact, this was probably one of five times their father answered their home phone throughout their parents’ marriage. Where the hell is mom? she thought.
“Daddy-” (whether it be because she was their first child, or because she had always been a ‘Daddy’s girl’, Priscilla was the only one of his adult children to call him this; Chris and Franca always stuck with plain ol’ ‘dad.’) “-where’s mom?” Priscilla waited for him to respond. “She’s on her way home now? Okay. I’m sure everything is fine-” Franca grimaced at this, as she knew her father was probably suffering from a mild heart attack at this less-than-comforting phrase, “-but Chris is in the hospital. He’s being treated for alcohol poisoning.”
The hospital was just ahead of them now. Franca thought one more prayer for her brother’s recovery, as she turned into the hospital’s entrance.
“What do you mean, ‘how do we know?'” Priscilla asked their father patiently. “Dave called us, and said-” Priscilla paused. Her tone changed from calm and patient to short and icy with her next sentence. “What do you mean, ‘mom will meet us?'” Priscilla scoffed and gave me her Are you kidding me? look through a side glance. Anger entered my sister’s voice, “Dad, this has gone on long enough. He is your son. Come with mom,” she paused again as our father responded. Priscilla flushed, and her voice shook with equal parts disbelief and rage. “Yeah, well, dad, fine. Just know that it’s probably your fault that Chris in the hospital to begin with.” She ended the call.
I almost hit a parked car as I whipped my head around to stare wide-eyed at my sister.
“What?” Priscilla asked, exasperated.
“Nothing- no, it’s just, I can’t believe you said that to dad.”
“Yeah, well, usually I talk to him like his daughter, but today I had to talk to him like a parent.” In that moment, my father- the man my sister thought hung the moon- was just another person, focused on all the wrong things. “Would you park already?” she asked, frustrated.
I pulled into the next available spot, and we raced for the hospital’s entrance.
………
**Continue to parts 16-20 here.**
*This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
© 2018-2020 Amber Green
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Amber Green is a self-published Canadian author and freelance writer. Her short stories can be found here: www.amazon.com/author/ambergreen