Day 1 - 7:00 pm

We sit at a ridiculously long dark wooden table. It’s so polished I can see my reflection, warped but recognisable. The table is far too big for the amount of people seated around it, Maida is to my left, my mother sits at one end, closest to a large window that overlooks the garden. My brother sits across from me and next to his wife, a small blonde with blindingly white teeth.

The dining room is huge, a grand piano is placed in one corner, shelves full of porcelain plates line one wall. Thick curtains with burgundy tassels surround the windows, a small chandelier hangs above us, shining down on a large vase of white roses.

I look across the table at my brother, he looks just like me, my male mirror image. Same dark eyes, same nose. His wife Chelsea can’t seem to stop fidgeting, she keeps telling mundane stories about work, she’s the receptionist in my brother’s practice. I zone out of the conversation, I feel like I need to be doing something, working out why I'm here. I sit back and push my food along my plate with my fork.

“Can you eat like a normal person?” My mother chides me, reaching over and slapping my arm. I have nothing to say back to her, she’s still a stranger to me.

“So Michael, have you thought about managing the diner? It would really help me out.”

“I really don’t have the time at the moment. I know I’ll have to run the place eventually, maybe Chelsea could give it a shot?”

Chelsea beams and my mother looks on in horror.

“Why would he run the diner, if he’s a doctor?” I ask, confused.

“We own the diner.” Michael says, looking at me like I’m an idiot.

“The one in town? We ate there today.” Maida says.

“We own the diner?” I ask again.

“Yes, we own most of the businesses in town Elena.” Michael says.

“Michael is going to have to run things once I’m gone, so it’s important that he starts somewhere.” My mother says, patting my brother’s hand.

“What about me? What am I meant to run?” I ask.

“Nothing sweetheart, you're too irresponsible and you don’t have much of a knack for business anyway. Your father stipulated that you’d be left a small sum upon our deaths.”

“What about the house?”

“That will be going to Michael as well. He’ll have a family and will need the space.”

“I’m really looking forward to modernising the decor here, completely changing this whole ecstatic!” Chelsea says enthusiastically, throwing her hands up in the air, colourful bracelets jangling on her wrists.

“Aesthetic. Chelsea.” My mother corrects her, not for the last time that night.

I sit silently for the rest of the meal, hearing the odd conversation that the others are involved in, continuing to zone in and out. I watch my family and hope that I’ll learn where I fit in in the grand scheme of things. It seems like I’m pretty low in the hierarchy. It’s amazing how much you can learn so quickly even without the aid of horribly painful flashbacks.

Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

My mother is a painful snob who's trying way too hard. She’s putting on a posh accent to make herself sound more sophisticated but occasionally it slips. She’s unfriendly towards everyone apart from my brother. They could have this place, I didn’t care, I had no use for any of it now anyway. As the dinner drags on, I understnad why I left. Chelsea is as lost, if not more so, than I am. She’s trying very hard to look interested, but her eyes are wide and keep darting around the room. She keeps trying to join the conversation but my mother keeps continually correcting her with an acidic tone. I feel sorry for Chelsea, she seems nice. Maida doesn’t say much, she seems to be as uncomfortable here as I am. How odd, considering I live here.

Dinner finally wraps up, my brother and his wife leave quickly and my mother goes to her room. Agnes begins to clean up, I offer to help but she shoos me away. I go to my bedroom, Maida follows. I close the door and we sit on the large bed.

“How are you doing? What do you think so far?” She asks.

“Not much, they don’t seem like great people.” I reply.

“Your mother is kind of mean. Your brother too, actually.”

“Yeah, I wonder what I was like? What if I was just like them?”

Maida shrugs. “Well, I guess you can change.”

“Yeah, with what little time I have.” We sit silently for a moment, I’m trying to process everything.

“You know you’re probably the only person I can trust right now.”

“There’ll be others, don’t worry.”

“It’s hard being a stranger in your own life.”

“You better get some rest. It's been a big day. You going to be okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Night.”

Maida leaves, closing the door softly behind her. I lay down on the bed and stare at the red fabric draped above me. I hate it and pull the fabric off the frame. I lay back down, looking at an empty ceiling. The beige paint is cracked. The fine lines darkened by the dim light. I try to relax. I’m not sure if I need sleep, but I close my eyes anyway.

I’m sitting inside by a window, I feel the cold coming through the glass. I look outside, it’s snowing heavily, it’s so thick I can barely see through the snowflakes to the trees, I touch the glass, it’s slippery, cold and wet. A fire is roaring behind me, I can hear it crackling. I walk over and stand with my back to the flames, warming my legs. I look through the doorway and see my brother sitting down reading a book. He looks up at me, so young, a smirk on his face, he gives me the finger. I look away, my mother walks past me and goes through to the kitchen, she’s yelling at a woman, a young maid, she looks miserable. She’s dressed in a black shift dress, pearls wrapped around her neck. She comes back in and grabs my arm, pulls me out the door, tells my brother to follow. We walk through the big wooden front doors, into a black sedan that’s waiting for us outside, we pile into the back and the car begins to move. I look out the window as we drive slowly away from the house, past the fountain, the gardens, through the trees.

It’s so cold, I begin to shake, my mother tells me to stop. I wrap my arms around myself. It’s a short drive to the church. My mother gets out of the car and pulls my brother behind her, grabbing him by the arm, I follow behind.

I look up at the big stone church, a towering structure, its roof and steeple coated with heavy snow. We walk up the steps, I look down at my feet, each step conquered one by one. Once inside, my mother walks towards the front pew and we all sit, her in the middle. I look ahead, a glossy black casket sits in the centre of the platform in front of us. A photo of my father off to the left on a stand. I look up at my mother, she’s so composed. Her hair is perfect, her dress wrinkle free, she doesn’t even shake in the cold. She’s possessed by the need to look like she’s in control. We sit patiently while the building begins to fill up. My father must have been a popular man for so many people to travel in this weather.

I feel immensely sad, I loved my father and now he was gone. It felt like he’d been my only friend. My grandmother sits in our pew, sitting next to my brother she smiles at him and gives him a hug, she doesn’t acknowledge me. I begin to cry, my mother pinches my arm, glares across at me and tells me to stop it between gritted teeth. I try to hold it in but I just feel worse.