The Light of Roria

Chapter Two

I sat on my gray microfiber sofa with Watson (a name I'd granted him after the beloved character from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's classic series), my golden retriever, resting his snout on my outstretched leg. His large dark eyes pleaded for another ear scratch while his tail began to shake when I finally acknowledged him. Smiling, I patted his head affectionately before flipping the page of an incredible fantasy thriller. In the amazing tale, a young princess had renounced the throne, giving up her title to join a rebellion against unlawful treatments throughout the land. In the end, she fell in love with a knight who helped defeat her corrupt father. I had already read the story. But let's face it, this kind of stuff really didn't get old for me. Even at nineteen.

"Jelly Bean, it's Mom!" There was a swift knock at the door, and my mom's voice rang clear from the outside. I sighed reluctantly, rolled my eyes, and headed for the door. This would be her third visit this week, and it was only Thursday.

"Hey, Mom," I said, opening the door and heading back for the couch. My father, who occasionally tagged along for these random check-ins, had chosen to stay home this time.

Mom smiled and walked inside, shutting the door behind her. Watson happily greeted my mom as she lightly brushed his head. She wasn't a dog person like I was, but she gave him the occasional pat.

"When I was here Monday, you were out of bread. Did you buy some?" She inquired, her nose slightly raised and her hands on her hips. My mother's dark hair was pulled back into a bun. It brought out the definition of her cheekbones. She was short and thin, and even with a few age lines, she still looked pretty.

"I didn't feel like bread, so I didn't care to buy any," I said, flipping another page.

I hadn't bothered to pull my eyes away from the pages. I wasn't exactly thrilled that my mother and father constantly forced themselves into every aspect of my life. I had moved away from home to become a little more independent, but they weren't giving me the chance.

"Well TV dinners won't cut it every night, Ady. You need something with sustenance. Even your father, who stated he had too much paperwork to come tonight, told me to mention there'd be a home-cooked meal every night if you'd just consider coming home."

I nodded but remained focused on my book. She crossed her arms over her chest and peered down at me with a displeased expression.

I made a point of letting her wait before finally granting her my attention. "What?" I grunted.

At first she said nothing, but as I began to read the look in her eyes, it was clear to me, even without words, what she was thinking. My mother wasn't exactly a fan of my fascination with fantasy stories. Though the words rarely came out of her mouth, the expressions, or lack thereof, spoke loud enough. My best guess was that she assumed that I was going through a juvenile phase and that, maybe with some hope and a little luck, I'd begin reading what she considered more appropriate titles.

My mother raised an eyebrow, stared at the book, and said, "Have you ever thought about reading something with a little more value? Maybe something like To Kill a Mockingbird?"

I rolled my eyes. "I've read it. It's a great book. I just can't remember a single line in that story where a knight, who believes in honor and all things true, saves an entire kingdom from a terrifying fate."

"Addisyn, it's just fiction. I don't know why you constantly have your head in the clouds. You should be focusing on your studies or reading books that don't just create fanciful dreams. You did choose to be on your own; I'd like to see you try a little harder."

I quickly shut the book and, flustered, ran a hand through my hair. "Mom, it's just a book."

Quickly standing on my feet, I headed for the kitchen and hoped she'd drop the conversation.