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Past
Frivolous would be the word I would use to describe my mother. Followed by superficial and shallow.
I thought mothers were supposed to have like this maternal instinct or something? To protect their children. Love them. Say kind words when they're not feeling happy. Hug and kiss them when they're sick.
Not Cattleya.
Nope. My mother is nothing like that. Since I can remember she's always been this distant woman who gave birth to my sister and I.
If I felt sick, she'd roll her eyes and accuse me of lying just so I couldn't go to school. When I cried because my first pet Lily, died, she refused to let me bury her and called me a payasa for hurting over an animal. Never a hug or comforting words for her daughter.
Oh but if I'd mess up my hair for playing with my toys then all hell broke lose. It was time out or a smack on the arm. That kind of affection was natural to her.
I never understood how my dad could love her.
Gowns displayed on mannequins surround me as my mother and I walk into the boutique. We head straight to the woman, who sits behind the reception desk. "How may I help you ladies?" She asks, with a smile.
My mother puts on her best fake smile. "Perkins. We have an appointment."
The woman behind the reception desk—who appears to be in her early sixties—pushes her glass up, and perks up another smile. "Yes, of course. I have you down for two o'clock."
Without either of them noticing, I roll my eyes. My mother is forcing me—that's a shocker—to participate in the upcoming debutante ball. Since I'm fifteen now she insists on presenting me to society.
Gag.
The last thing I want to do is sound like a ungrateful brat. Because that's not what this is about. I'm beyond thankful for my father and everything he's given to us.
A life of luxury. Both of my parents come from money. And yet, both families are extremely different. My dad comes from a big and rich family. They have properties all over the States. Now my mother's family is different from every angle. Her father is now half owner of a insurance corporation over in Spain. While her mother is the daughter of a Mexican politician.
Needless to say that my grandmother's family pretty much sold her into marriage with my grandfather. And in return, she did the same to my mother—in a way.
My parents had an arranged marriage.
And while my dad is probably the sweetest man on the planet, and I'm beyond grateful for him and the life he has given us... I don't want their life.
