Just a Matter of Time

Amara

Rolling around in bed, I sighed, staring at the clock. It was already noon, and I was supposed to have been up, packed, and on the road, heading out of the city. But instead, here I was, tangled in my sheets, trying to find the willpower to start my day.

Mumbling to myself, I finally forced my body to move, dragging myself into the bathroom. Maybe going out last night with Kim wasn't the smartest idea. We had way too much to drink, and now I looked like a hungover mess. My hair was a disaster, my eyes bloodshot, and my head pounded with every movement. I splashed some cold water on my face, trying to wake up, but it did little to help.

As if on cue, my phone began to buzz on the nightstand, killing any hope I had of easing into the morning. I stumbled back to the bed, groaning as I picked it up and swiped to answer.

"Amara! Why are you not here yet?" my mother's voice screeched through the speaker, making me wince. I closed my eyes, bracing myself for the inevitable lecture that would follow.

"Good morning, Mother," I mumbled, toothbrush in hand as I started to scrub the remnants of last night's escapades away.

"What time will you arrive?" she demanded, her tone sharp with impatience. I glanced at the clock again, calculating how long it would take me to pull myself together and make the drive.

"Probably 12:30 or 1 p.m.," I answered, stifling a yawn. "I just need to shower and get on the road."

"Amara, you promised you'd help with the preparations! We have guests arriving, and everything needs to be perfect. You know how important this weekend is," she said, her voice softening slightly, but the underlying worry was still there.

"I know, Mom. I'll be there soon, I promise," I reassured her, rinsing out my mouth. I could almost hear her sigh of relief through the phone.

"Alright, but please hurry. And don't forget to bring the wine," she reminded me before hanging up quickly, not giving me a chance to respond.

Today was my mother's birthday, and every year she loved to throw a small party with her friends at the house. It was a tradition I had grown used to but never quite embraced. Unlike her, I wasn't the type to bask in the spotlight or enjoy being the center of attention. My mother thrived on it, soaking up every compliment, every admiring glance, while I preferred to stay on the sidelines, observing rather than participating. Maybe that's why we butted heads so often—I could never understand her need to be the life of the party, and she could never understand my desire to stay out of it.

I left the bathroom and headed to my closet, pulling out the dress I'd picked for today. A soft, floral sundress that was perfect for a summer afternoon. It was simple yet elegant, a small concession to the festive mood of the day. I slipped it on, the fabric cool against my skin, and twirled in front of the mirror once to make sure it looked alright. After brushing my hair and applying a touch of makeup to hide the evidence of my late night, I felt somewhat human again.

Grabbing my purse, I made my way to the kitchen, where a bottle of my mother's favorite wine sat waiting. I tucked it under my arm and glanced around the apartment, making sure I hadn't forgotten anything. Satisfied, I locked up and headed to my car.

The drive to my parents' house in the suburbs was a familiar one. I'd made it countless times over the years, the route so ingrained in my memory that I could drive it with my eyes closed. As the cityscape faded into tree-lined streets and neat lawns, I felt a mix of nostalgia and apprehension. I loved my parents, of course, but these gatherings always felt like stepping into a different world—one filled with small talk, polite smiles, and the constant undercurrent of my mother's expectations.

My phone buzzed again on the passenger seat, and I glanced at it, half-expecting another reminder from my mother. Instead, it was a message from Kim, checking in to see how I was feeling after last night. I shot back a quick reply, assuring her I was fine and on my way to the birthday party.

Turning onto my parents' street, I spotted the familiar house at the end of the cul-de-sac. It was just as I remembered, with its white picket fence and flowerbeds bursting with color. My father's car was in the driveway, along with a few others I didn't recognize. I parked behind one of them and took a deep breath, steeling myself for the afternoon ahead.

As I walked up to the front door, I could already hear the murmur of voices and the soft strains of music playing inside. I knocked once before letting myself in, the smell of my mother's favorite perfume and freshly baked cake greeting me instantly. The living room was filled with decorations—streamers, balloons, and a big "Happy Birthday" banner draped across the fireplace. Guests milled about, glasses in hand, chatting and laughing.

"Amara!" My mother's voice rang out, and I turned to see her making her way over, a wide smile on her face. She looked radiant as always, wearing a bright red dress that matched her vibrant personality. "You made it! And you brought the wine, good girl," she said, taking the bottle from me and kissing me on the cheek.

"Happy birthday, Mom," I said, smiling back as best I could. "Everything looks great. You really went all out this year."

"Well, why not? You only turn 58 once!" she laughed, holding up the bottle. "Come on, let's get this open. Everyone's been dying for a drink."

As she led me towards the kitchen, I glanced around the room, my eyes scanning the familiar faces of family friends and neighbors. And then I saw him—Elisha, standing by the window, he was talking to my father, but his eyes caught mine, and we both glanced at each other.

My childhood friend, the boy next door.