Never Have I Ever- STEPHANIE ALVES

Au Revoir To My Dreams (Rosalie)

 I feel like a stranger in my own room. I haven't been here in so long. Realistically, it's only been five months since I last woke up in my childhood bedroom, but the past five months have felt like an eternity. I don't feel like I can relate to the girl I was five months ago. I've changed. My room is exactly how I left it. And being back here makes me realize how empty it feels. The beige comforter, beige curtains, beige rug. The room of a New York princess. I remember the first time I ever saw Leila's house. It was chaos. Color, smells, flavors, mess. It was a home. It was a home with a loving family. And when I went back to my house, I saw everything differently. This wasn't a home. It was a museum. A gallery of the perfect family. But we were anything but. I step out of my room, making my way to the terrace. I step outside, seeing my father standing by the table, talking to someone on the phone. He doesn't even look my way, he just walks back and forth around the terrace. My mother's sitting at the table, texting away on her phone. "Good morning," I say, taking a seat at the table. My father glances at me and then turns back around. "Hold on, there's too much noise out here," he says to whoever he's talking to and then leaves. What a big happy family.My shoulders slump, feeling a little deflated that my dad just ignored me. I try to stuff those emotions down and take a bite of toast instead. "Rosalie. Good," my mother says, looking up as if she only now realized I was here. "I was thinking, do you want to go shopping tomorrow? You know, like old times?" She smiles at me. I squint at her, taking a sip of my orange juice. "Mom, we've never been shopping together." She rolls her eyes. "Well, we can make up for that now, can't we?" she says before looking back down at her phone, texting away. I shake my head. "No, mom, I've got to go back to Redfield tomorrow." She lets out a breath, places her phone down on the table, and interlocks her hands in front of her. "Rosalie, sweetheart. What is it about this college? Is this about a boy? Is that why you're so hellbent on ruining everything we gave you?" I frown at her. "Ruining? Mom, I'm going to college because I want to. I want to become my own person. I want to design clothes. I want to start my own clothing line. Why don't you understand that?" She sighs, shaking her head at me like she's disappointed. I've seen that look plenty of times. She's always disappointed in me. "I just don't understand why you feel the need to throw away all the resources you could have," she says. "Mom. I don't need your resources." Her brows raise. "You wouldn't have gotten an interview with Emily Livingston if it wasn't for the Whitton name." I realize that's true. Only the elite with connections can get a hold of whatever they want and need. But it doesn't mean I want to be a part of this world. "Why are you so against me attending college? Travis went to college. He graduated as a business major. You didn't try to stop him. You encouraged him. Why did you accept my brother's dream but not mine?" Her mouth drops open a little in disbelief. "Rosalie. I want everything for you," she says, placing a hand on her chest. I let out a laugh. "Sure seems like it," I mutter, taking another sip of the orange juice. My mother doesn't say anything. She's quiet, silent. Looking at me with an expression I can't decipher.She lets out a breath. "I wasn't always like this, you know." My eyes snap towards her, brows furrowed. "What do you mean?" "I mean, I didn't come from this life. I didn't have what you had," she tells me. I see a little sadness in her eyes as she talks about it. "I didn't have food for a month." "What?" I ask her in disbelief. She nods. "If it wasn't for one godsend of a neighbor, me and my sister wouldn't have survived." I'm more confused than ever. I wasn't aware that my mother had any family, let alone a sister. "Your sister?" She nods. "I'm sorry I never talked about her before," she says. "She died before you were born. It was hard to talk about it." Her eyes drift closed for a second. "Her name was Kelly. She was my little sister. She reminded me a lot of you, you know," she says, the corner of her mouth lifting in a small smile. "We were very close. And I was supposed to protect her." "What happened?" I ask. "My parents were neglectful. They would leave for days at a time. We never knew when they would be back, but they always came back. Until they didn't." "Mom." "I tried to make it work. But I was only ten at the time," she tells me. "I couldn't do anything. The neighbor noticed that my parents hadn't come home, and she saved us." "Mom," I say again because I don't know what else to say. I had no idea that my mother had gone through that. She shakes her head a little. "The point is, I didn't have what you have. That neighbor saved us. She took us in and raised us as her own. We had food on the table, a good home, and I went to a good school, where I met your father. And as soon as I stepped into his world, I never wanted to look back. It was a complete 180 from how I grew up, and I knew I wouldn't give it up." She gives me a weak smile, and I think I get it now. Why she's so adamant about me taking advantage of everything we have. "Kelly was the opposite," she says. "She was kind of like you in a way. She didn't want the money or the life that I did. She got in with the wrongcrowd, and she, um..." my mother breaks, tears falling down her face. I don't think I've ever seen my mother cry. "She was in the car with her friends who were drunk and..." She says, shaking her head. "I couldn't protect her, but I don't want to repeat the same mistakes again. I want to protect you. I need to. I want you to have the best life possible, Rosalie. I felt abandoned. Neglected, like I wasn't wanted. I never want that for you, Rosie." I swallow. "Mom. I felt like that all the time growing up. I still do." I tell her. She flinches like I slapped her. "What are you talking about?" Does she really not see it? "Dad doesn't acknowledge me. You never seem to be happy with what I do, no matter how hard I try. I try so hard." I say, my voice breaking a little. She reaches out, placing her hand on top of mine. "Rosie. I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I never meant for you to feel that way. Your brother followed the rules and did everything we wanted him to do. But you, you were so different. Dear god, you wanted to go to public school," she says with an eye roll, making me laugh through the tears. "I just didn't feel like I could relate to you anymore." I guess I get where she's coming from, dealing with all of that when she was younger. But I am not her. "Mom. I'm different. The things I want are different than what you wanted." She nods. "I know that, Rosie. I think... I think I'm starting to see that you won't be like me. And that's okay." She squeezes my hand, and I sigh. "Why does dad avoid me?" She lets out a breath. "I don't think he knows how to be a father. He never took care of your brother. He wasn't an active dad, you know. We had people for that. I never had to get my hands dirty with the baby stuff." I look up at her. I feel like I'm seeing my mother completely differently. She needs this life. She needs the money and country club because she didn't grow up with it. I did, and it's the farthest thing from what I want for my life. "I want to go to college, mom," I tell her. "I want to find myself and follow my dreams. And you have to accept that." She lets out a breath and then nods, giving me a smile. "I think I spent so long trying to fix the mistake I made with Kelly and trying to deter youfrom becoming her. But you're not her. And you're not me. I'm starting to see that it's okay. If this is what you want to do, then I will support you, Rosie. I just... are you not going to attend the meeting today? Because Emily Livingston is a powerful woman, and if you stand her up, it will look very bad on the Whitton name." I let out a laugh. "Yes, I'm still going to go. I can't waste an opportunity like that." She gives my hand a squeeze. "I love you, Rosie. You know that, right?" "I know, mom. I love you too, mom." She smiles at me, taking a sip of her orange juice. "So, about Jackson. Are you completely sure you don't want to give it another go?" "Mom." "I was only asking, sweetheart." She smiles when I roll my eyes. "Was worth a try." "Thank you for waiting," Emily says as she sits down at the table in front of me. She's right in front of me. The woman is a legend. One of the first designers I admired. And here I am, having lunch with her. "It's not a problem," I tell her. I've been waiting for over twenty minutes, but Emily Livingston is a busy woman, I'm sure. I'd wait an hour for a meeting with her. "I'm happy you wanted to meet," I tell her. "Of course," she says. "Your mother is a wise woman. She vouched for you and said that you'd be the next, well...me," she says, laughing. "She said that?" I have to admit, it's a little crazy to believe that my mother would say that about me. But I guess I don't know my mother as well as I thought. "She did," Emily says, interlocking her hands in front of her. "She also said you started very early. That's good, as you're so young." "I guess I did. I love clothes. My mother used to sneak me in to see the runway shows ever since I was twelve. I fell in love with the designs. The way clothes could tell a story, invoke emotions, it was art." She nods, smiling. "That's a good response," she says, taking a sip of her coffee. "Do you have your portfolio with you?"I nod, taking out my binder from my purse. "Yes, I brought it with me." I hand over the binder to her as she opens it up and studies the years of designs I have done. I started designing my own clothes when I was around thirteen, but ultimately started making my designs into reality when I was fifteen, so I have years of trial and error, with only the best of designs in that portfolio. I know I'm good and that my designs are innovative, but does that stop me from psychoanalyzing every expression on Emily's face? No. Any time she hums, I start to panic, and when her eyes widen, my heartbeat picks up. I know I'm good enough, but I've had years of the opposite being engrained into me, and despite never being enough for my parents, I know my designs tell a different story. This is what I'm meant to do. She continues scanning through my designs, and when she closes the binder, she has a warm smile on her face. "I love them," she says. I let out a breath of relief. "I think you'd be a great fit for our line. The designs are new, fun, and absolutely gorgeous." "Thank you, I really appreciate that," I tell her. She nods. "Good talent needs to be recognized, and you," she says, pointing at me, "have talent." I grin. Hearing it sounds so good. And to hear from Emily that she loves my designs makes me believe I did the right thing by going to college and pursuing my dream of fashion. "I'd love to hire you for our team of designers. You have the eye for what looks good and what's trendy and what will make Livingston Couture a successful business," she says, grinning, and I let out a laugh. She was in Forbes as one of the highest-paid women. Livingston Couture is one of the biggest high fashion companies, but I guess the desire to be better never ends. "I'd love to be part of your team," I tell her, almost jumping out of my seat. Working for Emily Livingston? That's a dream come true. "Great," she says. "That's what I like to hear." She smiles. "However, this job opportunity has some stipulations." She clears her throat. "You'd have to move to Paris." My smile drops. Paris? "I'd love to have you on my team, but the New York offices are full. Paris fashion week starts later this year, and most of the work for that isdone locally. If that's something you can do, I'll gladly give you a place on my team." I nod, swallowing. "I'd love to move to Paris. But I'm currently still in college, and I'd really like to graduate before that. Would that be possible?" She studies me for a second before nodding. "I understand the need for an education, especially when you want to get a job in design, but I'm offering you a job right here, right now, and I can't promise the same opportunity will be available once you graduate." I sink a little in my chair. What the hell do I do? I have a dream job in front of me, but I have another dream back home. I want to finish college, live the collegiate life with my friends, and continue having the fun I've been having with Grayson. But this is an opportunity of a lifetime. She must be able to tell I'm debating on what to do because she interrupts all my thoughts by clearing her throat. "I'll tell you what," she says. "I'll give you a month to decide what you want to do. But I'm afraid after that, I need to fill the position, and the offer won't be available anymore." My eyes lift to hers. She needs a month. I can do that. I can make up my mind in a month. "Thank you," I tell her. "I need to think on it." She nods, standing up. "I understand. It was nice to meet you, Rosalie." "It was wonderful to meet you, too," I tell her. She smiles and then leaves. I have a month. Thirty days to decide what I want to do with my future. I thought I'd have more time. But right now, I have the choice between staying in college and focusing on my designs and maybe starting my own line or being a designer living in Paris