Where We Lie

1. I Am My Mother's Daughter

The smell of bacon wafts into my room as the bright sun rays sneak past my window drapes and directly into my eyes. I groan at the feeling of the stunning light as I shift in my bed to avoid it. I curl into a ball, away from the window, trying to chase the dream I was having.

In the dream, I was a little girl again, no more than three years old. I was running around on the playground from my childhood. I giggle as my father suddenly tosses me into the air and catches me in his arms. A smile plasters to his face as I bounce and laugh in glee.

My younger self looks over his shoulder to figure out why we are running. In the near distance, I spot my mother chasing us with a bright expression. "Run~!" Mom shouts as she tails us. I squint at her blurry features, rubbing my eyes in hopes that I can make out the prominent shapes of her face but to no avail. The only distinct item is her autumn coat. A dark gray coat with her initials embroidered on the edge of her sleeve: L.L. for Lena Lull.

I notice Mom start slowing down in her strides and my eyebrows furrow. I pat my father's shoulder as I quietly say, "Run to Mommy." Against my soft wishes, Dad continues at his pace and in our original direction. "Daddy, I want Mommy." I find myself saying as I see my Mom raise her hand to wave at me.

"I know, sugar," Dad responds, sadly, "but we'll figure it out." His pace changes to a stroll as Mom coos in the distance, "Theia~ my Theia~"

I jump awake with a loud gasp. I frustratedly grip my hair at its roots as I huff in annoyance. It is the same dream every night. The dream always ends right after Dad speaks and I can never remember any of Mom's features. While I have seen and cherished many photos of her, they never stick in my mind when I sleep. It feels as if her features were never meant for me to know or to love.

Dad always reminds me how much I am like her: with the same nose, same lip shape, same stature, and same stubbornness.

I peel out of bed with a grunt and practically crawl into the bathroom connected to my bedroom. I swiftly prepared myself for the day and exited the bathroom looking like a new person and not the troll who had slithered out of her cozy blanket cave.

Finally, I follow the smell trail of bacon down a flight of stairs and into the kitchen. "Morning, sugar." Dad greets me as he plates scrambled eggs. I perch by the kitchen island on a chair with one of my knees close to my chest. Dad slides the plate before me with a fork and bacon next to the eggs. "Are you coming in with me today?"

I snort, "It's the weekend." I stand to fix myself a cup of coffee before I return to my seat. Dad chooses to eat while leaning against the kitchen counter.

"The weekend is the busiest time for the museum," he responds with a matter-of-factly tone. I roll my eyes at his attempt to make me go to work on my day off. As the daughter of the city's history museum's director, I can come in and out as I please. Yet, I give myself a strict schedule from Tuesdays to Fridays. My days off are strict no-goes.

"What's your plan for the day?" He sips his black coffee with displeasure evident in his words. I chew my food thoroughly as I pick my words carefully. After mulling over my thoughts and grinding my food into mush, I finally say, "Some family history...tracking." I grimace as the last word slips past my lips.

Dad sighs heavily as he places his cup on the counter with a loud thud and crosses his arms over his chest. His lips press firmly into a tight line as he stares me down. I shrink into my seat as his eyes burn into my skin, "You think the director of a history museum didn't already dig into his own family history?" He continues when I do not respond, "Theia, I know why." I push around the food on my plate as I wait for his next sentence. It is always the same.