My Mother's Daughter

Catching Up

      As Johnny gave me a tour of the unnecessarily huge house, he caught me up on the last three years I'd missed. I couldn't help but notice that the rest of the house was, to say the least, breath taking. It had long hallways and high ceilings, and if you paid close attention, you'd notice the details of the trim on the floors and ceilings were flawless. Every detail of the house was perfect and obviously done by the work of professionals. Even the outside of house looked like it was crafted by the finest architects. This place looked like a damn Pinterest page!
      Sometimes when Johnny would ramble on about things that were highly insignificant, which he did often, I'd have trouble paying attention due to the sheer magnificence of the place. He carried on a one sided conversation for the most part, which I didn't mind. Most of the time I'd just nod or smile when he looked at me for some kind of a sign of understanding or reaction.
      The house had 7 bedrooms and 4 and a half bathrooms, which I think is appalling since there is only three people living in the damn house. Johnny had showed me 6 of the bedrooms, each more glamorous than the next. As we neared to the last room he hesitated to open the door at first and before he could reveal the room to me fully he stopped, speaking in a lower voice than before and said, "This is, uh, Junior's room..."
     He immediately studied my face. I felt my face slightly fall but I kept my composure. I tired to think of something to say but all I could think was that sick bitch!
      Our brother Junior died two years back from a tragic car accident when a diesel driver dosed off and swerved into his father's car(Junior didn't have the same father as Johnny and I but we loved him no different). Sadly, the accident killed them both on impact.
      That was the first and only call that my mother allowed Johnny to speak with me after I left. Of course, I was invited to the funeral as well but I was not going to make any type of appearance for my mother to feed off. I went to visit my late brother after services, it felt more genuine that way. We all grieved in our own ways and my heart still aches from the memory of Junior, but I've never been one to wear my emotions on my sleeve. Still, the fact that my sick, twisted mother would keep all of his shit after these years and set up a room for him in their new house makes me infuriated! I'd like to pity her for her melodramatic memorial but feelings of rage seem to prevent me. She always had a theatrical way of reacting to events so that she could manipulate others into feeling sorry for her. I didn't even want to walk into the room, I had seen enough. I had remember why I was here. I am here on business. I am here because her new "husband" is in deep shit with my employer, and he will pay. One way or another...