Memory Lane

Part 7: Real

It was raining the day the boys came to pick us up. Thunder rumbled in the distance ominously. I dreaded getting out of bed, but the thought of seeing you pushed me out the door.

Even though Mother Nature and common sense were against it, you insisted that we wait for the boy to arrive.

"It's cold and wet," I pointed out. "I bet they don't even want to go out today."

Unfortunately, I was wrong. Evan was the first one at my door with a rose in hand and an umbrella in the other. Somehow, I knew he would have stood out there even without an umbrella, letting the rain carelessly fall on his shoulders.

He charmed my mother effortlessly with his fake smile and superficial manners. She took the rose from him and placed it in an empty wine bottle.

"I forgot where the vases were," she said sheepishly as she hastily filled the bottle with water. "Excuse the mess."

Not that he noticed. At this point in my life, my mother was deep in the bowels of her depression, leaving me stretched thin between keeping house and completing schoolwork. Most days she could barely get out of bed. It was a wonder how she still kept her job, but one look at her face told me all that I needed to know. Sometimes I wished I had a mother who cared rather than one who was stunningly gorgeous.

After all, Evan was still staring at her, mesmerized by the beauty that earned her runner-up to Miss Japan in 1994. He had that expression on his face that everyone else did when they met her for the first time. It was the same mixture of surprise and wonder, much like what I imagined happened to the faces of those witnessing a miracle.

Shamelessly, his eyes darted from me to her in naked disbelief.

"Yes, we're related," I said before he made a fool of himself. "She is my biological mother and no, I'm not adopted."

"I was going to say that you look nice. That dress suits you," he said diplomatically.

"Thanks." I did feel pretty in it because of the way you were looking at me, but I tried to convince myself that you were being nice. I lived eternally eclipsed by my mother's shadow so I thought beauty would never touch me.

"You look cute together," you whispered to me.

Did we? Evan was still gaping at my mother, jaw hanging open like the hinges of a broken door. Yet another victim claimed by the Masako Yamashita effect.

I wore this dress for you, the person I truly liked. I hated this charade and the date we would have to go on later, but I played along because it made you happy.

Harry came to the door shortly after and soon you were preoccupied. Because he had the nicer car, he drove all of us, with Evan riding shotgun. You would have sat in front, but my "date" was drooling over the make of the vehicle, babbling on and on about mileage and the leather of the steering wheel.

I could think of nothing more boring, but I was the one counting raindrops on the window to pass the time. I watched them race on the glass and fall into each other like clumsy clear children. I was so preoccupied that I nearly didn't notice your hand slip into mine.

It should have clicked then what your true intentions were having the boys take us out, but I found myself distracted again. Maybe it was because I was upset with my mother earlier, but I wanted to smack myself for not noticing how beautiful you were when you stepped into the house. It was hitting me at full force in the car just how much effort you put into your appearance.

You wore a white dress dotted with blue flowers that made your leftover summer tan glow. Your golden hair hung in loose waves around your shoulders and I was strangely reminded of a runaway princess fleeing from her castle. To top it off, your eyelids glowed with a blue that matched your irises.