Amelia

Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

I couldn't stop thinking about what Fin had said.

He had given me space all week, telling me that this was my decision, my choice.

My choice. What the hell is that supposed to mean!? I had never really had the opportunity to think for myself. This was a first for me.

And the worst part was that I didn't even know what I wanted! I had finally been given the good advice to think for myself, and I was wasting it because I couldn't figure out what to do with it. I was completely clueless.

"Amelia? Are you listening?" Mother's voice snapped me from my revere.

My head shot up, looking blankly at her across the dining room table. Father sat next to her, looking longingly at his plate full of food. Mother was busy scraping some off and back into the maid's bowl, muttering something about his diet. I didn't know father was on a diet. Then again, knowing my mother, she had probably coerced him into staying fit.

"Sorry, I was thinking about something. What did you say?" Mother rolled her eyes, as if thinking was such an annoyance. Alexander patted my hand from his seat next to me, as if consoling a child. I felt my eyebrows quirk in irritation, but said nothing.

"I was saying that you need to be at the meeting house at promptly six o'clock. No later, or they will lock the doors. Don't embarrass me, Amelia." Mother shot me a cold stare, then resumed pushing her food around her plate and making it look like the tiny morsels were actually disappearing.

"Don't worry, she'll be there. I made sure the driver was instructed to have her there at exactly five fifty five. Not a minute more or less."

Mother smiled at Alexander, pride shining in her eyes. She was obviously thinking about how perfect he was, how suitable he was for a husband. I felt my stomach turn a bit.

"Excellent. Oh, and dear, you must wear those pearls I gave you for your birthday a few years ago."

"Pearls? Why?"

Mother looked up sharply, annoyance in her eyes. "Because it's protocol. Everyone wears their pearls to these meetings."

"Yes mother." I tried to hold back the sigh that was lodged in my throat. I was so tired of this life; so tired of having to wear pearls and dresses and perfectly coiffed hair. It was so much work just to be criticized by everyone around you.

"Come, dear, let me help you pick your attire for that evening." Oh God no. No one ever liked their mother dressing them up; after the age when the child learns to dress his or herself, the child draws away from the mother's choice in clothing. My mother's choice was far worse than that of ordinary children's mothers.

As my father and Alexander went to the study to have a few drinks and talk business, and the maid cleared the table, mother escorted me –escorted me in my own home- up to my room. Normally it would be perceived as rude to enter one's marital space –but this was my mother. She was allowed where she so desired, as she was the queen of her domain, and according to her, I was still her property. She walked briskly into the room, throwing open the doors to my closet and creasing her nose at the scrubs that hung on the back of the door.

"Uck, well, we can get rid of those now, can't we? Since you won't be going back there again." Mother's hand reached out to grab the fabric, but I stopped her quickly.

"Wait! I-I'm not done yet. My last day is tomorrow. I still need them for one more day."

My mother's face scrunched even further. "Can't you wear something nicer? It's your last day, so it won't really matter at all, will it?"