How To Spell Love (Discontinued)

How to Spell Love- Chapter 2

Chapter dedicated to the amazing @precedence who makes awesome-tastic covers. Check out her work peeps. :D

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The worst thing about going to the mall is having to go there with my mother. Now I’m not one of those teens who’s embarrassed or ashamed with hanging out with their parents in public, I’m just not exactly ecstatic with going out with my parents, who by the way have these weird dreams of how they want my life to turn out like.

My mother wants me to follow in her footsteps and be in the fashion industry (if that’s even what you call her profession). She wants me to marry a nice, handsome man who’s tall, and successful. He has to make at least six figures, but she says willing to negotiate with four if his face makes up for it. She wants me and this man to have two kids; a boy first then a girl a year later. We’re to live in the most poshest house there is, with butlers, maids, and the whole shebang.

My father on the other hand, used to have a whole life plan written out for me, but he’s long gone given up on forcing me into them. He wanted me to be many things from a vet to a stunt double. His last dream for me though was to be like him, a writer. Now you could imagine my horror when my father, the only man that I will allow myself to love, had me sit in front of a computer and demanded me to write him an a thousand word fiction short-story. That day taught me a valuable lesson, not that I needed to learn how to read -- no, it was that I needed to hire someone to do all the reading and writing for me.

“Darling, what do you think about this top? Don’t you think it’ll go just perfect with those wedges I bought you last month?”

I blinked a couple times before replying, “Of course mother.” My dry response got me a frown from her.

“I was only testing you my dear. This top is atrocious,” She sighs dramatically as she leaves the top on top of the rack heading towards another rack of more bright, and sparkling ‘in season’ clothing.

I follow after glaring at the stupid top as I place it back on its respective rack. “Mom, why am I here again?” I complain as I sit on a random chair that was next to the rack of clothes she was raking through.

She turns to me and says, “Because we are training your fashion sense.” Her eyes widen as if it we obvious.

“Mom, I have no fashion sense.”

“Sure you do honey,” She nods so confidently that I almost believe her. “Everyone does.”

“I’m not everyone,” I say under my breath.

For the next hour we go to more scary clothing stores with unbelievably expensive clothing in them. My feet are screaming for a break and my throat is dry from the lack of moister. I’m about to complain to mother dearest when she suggests that we leave the mall. I look up and thank the gods as my feet eagerly lead me out of that horrid mall.

“You did good today, hon.” The warm smile she gives me almost breaks my heart when the fact that I didn’t and never wanted to become a fashion designer came to mind. I give her a genuine smile and thank her.

After a couple minutes drive she tells me that dad’s out with ‘the boys’ and won’t make it to dinner, so naturally she suggests we go to the most expensive restaurant around. She makes last notice reservations and of course they reserve a special table just for her.

When we get there we’re immediately seated at one of the clusters of private booths and given menus. The hostess greets us and tells us that “your waiter will be right with you.” Then she leaves me alone... with my mother, who’s staring at me with those gleaming eyes that she only has whenever she has a “to-die-for idea”.