Dollhouse

2.0

Only on rare occasions, did Mara see Ezme express anxiety, fear.

With her lips pressed firmly into a thin line, Mara concentrated on cooking scrambled eggs for her children. She purposely kept her back trained to her mother in the kitchen. They had moved up from the basement. It had been too chilly for Mara.

"Surely, you're not planning on going to his funeral?" Mother asked, tapping her fingers on the marble island, each painted nail hitting the counter precisely once, like part of a calculated pattern.

Mara slowly placed the eggs on two white plates next to the toasted bagels. She could hear the humming of the teapot on the silver stove, water boiling. The grandfather clock ticked from the living room, each moment passing by extraneously slow. With a knife in her hand, slowly she buttered the bagels, wanting to avoid her mother for as long as she could.

"Mara?" Mother repeated, this time with more emphasis, demand. Forcing Mara to turn around and like an obedient child, face her mother.

Mother leaned against the island, no longer standing with a straightened back, and eyes held high. Her shoulders remained tensed. Brown eyes darted around the kitchen briskly, narrowing when Mara thought she spotted dust on one of the black cabinets aligned against the white walls.

Mara didn't mind, however. She would gladly hear her mother scold her than talk about an impending funeral.

Taking small steps away from Mara, Mother took a seat on one of the grey velvet stools reclining behind the island, unable to stand. When she settled in her seat, her eyes bore into Mara's, searching for an answer.

At last, Mara sighed, lowering her head in shame. "Aaro's coming over in the afternoon to discuss funeral arrangements."

Mother didn't respond.

"We have to play the part, Mother," Mara remarked, swallowing, as if afraid of making her mother tick. "After father's funeral, this'll be over."

This time, Mother nodded, the movement curt. She began to tap her fingers once more, red nails taunting the silence towering above them. Like a child unsure of their words, wondering if the question should be asked, Mother voiced her thoughts. "Do you love your father?"

Intentionally, Mara let a moment pass, wanting to see what would happen if she confessed. For once, if Mara didn't cower and accepted what was in front of her. But, the impatient look on Mother's face caused her to swallow the truth. I don't know. "No," she answered, facing away from her mother. She grabbed the plates from the counter, placing them on the island, in front of the two stools adjacent to her mother's.

Thumping could be heard upstairs, footsteps running down the hall. The children collecting their bags and school items before they would come down for breakfast. Dothan and Lalia would walk in any minute, talking loudly amongst themselves. Mother would scold them for being impolite, but they would disregard her. Until Mara would speak, avoiding the disapproving glance in her mother's eyes, silently telling her she had failed to teach them manners.

"Aaro loves your father."

"I know," she said, holding back her scream. Resisting the urge to ask her mother, why was it wrong to love her own father? What had he done that Mother knew but Mara couldn't remember?

A smile broke out onto Mara's face when she spotted her children trudging into the kitchen, dressed in the outfits she had picked out the night before. She couldn't be any happier when Lalia spoke, her voice fast paced, words almost incomprehensible as she recited a story to her brother.

Happily, Mara welcomed the noise.

#

"We're not doing something fancy, okay?" Mother said, sitting across from Aaro in the grey armchair next to Mara. She was disregarded by her two children.