A Bittersweet Life (1st draft)

Chapter 2

My six-hour drive to Harbor View wasn't too dreadful. Singing to the radio made the time pass a lot quicker. Before I could blink, the oak trees turned into beautiful palms as I drove next to the crystal blue ocean. The blue skies were cloudless. It was like a different world. Bayridge, the town right outside of Harbor View was quaint and beautiful. Small seaside shops with little flower boxes on the windowsills. Passerby's greeted each other on the sidewalks with warm smiles and waves.

The palm trees bent at their trunks and their palm fronds came together forming an archway; the entrance to the town of Harbor View. A large golden sign stood at the end of the tree tunnel reading "Welcome to paradise." Obviously I, and whoever made that sign, have a different idea of "paradise."

Everything was so grand, no doubt about that. Mansions lined the roads overlooking the ocean. I passed by cars that were worth more than some of the mansion. Yachts glided along the blue water. I jerked the steering wheel as I drifted into the other lane. This elite new world I found myself part of was trying to draw me in with its beautiful scenery and expensive taste, but I couldn't let it take me. I might have been living among them, the wealthy, the beautiful, but I was an outsider. A mere passerby that wouldn't be greeted with a warm smile or a wave.

Houses grew larger and further apart as I drove around the winding road. My stomach tightened as my GPS announced that I had one more mile to go. There was no turning back.

"You have arrived at your destination," the GPS said. I could've figured that out without her help. The large iron gates in front of me creaked open with the presence of my car. I crept forward. The gates shrieked again once they began closing. Locking me in.

I proceeded forward with extra caution. The mansion sat on a field of bright green grass. Pearly white marble lined the drive up to the main doors. A small man stood at the entryway in a perfectly tailored black suit. He stood with his back straight and chin tilted towards the sky. Was he my father? 

I stepped out of my truck, walking closer to the man. The closer I got, the more prominent his wrinkles became, and the more his skin began to sag. A few white hairs poked out from his shiny scalp. He looked even smaller standing next to the giant pillars by the front entrance. Though droopy, he wore a smile. I tried to smile back, but nothing.

He couldn't be my father. My mother kept no pictures in the house of him, but this man wasn't him. All I had to go on was my imagination.

 Another man slipped out of the doorway and my feet skid to a halt, weighing me down against the slick path. My eyes couldn't help but study every inch of him. He was much taller and more slender than the man standing next to him. His full head of chocolate hair was the same shade as mine. And though it killed me to internally admit, this man looked just like me. My father. 

Hell, he even wore similar attire. While the man next to him looked so dapper, he had on a more casual attire; a black tank top and jeans.

"Talia," he said. A smile grew on his lips. One of relief but also nervousness as the corners of his mouth twitched.

"Ellis Banks," I said back, not returning his smile. Ellis turned to the small man next to him.

"Randall, go get her things from the truck, please." Randall nodded and walked over to my truck. I watched him intently. "Would you like to come inside?" I looked at Ellis. The same smile was plastered on his face. He extended his hand out to the large open door. 

I looked back at Randall who was struggling to get the last suitcase out of the truck. "I should help him." There was a loud thud as the last suitcase fell to the ground.

"I got it, sir." Randall rolled the bags past us into the house. Ellis still stood in front of me, hand still extended to the door. I let out a huff of air before walking inside.

The house was so large it was like every small sound was enhanced by its immensity. Every breath, every movement, it all echoed in my ears and rattled my chest. I could've fit a hundred copies of my house in here. The doors closed behind Ellis. Its thud made the whole house shake.

My Keds scuffed against the white stone floor as I walked around my new home. Everything was white with hints of grey. The couch, white with grey pillows. The walls, white with grey picture frames. I examined them closer. The pictures were all of me as a baby. I turned to Ellis, who still stood at the front door. Did he put these up when he knew I was coming here? Or were these always here?

"Your bags are in your room, Talia," Randall said, descending the staircase.

"Thanks." My tone was questioning. here I was thinking I would crash on Ellis's couch. But they had a whole room set up for me? I walked up the stairs, ignoring my questions, just wanting to take solitude in my room. This was all too overwhelming.

My room looked like it was perfectly tailored to me. The bed was made with a navy blue bedspread, my favorite color. The white accent pillows really brightened up the room. There was a desk, flat-screen tv. Ellis Banks really knew how to treat a guest, I guess. 

I hung up my clothes in the large walk-in closet. It looked more like another room. My clothes only took up a fourth of the space. I emptied my toiletries onto the marble counters in the bathroom. A white and gold clawfoot tub sat in the middle, and there was a steam shower as well as a normal one. Fuck. A few years ago, before I worked at Andy's, the water went out at my house due to lack of payment so my mom and I had to take our showers in the neighbor's sprinklers or in the lake behind the house. That was a pretty dark time for the two of us. I bet that had never happened here.

There was a knock on my bedroom door but I didn't answer it. I stood on the other side with my ear pressed to it. Ellis?

"Talia, your father would like you to join him for dinner," Randall's muffled voice sounded from the other side of the thick door.

I was not ready for that. I wasn't ready to sit across from Ellis Banks and eat a meal. My head might implode if I did.

"I'm not hungry," I mumbled. 

Randall didn't say anything. A disappointed huff of air and his descending footsteps were all I needed to make me feel like shit. I knew Ellis was trying to make an effort to know me. But he should've done that nineteen years ago.