Champagne, Sex & Limousines

“Vanessa honey, are you ready?” I heard my mother shout from her bedroom which was directly opposite mine and the shouting seemed anything but necessary. We were packing because we were moving. Again. Since as far as I could remember we never stayed in one house for more than two years at the most even when my father was around. But I managed to stay on top of everything; I wasn’t failing majorly in school and that’s something since moving around has occupied most of my time. I had a few friends of course; I’ve been at the same high school since I was eleven despite all the moving. And now I was fifteen and starting my exams. I was hoping, dearly that this would be the last time we would move. A girl needed some sustainability in her life.

“I’m nearly done mum” I shouted back, stuffing the last remaining items of clothing into my rather large suitcase. We weren’t poor but we weren’t exactly stinking rich either well at least not yet anyway. I looked around my room which barely had any life in it, there was no point in decorating knowing our history and it looked just the same as when we had moved in.

I ran my hand through my tangled mess of curls and dragged the leopard print suitcase behind me as I entered the hallway to find my mother stressing. As usual.

“You’re getting grey hair prematurely mum. Relax.” I told her as I walked past her into the now bare living room, leaving her to worry about something or another. I should probably explain why and where we were moving right? Well my father died when I was seven; he was a fire-fighter and he died of inhaling too much carbon monoxide – ironic, huh? – my mother and I barely survived. The worst part was that he died alone and one of our neighbours had found it odd that the house was eerily quiet and called the police because they couldn’t get an answer from our apartment.  The only thing I really remember about him was that he called me “princesita” which was little princess in Spanish. I still miss him though the pictures are the only reminder of how he looked. Well it’s been eight years now and my mother has undoubtedly moved on and has decided to remarry. I have nothing against her or the guy she chose to marry (his name was Harrison, what kind of shitty name was that?) personally I think my mother is blinded by money and perhaps maybe, maybe even love but I think it’s mostly the money.

I don’t blame her after what’s happened; I wouldn’t blame her if she decided to kill someone. But then that’s just me.

Now Harrison was loaded. I’m talking money for toilet paper kind of rich. I have no idea what he does and I don’t care but it does help to know that you’ll be living comfortably. I had only met him three times since my mother and him started dating which was perhaps a year ago. Shocking right? Three times I got to meet my soon to be stepfather. I should have seen this engagement thing coming. They were spending so much time together and then he was staying the night. A little warning about that would have been appreciated. Walking into the toilet half asleep to find a half-naked man wasn’t one of my best mornings. He was an alright looking for a guy in his late thirties; dark brown hair, equally dark brown eyes which was attractive against his olive skin and he was in fairly good shape. Not that I was paying attention but it’s not nice to be walking around with a guy in his late forties with a beer belly and a messy appearance. That was just gross.

“Vanessa. Stop daydreaming and get a move on. Harrison is waiting downstairs” My mother was something else; she wanted to please everyone, impress them and to make matters worse she was a hopeless romantic. Believing anything anyone told her, I could probably get away with staying out late not that I’ve tried. That’s a lie. I have and it worked. My mother is too trusting for her own good frankly and I was hoping Harrison wasn’t taking advantage of that. I snapped out my thoughts quickly as I heard my mother shout my name once again; maybe it was the third time? I hurried along towards the outside hallway closing our now redundant apartment and stepping into the elevator to join my mother. She looked like a giddy thirteen year old about to go on her first date. I smiled to myself.