Grooving to Life's Beat

When the Past Returns, the Present Fades Away

I practically sprinted into my apartment after my writing class, my mind already racing with the mess I knew was waiting for me. Last night's movie marathon had left my living room looking like the scene of a crime—a crime where the perpetrators were soda cans, popcorn kernels, and empty chip bags.

Why did I ever think movie night was a good idea?

My mom had announced another surprise visit today, and I'd promised her—sworn on everything I hold dear—that I'd stay away from Marshall. If she saw this mess, she'd suspect something was up for sure. After all, I didn't exactly have a bustling social life here—if the living room was a wreck, it could only mean one thing: Marshall.

With no time to lose, I went into full panic mode. I grabbed the empty soda cans first, piling them onto the coffee table, along with the chip bags and the crumpled tissues. The clock was ticking, and every second brought me closer to my mother's inevitable arrival.

I scooped up the pile of junk, nearly tripping over a stray pillow that had somehow ended up in the middle of the room. The closet! That was the only solution. I dashed to the closet, flung the door open, and began stuffing everything inside, including the pillows.

The door groaned under the pressure of the junk I was cramming into it. I had to jam my knee against it to keep it shut, and just as I heard a knock on the door—Mom!—the closet door rattled ominously behind me.

"Stay put!" I whispered fiercely at the closet, as if it could hear me and obey. With one last shove, I managed to close it and sprinted to the door. On my way, I spotted an empty popcorn bag that had escaped my cleaning spree, and in a moment of desperation, I kicked it under the TV cabinet.

Just in time, I opened the door, trying to look as casual as possible. But inside, I was already bracing for what would surely be another exhausting round of questioning from my mother.

My mom stood in the doorway, her impeccably styled hair and sharp eyes taking in the sight of me with an all-too-familiar look of suspicion. I forced a smile, hoping it didn't look as strained as it felt.

"Hi, Mom!" I chirped, stepping aside to let her in.

She glanced around the living room, her eyebrows knitting together ever so slightly. "Your place looks... a little lived-in," she commented, her voice carrying that subtle hint of judgment only my mother can master.

I bit back a groan. After all that frantic cleaning, the last thing I wanted was to hear that the place still looked messy. "I had a late night," I said, trying to sound casual. "I'm sorry it's not perfect."

She walked further into the room, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor as she surveyed the space. "Late night? Doing what?" she asked, her tone light but laced with the kind of curiosity that made my stomach twist.

"Just, you know, writing stuff," I lied, gesturing vaguely toward my laptop. "And watching some movies to relax."

She nodded, but the look on her face told me she wasn't buying it entirely. "Well, I'm glad to hear you're keeping busy," she said finally, her tone softening just a fraction. "And just so you know, I made my peace with you staying in New York. Alfred is thrilled to have you start at the firm on Monday." She casually placed her perfect croco Birkin on the kitchen bar.

Her movements were calculated, precise, as if she was positioning herself for a victory she'd already planned. My eyes narrowed slightly as I watched her. Something didn't add up. My mother never simply "made peace" with a situation she didn't like, and she certainly never surrendered without a fight. What kind of wicked game was she playing?

I forced another smile, to hide the sinking feeling in my stomach. "Yes, I'm excited to start," I lied, trying to sound sincere.

She gave me a long look, as if trying to read between the lines of what I wasn't saying. "You know, Emma," she began, her voice taking on that careful tone she used when she was about to give me advice I didn't ask for, "New York is a big city. There's a lot of opportunity here, but also a lot of... distractions."