I cannot, for the life of me, put my finger on as to why I believed today is different from all the rest. I mean, considering my morning routine has been nothing but consistent the last four and half years.
It started off as usual with getting up early, taking a shower, eating breakfast, kissing my parents goodbye, and eventually heading for school.
Truthfully, there isn't a single viable thing distinguishing it differently from yesterday. After all, it's just another plain, thoroughly ordinary dull day.
Except for it isn't.
Not until this very afternoon I come home from school did it finally hit me like a ton of bricks. Upon entering my bedroom I let out a breathless chuckle as I sang to myself, "One of these things just doesn't belong here~"
Lying neatly atop the computer desk is an envelope addressed to me. This is the defining factor. Although, I'm still in denial even after glimpsing to see who sent it.
It's absolutely mind-boggling. Because let's face it, it came from that guy. With all the years that's passed without any initial contact, it doesn't make sense whatsoever. Nonetheless, out of the freaking blue. From. That. GUY.
Besides, in all likelihood, it's got to be some elaborate scheme. How am I to believe that prick might have emotions and with it, an actual human heart beating inside his manly chiseled chest?
There's no way it could or would amount to a speck of anything even if I bothered replying. That's if this is not some mistake. And another thing, who sends mail out in this day and age? I might not be ahead of the times in many regards but even I know how to slap together an invitation and mass forward text messages.
Never mind opening the thing and reading its contents because I decide right then and there, it isn't worth my time and I carry on like I never laid eyes on it.
As for the remainder of the night, I kept myself occupied by completing every possible task or chore that I almost-I was so stinking close-got away with forgetting it altogether. That is until later on when I was promptly asked to come downstairs. Can't even take a shower in peace and relax afterward.
Wearing a towel on my head, flannel pajamas, and a pair of house shoes, I shuffle my way into the living room where I see Dad right off the bat on the couch, his usual spot, scrolling through Yahoo! Sports on his phone. Mom, however, sat on the daybed, not her usual spot, with her legs tucked underneath and a pillow in her lap, turning her Kindle tablet face down the moment she notices me enter.
If I didn't know any better I would have suspected my parents were going to give me some terrible news. Although, what they wanted to discuss could be considered terrible in my opinion.
What's the point of evading the inevitable? Because it's just that: the inevitable. There's nowhere to hide since the one place I had has inside it the very thing I want to avoid at all costs. Much like this conversation my folks are trying to spring on me nonchalantly.
She pats the spot next to her as an invitation to sit by her. My eyes stare at the spot for a few short seconds then I peel them away to glance at her face, a gentle, motherly smile adorning her slightly withered face.
It was hard to imagine this youthful woman in front of me reaching close to her mid-forties. Often times mistaken as an older sister, only the soft wrinkles around her lips and eyes indicating she was older than she ever gave away. As for her hair, depending on the angle or lighting, could come off as being dirty blonde or a light shade of brown. The sun did little to her skin, giving it a soft luminous glow.
'Face it, Mom. You are lousy at being subtle.' I think to myself, all the while doing the utmost best to simultaneously suppress an eye roll and a sigh as I settle on the daybed.
She reaches up to pull the towel off me, my damp hair drops just past my shoulders and I decide to lift my leg up to sit sideways. With my back now facing her, I let her use the same towel to begin patting dry my hair.
I can't help but flinch at the sound of my mother taking in a breath because I know she is readying herself to talk and rather than wait for her to breach the subject I swiftly interject, "Can we not?"
Judging by the immediate silence and lack of movement on my head, I must have taken her a bit by surprise, yet she soon recovers and asks, "Can we not what, dear?"
"Can we not talk about it?" I shrug my shoulders, mulling over what else to say. "The invitation, I mean. That is what you're wanting to talk about?"
Yet, I really do start to wonder if it is when she goes silent again. I furrow my brows and peer over my shoulder. "Isn't it?"
Mom stares straight at me with a puzzled look, one that told me she was more lost than what she'd been a second ago. I, too, can't help but wear the same confused expression on my face until I spot with my peripheral vision Dad easing a hand down which held his phone. Suddenly it dawns on me Mom didn't know a darn thing about it and had I kept my big fat mouth shut she would have continued not to know of its existence.
'Dad, no.' I wince, my eyes coming to a close as I try to come to grips that I dug my own grave and wondering how in the heck I'm going to get myself out of this. 'Why? Just why?'
"Naomi," She questions me. Her fingers tighten on the towel, lowering her hands until they sat on her lap. She leans forward, "What letter?"