Just a Number (Downtown) by Fifi Flowers

Author:Fifi Flowers [Flowers, Fifi]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Champagne Girl Studio
Published: 2016-03-11T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Willow

Thanks to Dash, I was having a hard time sleeping until the sun streamed through my windows. I had been home almost three weeks and he hadn’t gotten out of my system, yet. Giving up most days, I showered, got ready for work, made coffee and sat down to read emails from my mother. Except for Thursdays when I waited for my faithful morning cup of coffee made by my wonderful housekeeper… my British friend. What did Marian have to say?

From: Marian Dane

To: Willow Dane

Getting the hang of this

Today at 1:00 AM

Hello Dear,

I couldn’t sleep. Things sometimes feel like my first days with toddlers. The boys were so needy. Your father was so proud of me for giving him healthy, strong boys to carrying on his name. When you came along, we were a little shocked. Guess that proves we weren’t so square-ish. Sorry. Gross to think of your parents that way. LOL-laugh out loud! The boys were already ten and thirteen. You were the complete opposite. You were actually stronger than them. So independent from day one. You rarely cried. You didn’t fuss. You were the perfect sleeper. As you grew up, we grew apart. I think you saw me as a frail, mousy, meek woman, taking care of the house and doting on your father. That was what I wanted. Believe it or not, I got my dream life and if you wanted the same thing, I would’ve been fine with that, but I knew you wouldn’t. You were so opposite of me. More like your father. The boys are more like me. Happy, with their lives falling into place. Not ambitious, like you. Good for you.

Love,

Your Mother

Conversations with Hazel were so different than the email exchanges with my mother. I could never be open with her. I could never talk to her about my relationships with men or my lack of relationships with them. I wished I could talk to my mother. But, I knew what she would say. I’d heard it my whole life. Women need to be married. Taken care of by their husbands. Home with their children. Cooking. Baking. Cleaning. My mother was not typical.

She was a stylish woman with a 1950s mentality, passed down from generation to generation by her family. The idea stopped with me. I was a career girl. A definite disappointment by their standards. I wondered what they would say about their perfect little Marian being modernized by her friends. Disgraceful? Distasteful? Taking to the World Wide Web, surfing the internet and emailing her corporate daughter. I laughed, thinking of them rolling in their graves when—if she set up a social media account.

She hadn’t mentioned telling my father about her emailing adventures. He still must have been kept in the dark. My mother. Ha! The rebellious woman! I giggled.

“What is amusing you so, love?” Hazel asked as she entered my apartment with Mr. Simon. “We heard you in the hallway.” I hadn’t realized I was so loud.

Waiting for a cup of coffee, I sat down on a stool at my kitchen island.

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