Tiny House Big Love by Nicolette Dane

Author:Nicolette Dane [Dane, Nicolette]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Amazon: B071ZGXB98
Goodreads: 35220210
Published: 2017-05-23T03:00:00+00:00

Walking into the large house, the house in which I grew up, I lightly closed the front door behind me until it offered up an echoing click. I stepped out of my flip-flops and looked around the entryway. It was spacious, with a tall ceiling that revealed a wide landing at the top of the stairs. Just inside this foyer, a big rectangular mirror hung, and I checked myself out in it. Surprisingly, my face was looking a little bit darker than I was used to. And although I had some lines at the corners of my eyes, I looked relaxed and refreshed.

I stepped across the tile floor and walked further into the house. Everything was silent. The house felt incredibly empty in spirit, though it was stuffed with decorative items. My Mom loved marble statues. I passed one of these statues in particular, a cupid, that had been around since I was a girl. I absently touched my palm to its head as I went by. It was something I had always done.

The house was cold, as the air conditioning was turned on. It always was in the summer time. The house was kept needlessly cool, in my opinion. It was such a big space and only my parents lived there now. But even if I stepped into my old bedroom, it would be chilled. It seemed wasteful to me, but I never said anything about it. It just wasn’t my place.

Once I entered the kitchen, I could see through the rear sliding glass doors that both my parents were sitting outside by the pool. After grabbing a small bottle of sparkling water from the refrigerator, I took a deep breath and walked to the door. I hefted it open, I stepped out, and I closed it behind me.

I had grown up pretty well-off, as anybody could ascertain from the size and decor of my parents’ home. But I had always harbored some angst about it. I know that’s silly. We don’t get to pick where we come from. But it always felt unfair to me that we had so much, while others had so little. I often avoided bringing friends over to my house who didn’t have as much as I did, and once I hit college I became even more cagey about my past when talking with my hippie friends. It was a sore subject for me.

“Good afternoon,” I said, stepping between my parents. They were each laid out on a deck chair. My Mom was sunning in a one-piece suit, while my Dad was in lounge wear and a straw hat, thumbing through a magazine dedicated to the economy.

“Oh, hello dear,” said my Mom, putting her hand above her eyes to shade them from the sun, even though she was already wearing sunglasses. “I didn’t hear you pull up.”

“Afternoon Maxine,” said my Dad, offering me a smile. He folded his magazine closed and set it on a table next to him.

“It’s a lovely day, isn’t it?” I said, looking off into the sky.

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