Chapter 3 Lilian Baker
The first day of school came faster than I expected. I wasn't really excited about school. Starting afresh wasn't something I felt excited about at all.
But I was kind of relieved to leave the house. Staying all day with Martha wasn't something I could cope with. I wasn't ready to listen to her blabber about meeting new neighbours with cupcakes or her cardboard pancakes.
The morning sunlight felt too bright for my mood as I chewed the toast Martha prepared. I'd told her countless times not to prepare breakfast for me but she won't just listen.
Her favourite line to counter me was “You have to appreciate my efforts as your mother.” Or “Some children don't have a mother to make them nice meals.”
“You don't have all morning, Lily. You have to eat fast,” Martha said, interrupting my thoughts.
She was standing near the kitchen counter with a mug of coffee, watching me like I was a project she was trying to manage.
“Whenever I eat fast, you complain,” I said flatly.
“That's not complaining. That's me as your mother teaching you basic etiquette,” she said proudly.
“I don't need your lessons on etiquette,” I said, dropping the toast on the plate. “The only lessons you know are guidelines on meeting a new man. But you never read the manual to keep them.”
“You know what,” she said casually, like my words didn't just slice through her skin. “It's too early to be a bitch.”
“I'm sorry I can't pretend to love you,” I retorted.
She sighed the way she always did when I didn’t cooperate with whatever perfect picture she had in her head.
I didn’t look at her. I wasn't ready to let her use emotional blackmail on me.
“At least wear something nicer,” she said.
“Oh my god, mom. Can you not start again?”
“I'm not starting anything. I just want you to look better on your first day.”
Abruptly, I pushed the chair backwards and stood. I glanced down at my outfit, wondering what was wrong with them.
Loose blue jeans, a gray sweater and my favourite Nike sneakers.
“What’s wrong with this?”
Martha leaned against the counter and crossed her arms.
“Nothing,” she said faster than I expected.
I knew something else was coming. When it comes to Martha, ‘nothing’ has something bigger coming after it.
“I feel something a little more… girly would be better.”
“You want me to wear a dress?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But you meant that,” I countered.
Her lips pressed together in a forced smile.
“I’m just saying first impressions matter.”
I exhaled sharply before my anger morphed into something heavier.
“I’m not trying to impress anyone,” I said calmly.
Martha looked like she was about to argue again, but instead she checked the time on her phone.
“You should hurry up. You don’t want to be late on your first day.”
“I won’t be.”
“You know,” she said with a surprisingly calm tone. “You could take the car today.”
“No, I’m fine,” I declined as politely as I could.
“It’s your first day at a new school, Lily. You should arrive comfortably.”
“I’ve had quite a number of first days, mom. Stop acting like you care.”
She blinked as if my words hit her physically.
“I care about you.”
“Yes you do.” Sarcasm laced in my voice.
“Yes, I do,” she repeated as if she was trying to convince herself and not me.
“And what's your love language? Complaining about everything I do?”
“I don't complain,” she snapped.
“You literally just complained about how I eat, what I wear and how I behave. Nothing I do meets your standards.”
“I only asked you to hurry,” she paused. “And look good… I mean better.”
“That’s complaining.”
“And you’re being difficult.”
I sighed, unable to continue the conversation.
“I'm leaving, mom,” I said.
“Take the car,” she insisted.
“No,” I declined.
“Why are you making this difficult? Just take the car Lily.”
I walked out.
I thought I left her in the kitchen but she followed me, blabbering about how the car would be helpful for me. How she was trying to make life easy for me and how I've always acted like an ungrateful child. We continued arguing like that all the way out the front door.
“…I’m just saying you should stop this attitude before you embarrass yourself outside. I won't…”
Martha stopped talking mid-sentence as the sound of a car engine cut her off.
A car rolled slowly down the gravelled road in front of our house.
My stomach sank when I realized it was coming from the house next door.
The car drove past us.
Then suddenly the brake lights flashed.
The car stopped.
The car reversed smoothly and pulled back in front of our driveway.
The passenger window rolled down.
The younger neighbor, the warm and smiling one from yesterday, leaned slightly out the window.
His curly hair looked even messier in the morning light, but the smile on his face was bright enough to make up for it.
“Hey,” he said.
Martha immediately switched to her friendly voice.
“Good morning.”
He glanced between us.
“Are you going to Prestige International School by any chance?”
Before I could say anything, Martha answered for me.
“Yes, she is.”
The boy’s smile widened.
“We could give you a ride if you want.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but Martha placed a hand on my shoulder and gently pushed me forward.
“Oh that would be wonderful,” she said quickly.
I glanced toward the driver’s seat.
The older brother was behind the wheel. His hands rested on the steering wheel, and his expression was unreadable.
But something about the tight set of his jaw told me everything I needed to know.
He did not look thrilled about this idea.
I should decline, I told myself. I could catch a cab or something. But a voice pulled me out of my internal debate.
“You don’t want to be late on your first day,” the younger one said cheerfully.
Martha gave my shoulder another small push.
“Go on, Lily. Have a nice first day. Make a lot of friends too,” she rapped.
Reluctantly, I walked toward the car.
I wasn't shy about the idea of riding in the same car with some teenage boys. If there was anything, I felt my presence wasn't appreciated, especially by the grumpy older brother.
Yet, I went for it.
The back door opened with a quiet click as I pulled the handle and slid into the seat.
Our grumpy boy didn’t even glance at me, not even once.
The younger one turned around in his seat, still smiling.
“By the way,” he said. “I’m Lewis and this is my brother, Andrew.”
“I'm Lilian but you can call me Lily,” I said, forcing myself to wear a smile.
I really hoped my fake smile looked genuine.
“Hi, Lily. Nice to meet you,” Lewis said.
Of course it was.
