Bella always manages to make her laugh. It’s her superpower.
The realization stings more than it should.
I switch to mopping, dragging the bucket behind me as I scrub the floors to gleaming perfection. Nothing else will do, not for my perfectionist mother.
She flits around the main floor of the house, fluffing pillows and rearranging things that don’t need rearranging, desperate to maintain the illusion that we’re a perfect family in a perfect home, hosting perfect dinners.
A facade. A lie.
One I’m convinced she even believes, having deluded herself just like she convinces the world. Because if it isn’t broadcasted on social media, did it even happen?
My mother is the queen of performance, of presenting a facade.
Ever the show-off… even when it’s all a lie.
14
SOPHIE
We get ready for dinner, my mother fussing over our appearances. I swear she is determined to drive us insane. Her hands flutter over us, tucking stray hairs and tugging at hems, her sighs of disapproval never-ending. Bells and I escape to her room, shutting the door behind us like we’re sealing off a war zone.
Bells wields her makeup brush like an artist, sweeping color onto my face with soft, feathery strokes. We don’t spend much time together anymore. Her world is a flurry of school, friends, and whatever teenage drama consumes fifteen-year-olds. I get it. I was the same at her age. But tonight, she’s here with me, and I let myself savor it– let the warmth of sisterhood settle into my bones.
Inside, I’m a ball of anxiety. My jaw aches from clenching too tight and my stomach twists itself into knots. I don’t want to see him after I’ve managed to avoid him this long. I’ve spent the past year and a half dodging these dinners, slipping out before he arrives, but today I’m out of excuses. So I armor up, taking a deep breath and squaring my shoulders, bracing for impact. Complaining won’t save me.
“You okay?” Bella asks, tilting her head, her eyebrows pinched with concern.
“I’ll be fine,” The lie is easy and practiced as it slips from my tongue. “I just really don't want to see Cole.”
Bells doesn't know the details, I’ve spared her from the worst of them. She’s still so young and naïve. No need to jade her against the human race preemptively. She knows enough, though, to offer her sympathies.
“I’m sorry. If I could cover for you, I would, but I don’t think there’s any way out of this.”
I reach over, giving her hand a quick squeeze. She’s a sweetheart most of the time. Except for when she steals my clothes.
“How's that boyfriend of yours?” I ask, nudging her with my elbow. Time to change the subject.
“Old news. We broke up.” She waves a dismissive hand, but her grin is quick to return. “But that’s okay, I've moved on. There’s a new kid named Dakota that is SO CUTE.”
I laugh, some of the tension slipping from my shoulders. Oh, to be fifteen and so full of innocence again. “Oooh, I expect updates!”
“Duh. By the way, can I borrow something cute for the mall this weekend? He might be coming!” She flashes her best innocent smile, eyes crinkling at the corners. She knows I’m a sucker when she asks nicely.
“Fine, but give it back! I swear, your closet is a black hole.”
The doorbell rings and my body instantly tenses at the sound. I hear the murmur of voices, the forced pleasantries exchanged like money. Their friendships are so fake, all a performance. Unpaid actors on the stage of life. A delicate balance of polite competition, each family striving to outshine the other. It’s exhausting and something I truly don’t understand. If it’s not a genuine friendship, like I have with Sal, then why even continue to pretend?
Before I know it, Bells and I are called downstairs. I hold mychin high, descending the stairs with an air of disinterest, or at least I hope that’s how I appear to our unwanted guests.
Cole stands by the door, khaki-clad and smug, his button-down crisp and expression calculated. He looks exactly the same, yet entirely unfamiliar. I study him, searching for the boy I once knew, but all I see is the polished shell of someone I once loved, and later learned to fear.
He was just always there, our families caught in the same orbit. We’d known each other since grade school. We’d run through the wooded areas of his family’s estate, playing in the mud, even dragging Bells along on our adventures of make-believe. He’d always been mischievous, and sometimes played rough, but I’d enjoyed his company as a child. After all, how was I to know any better?
At fifteen, his attention had felt thrilling, a rush that makes you ignore the warning signs. And at first, it was fun. But then came the pressure. The slow unraveling of my boundaries, the manipulation disguised as love. My “no” turned to “maybe”, then to “okay, I guess”.If it’ll make you happy.
But that isnota yes.
And then he cheated. Brazenly and with zero remorse. Without even the courtesy of a well-crafted lie. I don’t know if he’s even capable of empathy, but if he is, he’s never shown an ounce of it for what he put me through.
