But love doesn’t make it any easier to live with someone, especially when you don’t see eye to eye with their old-fashioned, controlling ways.
I have dreams and aspirations.
They want me to marry the pastor’s son, live in our small town outside Augusta, Georgia, and give them eight grandbabies.
When I decided I would never be a cheerleader, almost sending my mama into an early grave, I knew then and there that if I didn’t get out of here when I graduated high school, they’d have my whole life set without one ounce of my input.
I turn my attention to my brother, who patiently waits for me to answer. “I’d love nothing more, but we both know you’rebusy, and I’d be stuck with a group of people I don’t know, doing things I don’t want to do. You’re the outgoing one, not me.”
“Yes.” Mama perks up. “You need to broaden your horizons, Missy, and when the church goes out of its way to make it happen, you extend your gratitude.”
“But, Mama?—”
“Don’t you backtalk your mama, young lady. You say thank you, and you thank God you have people in your life that wish you well.”
My shoulders drop, defeated. “Thank you, Mama.”
Happy birthday to me.
Thanks for making another decision for me without asking.
“You’re welcome, baby. Now go finish cleaning your room. We leave in thirty minutes.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I close my bedroom door behind me, restraining myself from taking out my anger on it and slamming it shut. Instead, I fall face-first into my bed, letting out a cry of desperation.
For once, I would like to make a decision about my own dang life.
The only reason I got out of cheerleading once I was in high school was because I may have used the pastor’s son to my advantage. Spinning a tale so he’d tell his daddy, my calling was in academics, and I’d never be able to focus with the rigorous training schedule of a cheerleader.
In return, I promised to be his date for his junior prom that year.
He’s two years older than me, and his prom was the year I entered my freshman year of high school.
He didn’t need to know that Mama already told Pastor Paul, without my consent, that I’d be attending.
Besides cheerleading, I can’t remember one thing I’ve decided for myself.
I wanted blonde highlights for my sophomore year, but somehow, I left with a bob and bangs.Thankfully, my hair grows fast, and that look is long gone.
Sage green walls in my bedroom? Not my choice. Neither was my canopy bed, which I detest with a passion.
But there is no fighting Mama. It’s either “Yes, ma’am” or “Thank you, ma’am.”
She bosses around Daddy, her sisters, andhermama. The only person who has a say in this family is Mason.
The prodigal son.
I sit up, lean against my headboard, and wipe the tears of frustration I let slip.
This summer, I was supposed to focus on my portfolio, so when I begin applying to colleges next year, I’ll be well prepared for every interview I'm invited to for the architecture programs.
“You okay?” Mason enters my room without knocking.
“Did you know?”
He shakes his head. “They didn’t even mention it to me, but I thought you’d be happy. I like having you nearby.”
