A Holiday Temptation - Tiffany Patterson Page 0,1
fists at my side and quickly stuff them into my pockets to prevent her from seeing them. Taking her lack of movement as the answer to my question, I don’t say anything else as I exit the kitchen and put on my walking shoes that remain by the door from the previous morning.
Out on my walk, my mother’s words push through my mind. She really believes that that man’s only desire was to protect us. If she only knew the secret he took to his grave. The one in which he made a part of his last will and testament to see to it that I followed his instructions, or else my mother would lose the very house and inheritance that he bequeathed her.
“Looked out for us,” I spit out, disgusted as my feet beat out a harsh rhythm against the pavement below. Shaking my head, I do my best not to hold onto the resentment I’ve been harboring toward my mother. She was eighteen years old when she met and eventually married my father. I came along a year later.
He kept us both under his thumb through mental and emotional manipulation and what others might call abuse. When he felt those methods weren’t garnering the outcome he desired, he moved on to physical coercion. On more than one occasion, I walked in on my father twisting my mother’s wrist or arm when she wouldn’t instantly comply. Even if she or I just appeared as if we were on the verge of talking back or saying no, we’d have hell to pay.
The fitness watch on my wrist beeps, informing me that I just made it to mile three of this walk. Peering up at the front of my parents’ home, renewed dread settles in the pit of my stomach. As much as I don’t want to walk back inside, I have to. I remind myself that my mother, one of my few living relatives, is inside, and she has no one else but me to rely on.
My mother isn’t the sole reason I chose to move back to Williamsport, but she is why I actively decided to move back into this house. This home that looks so beautiful from the outside, but for me, holds many ugly memories.
When I enter the kitchen, my mother’s still sitting there, staring out of the window. I don’t say anything as I head up the stairs to shower and get ready for work.
Only when I pour the hot coffee into my mug, twist the lid, and gather my shoulder bag to head out does she finally come out of her stupor.
She blinks as if seeing me for the first time that morning. “Heading out to work already?”
I take a sip of my coffee before answering, needing to swallow down the uncomfortable lump in my throat.
“Yes, Mama. Hey, how about when I get home from work tonight I take us out to dinner?”
Her forehead crinkles. “You usually get in from work late.”
I’m surprised she even realizes that most days, I do get in from work around eight or nine. Part of it is because of this new role I’m in. My new employer is working on a merger, and I’m getting up to speed on the ins and outs of it all. I haven’t shared those details with her. The second reason is that I do my best to spend my days avoiding these suffocating walls. Even with my father’s physical absence, it’s almost as if I can still feel him here—the pictures on the walls, the way everything conforms to exactly how he wanted it. Even my mother’s melancholy mood is an indication that he still holds power in this house.
“I can get out by five tonight. Anywhere you want to go. What do you say?”
She bites her bottom lip as her gaze shifts around as if searching for something or someone.
“You like Korean food, don’t you?”
I remember we used to order from a Korean place when I was a teen, just about every weekend.
To my horror, her eyes water. “Your father loved Korean BBQ. I tried to tell him all that red meat wasn’t healthy, but he …” She trails off, looking away.
I, too, have to look away as she starts to wipe a tear.
“No, I don’t need to go out to dinner. I’m going to lay down for a little while. You have a good day at Seacrest,” she says, patting me on the shoulder as she passes.
“Cypress,” I correct.
She tosses me