Patricia

Amidst the towering giants of Manhattan, life surges like a current, flowing with the rhythm of a city that never sleeps. My humble abode in Midtown Manhattan feels like a cocoon, a refuge amidst the urban chaos. Sketches and designs adorn my walls, reminders of the dreams I weave into every fabric and thread. Each day, I step out onto the streets, my heart echoing the city’s pulse—a symphony of honking horns, rushing crowds, and an exhilarating and overwhelming energy.

The streets become my canvas, a path where dreams collide with the stark reality of life. Fifth Avenue's grandeur contrasts with the vibrant chaos of Times Square. In this urban maze, my footsteps are both a dance and a struggle, navigating the currents of ambition and uncertainty.

As the sun casts a warm, golden glow through the expansive windows of the vintage-style living room, I find myself pacing in frustration, my voice tinged with disbelief.

“What do you mean you’ve already discussed it with him?" I gaze out at the serene garden, seeking solace in the fading daylight.

“I’m so sorry, Pat. I thought you would love the idea since you really needed a job." Mom says, her soft voice attempting to console me as she arranges antique trinkets on the mahogany table.

“You could’ve at least talked to me about it. I’m not keen on working for your boss,” I gesture toward the elaborate fireplace, my frustration evident.

“Why not? They supported your fees right from playgroup until college.” Mom counters, motioning toward the cherished family photos adorning the mantelpiece.

“I don't just want to work for him.” I sigh while glancing at the vintage clock ticking on the wall.

“You need a job while you are waiting to start fashion school next year, and here’s an offer presenting itself to you on a platter of gold. It’s just until they find someone else. Mr Baker said he wants an elderly woman to fill the position. So, while he’s still looking for a suitable replacement, I told him you would fill in for me." Mom explains, arranging the fresh flowers into the vase sitting on the dining table.

“Do I even get a say in this?” I lean against the table, feeling the weight of the situation.

“I’ve already told him you would start tomorrow,” Mom informs, heading toward the staircase.

“Very funny. You are joking, right?" I whisper as disbelief paints my features.

“I’m not.” “Mother! He doesn’t even know me. What if he finds me repulsive or his daughter hates me?"

“He won't; if not, he wouldn’t agree to having you fill in for me. His daughter loves you, and she can’t wait to meet you. I tell her about you all the time. I’ve also told her about your famous banana cake,” Mom assures, ascending the steps."

"Like, he has a choice. Our place is so far from theirs. What time am I supposed to be there, and when do I close?"

“You will be living there."

“This is the height of it. There is no way I’m going to live in their house. I’ll commute if I have to,” I protest, my voice resonating in the high-ceilinged room.

“It’s not like he has an infant I have to put to bed and check up on every second. His daughter is 8; last I checked."

“I lived there all through." Mom’s voice floats down from the stairs, nostalgia lacing her words.

“How can I forget in a hurry how you left me with your mother, and after she passed, you shipped me off to be with your sister while you looked after the child of another?" Memories of solitude resurface, reflecting in my eyes.

"I'm sorry, but I don't think that's a fair thing to say to me. Moreover, you were having an amazing time with your cousins. And it’s not like I left you there forever. I sent for you when you were ready for college.”Mom defends, silhouetted against the old family portraits.

“I'm sorry. It’s just really overwhelming. How soon till he finds someone else?” I plead, my gaze fixed on the delicate shadows cast by the antique chandelier

“Very soon. He’s not a Baker for nothing. You might not even spend up to two weeks in that house."

“I hope so. Bryan's not thrilled about this arrangement," I murmur, my concern for his discomfort evident.

"I couldn't care less. I've never been fond of your so-called husband-to-be." Mom retorts. Her disdain for Bryan was as clear as day.

"But he'll be my husband someday. You need to start warming up to him," I urge, hoping to achieve some level of acceptance.

"I might when he starts being more supportive and less reliant on you," she counters. "Her words carried a sense of unease regarding my welfare.

"He's not leeching off me. He'll step up once he's earning," "I defend Bryan," I say, my voice tinged with frustration.

Suddenly, Bryan waltzes in, interrupting our conversation.

“Speak of the devil. I’ll excuse you two."

"Mother, he can hear you,” I mutter through clenched teeth, embarrassed by her frankness.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Charity," Bryan greets, attempting to ease the atmosphere.

"Good night, Bryan," mom responds, her smile strained and obvious.

The tension between us is palpable as I brace myself for the conversation with Bryan, hoping to ease the discomfort caused by Mom's unfiltered remarks.

"Your mom hates me," Bryan murmured, a touch of sadness danced in his voice.

"Hate's a strong word. She'll come around," I try to reassure him, my fingers intertwining with his.

"How's my favourite person in the world doing?" Bryan's affectionate query pulls at my heartstrings.

"I'm fine, babe," I embrace him tightly, savouring every moment before we part ways.

"Should I be worried? That was one tight hug," Bryan teases, a trace of concern in his tone.

"I need to tell you something," I assert, my voice tinged with apprehension.

"Should I sit down for this?" Bryan's concern deepens, sensing the gravity of the conversation.

"Yes, please," I confirm with a mix of nerves and determination in my tone.

"Okay?" Bryan's voice holds a hint of worry as I finally divulge, “I just got a job."

He shifts uneasily, the air thick with tension. "You don’t seem thrilled. Is the pay terrible? What's the arrangement?" His concern hangs heavy in the room.

"The job's with my mom's former boss. She’s retired, and I’m stepping in until they find someone else," I explain with uncertainty lacing my words.

Bryan's eyebrows knit together in disbelief. "You're moving into their house?" His voice rings loud with disbelief. It felt as if he’d just heard the most unbelievable news. It's as if he can't believe his ears.

"Yeah, that's the downside of the job," I admit as I feel a knot forming in my stomach.

"How are we supposed to see each other if you're always there?" His frustration tinges on his words.

"I didn’t have a say in this, Bryan. It wasn’t my choice," I retort, a hint of helplessness seeping through my words.

He snaps back, "Well, it seems as if you don’t care about us or this relationship. Do I need an appointment to see you now?"

"It won’t be that complicated. We'll figure it out," I attempt to reassure Bryan.

“You had better, babe."

“I will, I promise."

“Babe, what of the money you promised me. I really need to pay for that Tv I told you about.”, I never promised money for a TV. What’s wrong with the one you already have?" I inquire, confusion etching my words.

"There's a scratch on the screen," he explains.

"But it's not broken or unusable," I point out, trying to comprehend his request.

"Why all these questions, babe?" he deflects, trying to move the conversation.

"I'm just trying to understand why you need money for a new TV when the current one still works fine," I clarify, seeking some reasoning.

"You get financial support from Mr. George Baker, so why act like I'm asking too much? You don't have to give me the money; you can lend it to me. I’ll return it when I start that job. The final phase of the interview is next month," he explains, appealing for financial assistance.

"I'm sorry, but I can't lend or give you money for a new TV, Bryan. Last week, it was your car; the week before, it was your drugs. I'm saving for fashion school. These things require money. I keep giving without much in return, and it’s exhausting," I express, my fatigue evident in my voice.

"Why don't you just announce to the whole of Manhattan that you've been giving me some cash? You act like you’ve given me everything. I need a break. I need to sort my finances and clear my head," he vents, frustration seeping into his words.

"What are you trying to say?" I inquire, a sense of worry creeping in.

"That I need a break from us," he confesses, dropping a bombshell.

"I'll send you the money for the TV," he quickly shifts, attempting to mend the conversation.

"I love you, babe. You're the best," he adds, his tone shifting to affection.

"Are we okay?" I ask, seeking reassurance.

"Did I mention anything about taking a break? I was just teasing. I need to leave right now," Bryan abruptly changes the conversation.

"Babe, you've only been here for a few minutes. I’m heading to Mr Baker's house tomorrow. Can’t we spend this remaining time together?" I plead, yearning for a few more moments of closeness.

"You sound like you are dying. I know we’ll see each other very soon. You promised to figure something out. Bye, my love. I love you," Bryan rushes through his words, already stepping away.

"Goodbye, babe," I murmur as I gently kiss him on his cheek. I stand aloft as I watch his car fade down the driveway. The familiar pang of abandonment resurfaces, a haunting echo from my past.

This constant cycle, Bryan's calculated exit in moments of disagreement, echoes the pain of my father's departure without a glance back. He knows my fear of being abandoned and uses it to gain control. It’s a toxic dance between us, and I wonder if I have the courage to break free from this hold. Worse yet, he exploits this vulnerability, leaving me in a perpetual state of emotional turmoil.

I sigh, imagining what tomorrow holds. I yearn to be on good terms with Mr Baker and his daughter while navigating this new chapter in my life and hoping for peace amidst the chaos.