Resisted Attraction

Part 4: Uncomfortable Situations

Part 4: Uncomfortable Situations

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The tall, yellow house sat in all its glory. A white porch, wooden door, and two floors. It was the image of a perfect house made for perfect people.

Never judge a book by its cover.

I walked up the stone walkway to the door. My hand knocked three times softly almost wishing to not be heard. I tapped my foot in waiting and stuffed my hands into my jean pockets.

I heard soft footsteps. The door creaked open, and I saw my mother's warm eyes peer through the crack in the door. Her face lit up at the sight of me. Throwing open the door, her arms wrapped me into a big hug. For such a small woman she had a tight grip.

I squirmed in the hug, but I sat my head on top of her in greeting. I took a deep breath.

"Hi, mom."

My mother pulled back from the hug, her hands still gripping onto my arms. Her eyes scanned me as if I was her long lost child. In a way, I was.

Her face shows a motherly smile. "Oh, honey, you look so beautiful."

My smile is reluctant. "Thanks," I whisper.

She releases my arms stepping back. She heads inside the house waving me in as well. "Your father is sitting in the living room. I'll be fixing lunch in the kitchen."

I nod. I walk down the hallway slowly behind my mother. Her black flats dissapear into the kitchen. I glance at the frames on the walls. Most of them are of me. My chest tightened.

The small girl with bright eyes stared back at me. A crooked tooth smile of a nine year old with no fear. The next photo over was one of my parents and me. Three smiles were looking at me.

I smiled for a second and continued walking down the hall and turning into the living room. I stopped at the door way.

My mother had half a sense of style when it came to furniture. She had the hard head of a professional designer though. My father wasn't much help either. However, the house always looked nice and clean.

A brown couch was pushed against the wall. Table stands sat on both sides. Two recliners sat on the back wall with a coffee table sitting in the middle. The wall closest to me had a tv hung on the wall. A DVD cabinet sat underneath.

My dad sat in one of the recliners, his eyes reading the page of a large book. I leaned against the doorway waiting for him to notice me. My arms crossed over my chest.

My father glanced up. His eyes had creased from age and his blonde hair was graying. His mouth sat in a firm line. We exchanged thoughts through expressions. I knew what he'd say before he said it.

"You shouldn't be here." It wasn't harsh, simply a statement.

I nodded and walked over to the other recliner. As much as my father loved me, my mother would always come first, as she should. My father had the ability to see simple thoughts of a person. He works at the coffee shop down the street, knowing people's orders before they can speak.

My father always understood me on a deeper level than my mother, but I think that was the reason we were more distanced. We both had our reasons for keeping me away from home.

"Mom dragged me here." I leaned forward in the chair. My hands rested on my knees.

My father didn't glance at me. "You're stronger than her. You could've said no."

"She missed me,"- my breath held for a second -"And I missed her."

My father listened but did not respond.