Roots

Acacia

Acacia

The bedroom door swings open as my mother storms inside. She places her hand on her hip and frowns. Her glare isn't frightful but I feel guilty for being the reason behind her attempt to appear scary.

I want to throw the covers over my head and hide, but from previous experience, that doesn't work. You can't disappear, especially when you're an only child.

"Tikera Jamie Copeland, I'm very disappointed in you."

"I told you before, I'm going to work soon and I can't come downstairs and play happy families." I sigh. "I should be napping otherwise I'll be too tired to function."

"You haven't been to work in weeks, and I know because I've seen you lazing in that coffee shop down the street. There's no excuse! Your father needs you downstairs to entertain Marcus."

Now I really wish I could hide.

"But I hate Marcus, he's gross and annoying. Why can't you put him in front of the television screen? I'm sure he'd be happier with that."

"He's twenty-five, not five."

"Are you sure about that? He sure acts like a five-year-old would."

"This is rich coming from someone who won't entertain guests for a few hours." She taps her foot on the floor and crosses her arms.

"Fine, I'll do it, but I won't pretend to be happy."

"I want to see happy smiles and hear cheerful laughter and glowing reviews about the awesome time they've had. This is important to your father, so it should be important to you."

"I'm sorry, consider me happy as a dandy."

"Thank you, Tikera." Her posture softens. "Wear your bathers, maybe you can go swimming."

"Swimming?" I frown.

"Wear something nice and flattering."

"I'd rather garden naked in front of an old man then parade myself in front of Marcus."

"Tikera." Mum gasps.

"I'm getting dressed."

"Thank you." She closes the door and I press my face into the pillow.

I wander outside and plonk onto the plush daybed. As I sprawl along it, I tug my yellow sundress down. The couch is usually covered with a navy blue tarp, but today it's on display along with the Boho-style table.

Dad and Mr. Sherman sit across from each other with Marcus beside his father.

The pair are wearing soft grey suits, but their jackets have subtle differences, making their outfits unique in their own way.

Mr. Sherman claps his son's shoulder and releases a hearty laugh. I roll my eyes with disgust. How much longer do I have to put up with this?

"He's always been good at sports but he's even better with accounting."

Marcus plays with the buttons on his jacket and chuckles.

"The way my father talks, I hope it isn't wasted breath."

Dad shakes his head. "With a mentor like your father, you won't have a doubt worth worrying about."

"Thank you, William." Marcus smiles.