Days, went by, I was living with my parents again.
Stella seemed more relaxed given the news about my father. She seemed sweeter, caring, and appreciated him, by cooking his favorite dishes.
I was observing them closely.
Usually the day starts with breakfast before 9 am, lunch with an oriental twist and savory Chinese food at 12 pm, afternoon teas usually at 4pm, and dinner by 6:30 pm serving a fusion or barbeque. We read the news paper at the porch, I can see all sorts of plastic snow man with garden gnomes in Santa suits scattered in the yard. The Holiday cheer commencing all around the neighborhood. There were children singing carols at every door, like there weren't a cloud forming in the sky, carrying rain, ready to pour down on us. Particularly on our house. The mood outside is happy, while inside these walls it's so cold and suffocating. If it weren't for the garlands, and wreath on the front door, I won't notice it's the holidays. Even turning the fairy lights on, feels like a big lie.
Even before I arrived, Stella transformed the place. It once was a charming Colonial house, my Dad built. Now it's a Contemporary style property. She said it was her dream project, to design a modern house. Not like my Dad's taste, he likes traditional, vintage, and full of antique furnitures. Mom called them old junk. Since knocking down the walls containing decades of history, she managed to turn it into a stone-cold manor, with crystal chandeliers, brick cladded fireplace, a cherry wood mantel, big windows, and her signature "Red" door in front. Mostly everything in here is red, the pillow cases, the table runners, the center pieces, the rug, and her wide collection of vases. Which I haven't looked into yet, why there are broken pieces of glass in the garbage behind Mom's modern shed.
Harry, honey let's go to the park and watch the festival of lights. Or we can go to Bellevue, put on our coats, and drink hot Coco in Snowflake Lane, it's going to be wonderful isn't it right Angel?.
My Mom, snipped at me, with just her usual straight face. Not the face she has shown to my father every damn day.
Ah, yes, that's a great idea. I told her while sipping my jasmine tea.
It's been held at Bellevue for years, they turn the whole downtown into a winter wonderland, with an un-real falling snow. I added. Afraid of sounding sarcastic, for emphasizing the word "fake", because that's how I felt inside trying to make my Dad believe I am into, jolly singing, and watching a parade of dancers in drummer costumes. Makes me want to punch them in their mouths. While I was struggling to grasp my Dad's condition, here I am dressed up in my dark green dress under my black coat, tights, and new hunter rain boots. I like it since it hides my bigger than usual calves. And my trusty, pink scarf, my only memory of the past.
Smile, my dear, don't show your Dad, you know about his illness, it's not good for anybody. She whispered to me. Let's make this trip feel pretty normal, and festive. Stella instructed, "And take off that hideous looking scarf", I'll buy you a new one later. She hissed.
My Mom pushed my Dad's wheelchair into the customized Van.
She bought it just for him, I'm guessing for his hospital trips, and just like tonight for strolling around the city.
"Stella", Harry held her hand.
You look so beautiful. Did you know lavender is my favorite scent?, Your shampoo.
It suits you, it makes your blonde hair smell so good.
I saw a sudden sharp glint in mother's eyes.
As if there's something she heard she didn't like.
Or a secret emotion she was hiding in a box was opened.