Chapitre 3: Chapter 2
Still last week before the doomsday
You must be wondering- what could possibly have triggered my mom to show such tremendous wrath? (Shouting 'fifibel' for a week in front of the whole wide world even though I was in hearing distance), surely, this was not the very first time she must have learned about the fate of our family heirloom aka our bakery, Sweet Gum Tree. Mind you, she is not begrudging me my inheritance, nor am I snatching her right. We both are crystal clear on this point. She only wants to rule that cash counter. She believes it's the throne of our kingdom. And my nana dictated this stipulation that-thou shall not place thee mother on the throne, if thou wants to inherit this kingdom. And my mom is confident that I will surely inherit it as their seems to be no female descendants falling from the sky. So, I can do whatever I wish to do (with her guidance, of course). In short, I'm in the middle of this tug of war that both nana and mom are armed to win. Thus, whenever these two clash, generally my remaining family makes the habit of making themselves scarce. Alas, I forgot to get that memo on that day.
So, there I was smiling silly, without a care to the world, just thinking about the movie I will watch that night. The front door gave a jingle announcing someone entered the bakery. My gaze wandered to the intruder. It took a minute for my brain to kick-start. A frown marred between my eyes, confusion etching on my face, trying to believe what I was seeing.
'Mom! What are you doing here?', looking like that. I so want to add the last part, but I didn't. I use some of my brain cells sometimes, thank you very much. Standing in front of me was a stunning woman dressed in a burgundy lace top, matching skirt with a side cut that's below the knee (thank god) and a blazer in the same colour with beads stitched to it. Oh, also accessories like a side hat and pearls. No gloves though, phew. It's a great ensemble if you are in 80s. She rocked it now too. However, the fact-my mom never dresses like that, remains. Generally, she opts to dresses with flowery patterns, colourful themes etc., Thus, decking like a mother of the bride is so not my mom's style, which worries me. What was she up to now?
'Promise me you are not going out looking like that to grab a potential husband material for me', I enquired her with a straight face. Because you never know what she will land me in.
'Oh honey, when did I do that?', my mom drawled.
'The dinner two weeks ago at your place? Does that ring any bell? Or how about the lunch date you asked me to drop you, only to drag me inside and listen to the 'qualities' of one of your church friend's son? Shall I continue?' I ticked each one with a finger, showing how serious I'm.
'Whatever I'm doing, it's for your own good!', my mom declared her famous line melodramatically. I heard that line since childhood. It's my mom's version of making me do things.
'Where did I hear it before? I wonder', i deadpanned not in the mood for her theatrics.
'Anyway, I'm not here to listen to your accusations', I raised my eyebrows at that. Trust my mom to stretch it. 'I'm going to meet Stella at our regular place. Pack me something that will knock that old crones feet', my mom says, looking at the display. Stella aka the old crone is not really old per se, but she is my mom's rival. You know, the one who tries to outdo whatever you do. Stella and mom are like that. They were 'friends' since high school.
Mom graduated with honours. Stella married a rich guy (compared to us). Mom married dad. Stella gave birth to twins and bought a home. Mom gave birth to me and my brother. Stella's daughters started modelling at age 5, who now are working with brand's internationally. Mom became plump, Stella is still in stellar condition. Hence the animosity. In short, my mom is doomed. But no, James leaves the field without a tough competition. So, my mom goes to their meetings looking like a poster child of queen Elizabeth. These meetings are generally a weekend in every month they meet at a restaurant to 'catch up' what's happening in others' lives. In other words, bragging about oneself.
I quickly packed one of my famous batch of macaroons with different flavours. As I was entering the details for the bill-which she will not pay, my mom asks, 'How Do I Look?'
'Like a peeled beetroot with the roots intact', said my nana in a cackling voice.
I internally groaned. I don't know how, but these two have an alarm attached to their body. Whenever they come under each other's vicinity, it must blare- 'incoming! Enemy!! incoming! Enemy!!'.
Meet my nana, Georgia Rose Murray. She is a tall, regal woman, whose stature demands attention when entered a room. She has a head full of white hair in a short boy cut which accentuates her jawline, pearl earrings, black top, grey pants which are ironed meticulously and have a loose elegance. Not to forget her famous shawl.
Let me tell you a few fun facts about nana-
1. She can look better than you at any point in the day, no matter how much she worked. One day, I'm going to learn that secret.
2. She can give a dressing down like a pro. I wish she would take me as a trainee.
3. She has this know-it-all attitude that comes only with age...or she is the best actress I know.
4. She was the best storyteller when I was a kid.
'What an apt word! I was thinking about the same thing about you the other day', my mom redirected the barb.
'Thief! Try to be an original like me. Ha! What am I saying? You will never be like me', my nana officially removed her imaginary gloves.
Ouch! That will hurt. I'm going to pay for that one if I don't stop them now. Before I can open my mouth, my mom bulldozed with her words.
'Nor do I want to! Who wants to be an old prune like you', my mom hit bullseye with that one.
Where is that fire exit when you need it?
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone