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7
Ayla
“Honey, it’s time to wake up!”
My mom’s voice. Along with some very insistent knocking. I bury my face in my pillow.
“Ayla? It’s 10 in the morning! Come on, I made you some coffee.”
“I’m sleeping,” I say groggily, trying to keep my brain in sleep mode.
Annoyance washes over me as I hear her open my bedroom door. I Hate It when she does that. “Honey! Come on, it’s too late to stay asleep. Why don’t we have a mother-daughter talk.”
Just a few more weeks, I tell myself. Just a few more weeks, and then you’ll be living in the dorms. No roommate could be worse than this.
I turn to my mother, bleary-eyed. “Yes, mom?”
Shefrowns. “Well, no need to be rude. I’m sorry I raised you better than to sleep in all hours of the afternoon.”
“What time is it?” I reach for my phone. “Mom! It’s not afternoon. I was up late last night.”
“And whose fault is that?” She crosses her arms. “Your father told me you stormed out after the wedding?”Content from NôvelDr(a)ma.Org.
My stomach churns as I remember the messed-up roller coaster that last night was. Smoking weed with Belle-Ann and meeting that guy, then dad telling me like an hour later that I’m supposed tomarryhim. The party…
Oh fuck, the party.
“Can I be alone right now?” I ask my mom. “I’m still just waking up.”
“Let’s talk now,” she says, “then you can be alone. I won’t take up too much of your precious time.”
It will be easier not to argue with her. I sit up in bed, resigned. “Okay. What?”
“You know you’re marrying Alessio Razone.”
I bury my head in my hands. “Mom, goddammit. I don’t want to do that.”
“And I don’t like going to the doctor, Ayla, but I do it. I don’t like flossing my teeth, but you know what I do every single day?”
“We’re not talking about flossing my fucking teeth!” I yell, patience evaporating. “We’re talking about me spending the rest of my life with someone I don’t love, someone I never even met before tonight!”
My mother, Maria Gonzalez, gives me a look I’ve seen far, far too many times, forcing her heavily Botoxed face into a patronizing smile. “That isn’t true, honey. You’ve met Alessio before. Don’t you remember that summer? When we stayed at Bevilacqua’s lake house, and you played with all the other kids?”
I squint, memories starting to flash back to me. “You mean when I was like 13?”
“You were 14. And maybe you don’t remember this well, but Alessio was there visiting with his grandfather at the same time as us. I think he went by ‘Alex’ back then.”
Oh, shit. The name Alex, I remember. In fact, it’s just about the only part of that trip I do. The mysterious, well-dressed older guy who was always in a bad mood and didn’t seem to give a fuck about anything, including me. That shit was like crack to me at that age.
Yeah, I remember him. And that’s why I recognized him at the wedding. Five years ago, for about a week, he was my completely inappropriate crush.
“That’s not the point, mom. I don’t want an arranged marriage. I want to choose who I marry.”
She sighs. “And I want to-”
“You get everything you want!”I interrupted her, my anger flaring back up. “You got your dream house, your dream car, all on account of dad’s blood money. Look at that rock on your finger. Look at all the shit we own! It is suchbullshitfor you to act like your life is this constant struggle of you doing things you don’t want to do.”
My mother goes silent. I can tell that I’ve gone too far for this to continue as a rational discussion.
“We all do things for the family,” she snaps. “I’ve done more for our family than you will ever know. I don’t want to hear one more word of argument. The world doesn’t revolve around you. You’re marrying Alessio Razone, and that’s final.”
She spins around and slams my door behind her.
I scream into my pillow.