Blair

“He must have a big ol’ you know what,” I mumble as the movers finish bringing our boxes inside the large estate. There seemed to be so many more boxes when we packed up our small two-bedroom condo, but here in the grand foyer, the actual number before us looks so pitiful. I swallow as I look around, putting on a brave face. As my therapist would tell me: I can do hard things. And moving across the country to a gigantic house I’ve never seen, complete with a new stepfather and stepbrother? Yeah. That’s hard—though I’d never admit it out loud.

“What’s that, hon?” my mom asks, a clipboard in her left hand. She’s perfectly put together despite the hectic morning, her athleisure wear snug against her toned body, and her blonde hair pulled into a tight ponytail. One of the movers not-so-discretely checks her ass out as he moves a dolly back outside, and I roll my eyes. She had me at eighteen—the age I am right now, which is crazy to think about—so I’m used to people openly hitting on her and thinking we’re sisters.

“Nothing,” I answer, smirking as I run my finger along the dark wood of the staircase. The house—if you can even call the grand estate a mere house—is way nicer than I expected. Go, Mom. Way to score that rich peen. “Where’s Andrew? I thought he’d be here to welcome us.”

My mom shakes her head as she checks things off her to-do list. “Nope. He’s in Saint Tropez until Sunday.”

“How rude of him not to invite us,” I joke, and she chuckles.

“It’s for business, Briar. I wouldn’t want to go anyway. I have so much to do around here.” She looks around, and her eyes have that excited gleam she always gets when she has a new project in front of her. To me, this is a house—to her, this is her newest endeavor. By Thanksgiving, this house will be scrubbed from top to bottom, artwork hung, rugs placed down, candles set up on every surface imaginable…

“Mmm.” 

I look around. It seems pretty put together to me, but I know she intends to make it ours. Right now, anyone could live here, and the furniture and decorations are generic and dated. The foyer, which is where we’re standing, opens up so that the formal living room is to our right, a formal dining room to our left, and straight ahead is the casual breakfast room, a library, an informal living room, an office, a kitchen, a wine cellar, and a conservatory that leads into the expansive garden out back, flanked by an Olympic-sized pool and tennis court.

And that’s just this floor. Up the wide staircase by the front door are eleven bedrooms. Downstairs, there’s a large basement lounge area with a wet bar, a game room, a theater to watch television, another office, and an ensuite guest room, as if the eleven upstairs don’t cut it. Who even needs that many bedrooms, anyway?

“Have you had a chance to look around?” Mom asks, pulling her credit card out of her wallet and handing it to one of the movers. They must be done. It didn’t take as long as I thought, given the amount of time we spent packing up, but I guess any number of personal items in a place like this would feel meager.

“Briefly.”

“Which room would you like? Andrew said to take any of them except the two at the end of the hallway.” 

I nod. “There are a few upstairs with a bathroom.” Little does she know, I’ve already claimed the biggest room.

She mumbles something unintelligible. “Sure, hon. He made me promise to tell you that mi casa es su casa.” She looks up from signing the receipt and gives me a soft smile. “He wants us to make ourselves at home, whatever that entails.”

I put my hands in the pockets of my ripped, black jeans. “That won’t be a problem,” I quip, looking around. “The second bedroom is his son’s?”

“Yes. But I get the feeling Hunter isn’t here very often.” She puts her card away and we both wave the movers off. Shutting the door, she turns to me and squeals. “Isn’t this amazing?”

Amazing? Sure. My mom eloping with an older, rich guy? Great. After what happened, she deserves to be with someone stable. And being able to attend one of the most renowned private schools in Massachusetts because he’s the headmaster is a convenient benefit. I think of what my life could be a year from now—living in Paris, attending university, eating croissants, outdoor cafés… if all goes according to plan, that is. I’m also glad to be as far away from California as possible. But I can’t help the nagging, anxious feeling of being in a new place, when Marin City was the only town I’ve ever known.

“It’s massive,” I declare, looking around.

She walks over and puts an arm around my shoulders. Giving me a quick squeeze, she steps away and reaches down for a box. Relaxation is not in Mom’s vocabulary. Doesn’t matter that we’ve been driving for three days—now that we’re here, there’s work to be done. She’s a bottomless pit of energy.

“Okay, time to unpack,” she chirps, handing it to me. “Take this up to your room, please.”

“Fine,” I sigh, feigning annoyance.

I take the box from her and haul it up the sprawling staircase to the room I’ve already claimed as my own. It’s the biggest one available, and it has its own bathroom, so those two things are a win-win for me. I push the door open and set it down. I have five boxes to my name, two of which are clothes. It felt really, really good to think about starting over here, so I didn’t bring much.

I go downstairs and bring the other four boxes up, and I’m unpacked in a matter of thirty minutes. Mom promised a shopping trip soon, so aside from clothes, I have everything I need here. Photo albums, books, a blanket from my grandmother, a couple of sentimental knick-knacks, and then practical things like toiletries and accessories. I ignore the lump in my throat when I think of our condo, my friends, the fog of the bay area… it was my home for eighteen years. As I look around, I pull my arms around myself.

I guess this is my home now.

As I sit on the edge of the bed, I admire the shabby chic décor. There’s a four-poster bed, chest of drawers, wardrobe, desk, and matching side tables. The window looks out onto the garden, and there’s even a small balcony with a small table and two chairs. I envision sitting out there with some coffee, listening to music, reading, or just enjoying the changing seasons. I’m looking forward to experiencing a true fall, winter, and spring. 

There’s a knock at my door, and a second later, my mom walks in.

“Oh, this one’s nice!” She walks over, sits on the edge of the bed, and puts an arm around my shoulders. “How are you doing, Briar?”

I let out a loud sigh. “Oh, you know.” I nuzzle my head on her shoulder. “I think I’m fine.”

She nods. “It’s a fresh start. For both of us.”

I close my eyes. “Thank god.”

I love my mom, and she means well. We’re super close, though I do often wonder if I was adopted. We’re two entirely different people. Since she had me so young, and my father was never in the picture, we grew up together, in a way. Figured life out together. At thirty-six, she’s still young and spry, and most of her friends are just now starting to have kids. She’s the strongest person I know because of it, and still somehow manages to look like a model every freaking day. Blonde, athletic, a former cheerleader, she’s perky and happy and is the first person to volunteer to help you out. It’s no wonder she’s a professional wedding planner.

I, on the other hand, have long, dark auburn hair, grey-blue eyes, and in the mornings before I’ve had my coffee, I resemble the girl from The Ring. I’m naturally pessimistic, sarcastic, and I’ve never done a sport in my life—I even failed out of physical education at my last school. I don’t know my dad, but I assume I get all these lovely, cumbersome traits from him. 

Despite our differences, I would be lost without my mom, and I know half the reason she moved us across the country right before my senior year was for my benefit. She saw me struggling with what happened, got me to see a wonderful psychologist, and when she met and married my new stepfather, the opportunity to move here presented itself. It seemed like a welcome change.

She stands. “I need to run a few errands, get the house in tip-top shape before Andrew returns on Sunday. Need anything while I’m out?”

“Maybe a cheeseburger?”

She snorts. “Two cheeseburgers it is.” Bending down, she kisses me on the head. “Be good. Don’t snoop around too much.”

And then she’s gone, leaving me to explore the house by myself.

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