Milan.
The look on my face right now, is probably the same look I had after reading an article twenty five minute long, about the history of the world most dangerous serial killers. It is also the look I had after witnessing a twenty three year old, jump off a twelve story building. Yes suicide, witnessed live. I call it the five stages of realization. First it's confusion, then shock, then fear, then disbelief and finally anger. And the incredible fact is that you experience these feelings at the same time, or they come in stages at a very short interval.
So when my dad notifies me that the Scotts will be have a business related partnership with the Maldives, I experience the five stages of realization. Puzzled by what he's saying, shock that he even thought about the partnership, fear that he might actually be serious, disbelief that he is in fact actually serious about the collaboration with the Maldives and finally angry that he want this hating game to continue.
The hating game between the Scotts and the Maldives dates back to the early 90s. And with each generation, the Scotts and the Maldives come very close to calling a truce, but the Royal screw up always interfere.
The Royal screw up, is an unanticipated event—a bad event— that occurs when the Scotts and the Maldives moves toward peace. It is a reoccurring event that takes place every generation. Believe me, I had to take notes learning about my family history. It's like writing “The Scotts and Maldives for dummies” or “The Scott and Maldives 1-0-1”.
But what may be different this time is that, the Royal screw up won't be unanticipated but very much expected. Meaning that my dad is intentionally causing a Royal screw up, because as far as I can tell we have been at peace with the Maldives. Sort of. And starting a Royal screw up, is like starting the World War III, the Armageddon, the end of the world, the Apocalypse.
I stand speechless in front of my dad, he is still speaking, but everyone and everything around me is on mute. He seemed excited when he told me
“Avast inc. would be in business with Heritage. What do you think?.” and there was this really gleeful smile on his face. I wanted so badly to slap that smile off his face.
“I think that's taking it a bridge to far” I say. “what happened to partnering up with Constantine, and the whole operation of the year”.
Now he looks stricken with surprise. He laughs and pats me on the head, a gesture I resent.
“You know nothing of this world child, your mother has news for you”. He says, diverting his attention to the news channel on the television.
But that shit eating grin still lingers.
My mother sits in front of her vanity, going through her daily skincare routine. She gently glides a cotton pad—soaked with Toner — across her skin. She doesn't see me yet, and I am in no hurry to reveal myself, I try to guess the reason she has called me, private conversations with my mom is something that rarely happens. My guessing session is cut short when her eyes find mine in the mirror. I take a deep long breath and approach her. I don't sit, because I don't want us to converse for too long.
“I assume your father has broken the news to you about his recent collaboration ” she place emphasis on the word “collaboration”. I nod in response to her question.
She picks up a tube of sunscreen and squirts it on her palm, she uses her index and middle finger to gradually apply the sunscreen in fractions. She then goes on to massage her face with both of her palms, caressing and smoothing. It the same routine I follow, except mine is less complicated and only involves a cleanser, moisturizer and sunscreen. Sometimes I consider a face mask.
“We are having dinner with the Maldives tonight, at their place that is” she says “I expect you look your best and be well behaved ”.
Translation: Look prettier than Stella and list some or all of your life achievement.
“Okay” I say forcefully. I walk out of her room but not without hearing her mutter “Goddamn Maldives”.
I think about all the things I have to do today.
Volunteering at the senior Center, Track practice, supervising the school fundraising program, studying and now dinner with the Maldives. I already feel a headache approaching, might as well take an analgesic now before it happens.
I have considered dropping some of my extracurricular activities, but I need them to impress Ivy League schools. My grades are perfect, I'm taking honors math this year and some AP classes. It's the only way to go far away from this house, far away from this mayhem and the ones to come. So whenever I think about my goal, and end results, I keep pushing myself.
My older brother Graham has two duffel bags slung around his shoulders, he still wears has his gym shorts on, but it's paired with black crocs on. I smile as I mentally mock his choice of clothing, he's on this phone so he doesn't see me approach.
“Hey!” I say. His attention is now on me, and he acknowledges my greeting with a nod.
“Did you take your entire wardrobe to the gym, or there is another explanation?” I ask.
He sighs deeply “Actually I will be returning back to Canada today, my flight leaves in 2 hours” he says.
My mouth hangs open. He couldn't even wait till after dinner.
“Its only been a week since you came home from Canada, why do you need to leave”. I ask, exasperated.
“I have work to do, proposals to submit and there is a deadline, I have to complete these task on time”
“Can't you at least stay till after dinner?” I ask conveying my earlier thought. He smiles at my question, and shakes his head. He know I don't want to go to this dinner alone, because it'll be hell.
“More reason why I should leave now. If I stay any longer mom will find a way to keep me here”. he says “and with the information I've received about this “partnership” I sense impending chaos, and I don't want to be here for any of it”
This is why I need to graduate and get into a good college as soon as possible. I crave this freedom he has, to come and leave whenever I want, and not tied down to this family. He pats me on my shoulder, as if giving me a silent encouragement, and then he leaves.
