Every day is fight.

A new way to figure out how incompetent I am among the daughters of my mothers' ridiculous friend group. I mean if you really even want to call it a friend group instead of a bunch of old, washed up hags getting together comparing their children as a herder would his most prized sheep.

But that's the drawback of living in a traditional family who still believes a women's worth is found in the "heart" of a home. Or what us westerners like to call kitchens. From the day I turned 18, every conversation has been centered on whom I will marry, my physique, and ability to do chores.

As if these three categories hold a profound weight over what my life will become. My family values the Italian traditionalism, a way of life I cannot conform too. Mom growing up under a strict Italian family had left her under the impression that age old ideals still remained to be the status quo among many of the young minds in America.

Thus, she raised us as her parents and guardians had. It is not her fault that she was yanked out of school, the one place she loved, unable to attend college. Though it doesn't stop her from pushing the blame over to me rather than my older brother. Leading to yet again another fight about how I was unable to complete a task at my mother's expectation.

Now, as a college graduate from UC Berkeley, I am back in Forks Washington to live a life that I had long forgotten. Replacing my oppressive memories with rich academia, freedom, and dreams. Perhaps, my earning a coveted spot in one of the best publisher's house in America, Twilight Publishing House Seattle's division, would finally make my momma proud of me.

"Bella!" my mother called. OH! Think of the devil and he shall appear. "I told you to pick the tomatoes out in the back! Elaine had asked for them weeks ago and I have yet to drop off them off. Is that too much to ask? God what do you do all day besides sit on your behind and type away at that computer."

"Renee…" Dad cut in with a warning tone. It always played out a little something like this. I would do the thousands of other things she'd request and then my mother would choose one thing on the list, whether it was done or not, to complain about.

"No Char, I have had enough of her. She has accomplished nothing in her life. We work so hard to put food on the table and made sure to put her through school yet she repays us by ignoring the little things we ask her to do."

Taking a deep breath, I prepared myself, "Momma I.."

"What Bella? What excuse will you come up with now?

"I dropped the tomatoes off earlier today. Aunty Elaine wasn't home but uncle Anthony answered the door. He said he'd let her know once she got home. They must've forgot." I chocked out, fighting the urge to add, "you impatient woman."

Renee stared, her lip pursed in a sharp frown and her eyes narrowed, "Well, it isn't like you washed the dishes. I come home and there are always 50 dishes" there were definitely 2 dishes in the sink " just waiting for me."

And if that wasn't enough, she went onto explain what her workday was like, the amount of laundry she had done, and how grateful she'd be if she lived the life I did. It had become a vicious cycle. She'd cry about her terrible misfortune and how my dad never treated her like the other men did. They'd argue and she'd always find a way to blame me.

But before she started up again, the garage door opened and in walked Emmett. Her pride and Joy. You see Em was the best older brother. Yes, we argued like cats and dogs but we'd grown up from that now and at the age of 26 he was doing fairly well for himself. My mom, however, always felt the need to remind me how great or better he was.

He walked in petting Jake, our 6-year-old dog, his eyes widening as he took in the scene before him. Me standing in the doorway with tears in my eyes, my dad rubbing his temples, and my mother cowering in the corner of the couch as an innocent expression washed over her face.

Emmett, unaware of the argument that had occurred, tapped me on the shoulder. "What happened?"

I was about to tell him what had just gone down until I looked up and saw my mom shake her head. Sending me a silent death threat. I sighed, "nothing."

You see mom never cried in front of Emmett or even yelled as she did in front of my father and I. For her, Emmett was the only good one. Started working until he was 16, had been disowned at one point because he dated a woman twice his age but eventually brought back in, and commuted daily from his office in Port Angeles. He was the prodigal son. Every mistake was forgivable, ever argument forgettable, and ever good deed noble. It would be annoying if wasn't so amazing.

"Honey, don't worry about. I started on some soup it should be done soon. Why don't you take a shower and we'll eat together, hmm?" she said beaming at him, wiping away any evidence of the fight that had just occurred moments ago. Skirting past me and into the kitchen.

Dad got up and announced he was taking Jake on a walk.

Emmett left to go take a shower and spend at least 40 minutes on the phone with Rosalie, his girlfriend no one knew about.

Leaving me standing, alone, in the middle of the living room. Tears rolling down my face and my hands rolled into fists.

I wanted a better life for myself. I wanted to be something of worth to those around me. Function in well-oiled machine and be acknowledged for my merit and utter devotion to the task at hand. I wanted to tell my momma that I could be a different kind of successful even though all she had wants is for me to settle down and find a nice Italian boy.

I shook my head and wiped at the tears. I knew better than to live a lie. My mother couldn't understand. I was a woman only as defined by her age-old beliefs. I was chubbier than she wanted me to be, my hair fell around my face rather than a chic top knot perched upon my head, and I couldn't make a cannoli to save a life. I would never be the daughter my mother could be proud of. I could only be the woman I wanted to be.

My decision had been made.

"In two days, I'll be leaving to Seattle to work as an editing associate" I tested it out loud, my voice sounding hoarse due to my dry throat, words that died before ever having the opportunity to be heard. That was the conversation I had initially thought we'd be having. But life never went as expected.

Thank you for reading! This is going to be along journey and I hope I can live up to your expectation. Please review and let me know if there are any changes you'd make, characters you feel close too, or just some general supportive words you can give me.

Sending love to you all.