Everything started the day I found my mother's diary. Before I read that diary, I had never heard of Jay Gatsby, nor Nick Carraway, nor the way my mother really felt about anything. I had just been passing through life, an outsider to the fancy manners and absorbent wealth I had been born into. Lucille Buchanan, the black sheep of the family. And to be honest, I was getting tired of it...
"Lucy!" My mother called me from the living, and I had to roll my eyes. Placing a marker into The 42nd Parallel, I put the book on my desk and walked downstairs.
"Yes mother?" I asked entering the room. Even in her middle age, Daisy Buchanan was beautiful. Her golden blond hair had grown longer, but her dark brown eyes still held their luminous warmth. It was well-covered territory that, with my dark brown hair and light blue eyes, I looked nothing like her. In fact, I'm far more like my father appearance-wise. However, that's where our similarities end. I'm a reader, a thinker, with a good head on my shoulders. My older sister Pamela is nothing like me, a superficial air-head. It's my older brother Tom that I really get on with. He's happy and friendly, everyone loves him. His only problem is that he tries too hard to impress his friends and the people at school. I always tried to make him see that he was so much more than the people he tried to impress.
My mother sat on one of our plush white couches, her rose pink dress spread across its cushions. On the couch across from her, a handsome, polished boy with dark read hair sat with perfect posture. A quick once over determined that he played polo and, judging by his expression, had a nonexistent sense of humor. I sighed. She had brought over another suitor for m, and i could tell I would just be a stain on his family name. Mother gestured for me to come over, so I did, begrudgingly.
"Lucille." She said, her breathy voice taking on a slight warning tone. "This is Walden Brown." I nodded minutely. Mother shook her head, stood, and took my hand. We stood together in the hallway.
"Lucy, Walden came all the way from Savannah to visit you." Mother said gently. "The least you can do is try." Hands on my hips, I glared at her.
"I do try mother. But these boys you keep bringing over aren't for me." Mother's gaze hardened.
"Unfortunately, that isn't only your decision to make." And she went back into the living room to see Walden off. I walked into the kitchen and poured myself some milk from the ice-box. As I carefully drank, my younger brother Tom came in from his afternoon run.
"Hey Luce." He flashed my his brilliant smile. "What's up?" I shrugged.
"Just drinking some milk."
"Nice." Tom began toweling off his hair. As he cooled off, I though about how he looked nothing like either of our parents. His golden hair is naturally perfect, and his eyes are a clear, bright blue. He was easily the most handsome boy in school, and he had a friendly, carefree disposition that attracted people to him.
"You okay?" He asked, snapping me out of my reverie. I smiled and nodded.
"Yeah. Just spaced out for a minute." He ruffled my hair and smirked.
"That's our Lucy, always with her head in the clouds." I laughed and batted his hand away.
"Shut-up Tom." It was at that moment that dad came in. Still in his riding clothes, Tom Buchanan was imposing on his mildest day. His face had grown harder with age, his eyes seemed more beady. His hands were large and powerful and I had felt their strength more than once for disobeying.
"Hello Thomas, Lucille." He greeted Tom with a slap on the back and me with a kiss on my forehead.
"Hi dad." We responded, though with little enthusiasm. It was a poorly hidden secret that none of the Buchanan family loved the patriarch. We all knew about his "sprees" and we all resented them. Dad's smile faltered a bit, but didn't completely disappear. He nodded.
"So where's your mother?"
"The living room." I replied pointing. He left without another word. Tom and I exchanged a look. Then, he chuckled.
"I'm gonna go change. Pam and Michael are coming for dinner tonight."
"I'd better change too." I followed him up the stairs and went into my room. Ever since my older sister got married, her visits to our house were becoming less frequent- not that I was complaining. We had almost nothing in common anyway. However, this meant that I had to be on my best behavior whenever she was around. Today, my mother was already on in my room, picking out my dress for dinner. She finally decided on a powder blue monstrosity, flowy and frilly, the opposite of my taste. I put it on anyway.
My mother and I stood together in front of the mirror, looking and feeling completely different. She took my hair in her hands and began to braid it.
"Lucy!" She complained. "Your hair is simply impossible!" I rolled my eyes.
"It's curly mother."
"Pammy's is nice and straight." She pointed out. The comment stung. I yanked my hair away and finished the braid. Sighing, Daisy leaned down and kissed the top of my head. Then, she left to oversee the table's set-up. I took another look in the mirror and shook my head.
"I guess I'll never be Pamela."
I went into the dining room to see mother ordering the servants around and dad pouring himself some scotch. Tom had yet to come down. I was about to ask my dad if I could have a sip, when the doorbell rang.
"I'll get it!" I offered, striding towards the door. I opened it quickly, to see Pamela standing there on the arm of her husband Michael. He was a handsome man, no doubt, with black hair and brown eyes, but uninteresting and brutish. Exactly the type I didn't like.
"Hello Lucille!" Pamela kissed me and beamed.
"Hi Pam." I smiled back, but she had already breezed past.
"Lucy." Michael kissed my hand and ran after Pam. Shaking my head, I closed the door and followed them. In the dining room, everyone was sitting, except for Tom, who still wasn't down.
"Where's Tommy?" Pamela asked, just as my brother came down the stairs. He was dressed in a tailored black tuxedo, complete with bow tie and shiny black shoes, absolutely gorgeous. There was a sharp intake of breath from mother and I thought I heard a whisper of, "Jay." Dad was out of his seat, shoving the table aside. He stalked over to mother and grabbed her arm.
"I though you weren't going to mention his name again." Mother yanked her arm away and, in a most unladylike manner, spat,
"You are not him." And stormed away. Dad sat down at the head of the table and, at our strange looks, said,
"What?"