Sorry about the long wait for this chapter. I was sort of uninspired but now I got my muse back, so enjoy and review!
I knock on the door to my parents' house. The housekeeper, Liana, answers the door and her face breaks into a smile when she sees me. "Alex!"
She's so glad to see me that it's almost as if it's been six months since I was last here rather than one week. She's been our housekeeper since I was a baby, and we were always close.
Liana steps aside to let me in. "Your parents are in the sitting room," she tells me.
I nod. "Thank you, Liana."
Bracing myself, I make my way to the sitting room. The entire house is eerily silent except for the soft footsteps of the maid on the stairs, carrying a laundry hamper up to my parents' room. Glancing at myself in the mirror, I run a hand through my hair, satisfied that not one strand is out of place. Standing up as straight as possible, I walk into the room.
My mother is sitting on the couch, reading a novel, while my father leafs through his newspaper in an armchair. He notices me first and takes off his reading glasses, folding them and setting them on the desk next to him. "Alex," he greets me, his face spreading into a slow smile as he holds out his arms. "It's so nice to see you!"
I give him a hug and a peck on the cheek. "It's good to see you, too, Dad."
My mother looks up from her book, an expression of abject displeasure on her face. "You're late, Alexandra."
"Sorry, Mother," I apologize. "There was traffic."
I can't tell if she knows I'm lying or not, but I don't give her a chance to inquire any father. Instead, I walk over to her and give her a kiss as well.
"Dinner will be ready in five minutes," she says, not bothering to greet me any farther. "Go wash your hands, please."
I roll my eyes and resist the urge to say, "I'm not five years old anymore, Mother."
Even now, she is still quite imposing, intimidating. She's never raised a hand to me – it's not that I'm scared of her – but she's a respectable, majestic figure even so. Although I'm no longer a child, I still have nothing but utmost respect for my mother.
I wash my hands and come into to the dining room, sitting down across from my mother at the table as Liana serves us soup.
I remember one time when I was four and my parents had invited some friends over for a dinner party. I begged to be allowed to sit with the grownups and finally, my mother agreed. We had tomato soup and I went to the cupboard and broke about twenty crackers in half and dropped them into the soup. My mother gave me a disapproving look, but I was so ecstatic just to be included that I didn't even care. I very carefully took a spoonful of soup and glanced around the table. Seeing that the grownups were all watching me, I gave them a gap-toothed smile and continued to delicately spoon my soup. My mother watched me with a frozen smile on her face, one that I know now meant that she was mortified but was trying to pretend she thought I was as adorable as everyone else did. The adults were smiling at me and whispering to each other, "Isn't she so cute?" and I was loving the attention. But the instant I finished my soup, my mother called my nanny, who carried me up to my room and made me stay up there all night.
Sitting here reminds me of that one time.
My mother takes a spoonful of soup, then asks politely, "How are Elliot and Olivia doing?"
"Good."
"How's the job going?"
"Good." It's my standard reply. Sometimes making conversation with my mother is like banging your head repeatedly into a brick wall.
"You know, Alexandra, I really wish you would at least consider getting out of that unit. It's not good for you and I'm concerned. You could do something like corporate law. Wouldn't that be better?"
She gives me a variation of this speech every single week and every single week I have to struggle to keep my cool as I give her my customary reply. "I like where I am now, Mother, but thank you for your concern."
"But Alexandra," she insists, not ready to let it go yet. "Every day you are dealing with the worst monsters in our society. You won't even talk to me about it!"
I can't talk to her about it, but of course telling her that would prove her point. What am I supposed to say – "Hey, Mom, today I lost a case against a serial rapist who raped and murdered eight women and burned their skin so badly that they were barely identifiable?"
"We've close at SVU," I intone. "We talk to each other. We're all really good friends."
My mother raises an eyebrow and sighs, having the good sense to drop the topic.
I know this one was short, but I'll have a new chapter up soon. Please review!
