Exhibit 2

We made it back to the townhouse minutes before mom's town car pulled up to the curb. My sister raced up the stairs to hop in a shower, and I returned to my math homework, pretending as if I'd never left it. I waited, for whenever my mother got home, she would come upstairs to grace us with her presence before she retreated to her room to freshen up for dinner (if she was staying in that night).

It was no surprise when I heard the inevitable click of her heels on the hardwood floor outside my room. I quieted the blaring music on my Mac and turned just as she stepped into my room. Her musky, floral smelling aroma hit me before I could even see her fully, and when she came to a stop in front of my bookshelf she gave me an interesting, albeit forced smile.

"Please tell me I did not see you and your sister scampering out from the subway stop and to the front door moments before I got here." She calmly stated, her eyes surveying my rather clean room, giving it her silent approval as her cool blue eyes came back to rest on mine.

"No, that was not us, mom." I lied, knowing she knew.

"So where is it that you ventured off to tonight?" She inquired, taking a seat on my bed, slipping out of her heels. She looked rather nonplussed about the whole situation, clearly tired from another day at Runway. I was beginning to believe her job was wearing her down.

"We went to the park. I had to take some pictures…" my voice trailed off, but slowly came back as my mother looked away from me. "I had to take pictures for the journal at school and I asked Caroline to come along with me. And we didn't want to bother any of the drivers and cars, so we thought it would be easier to take the subway. I'm sorry we didn't call." I added for good measure.

"I expect to see these pictures. Tonight. After dinner." My mother instructed, standing up, her bare feet looking rather strange with her well put together ensemble. Only I could see Miranda Priestly in this way, and I quite enjoyed having her as a mom, even if she was rough at times.

I nodded to her back as she walked out of my room.

"And tell your sister that I will be looking through her purse, so anything she doesn't want me to find should be stored away and never seen again." And with that, mother was heading back downstairs, back to her room.

She knew; she always knew everything.

As I listened to her bare feet descending the stairs, I reached for my camera and hooked the cord into my Mac. I wondered if I should forget the pictures of Andy and her son Max. It seemed rather risky to show them to my mother, I didn't know how she'd feel about seeing Andy, especially Andy with her son. A son my mother didn't know she had. Not that it entirely mattered; why should my mom care about Andy and her son?

Deciding that I should include one, for she probably wouldn't even notice anyway, I plugged in my computer and watched as all 163 pictures uploaded. I hadn't realized I'd taken so many, and as I began browsing through them I realized over 100 of them were of Andy, or her son. Feeling a bit like a pedophile, I selected all the pictures of the trees and scenery, and other children who weren't Max, and then carefully selected which pictures of Max were suitable and then one that was of Andy and Max. It was shot from the side, only Andy's profile was discernable, she was hardly recognizable.

Before I could do anything else, I quickly pulled out Andy's e-mail address and began attaching the pictures I'd taken of her and her son in an e-mail to her. After writing a quick note that basically said 'thank you for letting me photograph you and your son', I moved back to the photos I'd chosen for my mother's viewing.

I printed off the 80 pictures that met my criteria and then jumped at the sound of my sister's voice.

"Hey, dinner's ready."

I nodded, grabbed the pictures, and headed down the stairs behind her.

We entered the dining room and took our usual seats on either side of our mom, who was already seated and flipping through an issue of Glamour. She looked rather perplexed, stressed out. As we sat down at the table, she took off her glasses and rubbed at her temples.

I watched my mom, concerned, for everyday she seemed a little more unhappy. I hated when she looked this way. As she sipped her wine, her eyes met mine and she raised an eyebrow. "What?" She demanded as she took the glass away from her lips.

"Nothing," I stuttered, sticking the photos on the table next to the plate that had just been sat in front of me by our personal chef, Manuela. She smiled at us before disappearing into the kitchen again.

"I received a rather interesting phone call from Ann French Emonts today." My mother announced as she cut into her grilled salmon. I shifted the green salad around on my plate, glancing up to see what this 'interesting phone call' had been about. "She's looking for some twins to do a holiday photo shoot for her little boutique Darling and thought you two might be interested."

"We haven't done modeling in ages." Caroline exclaimed, rather perplexed by the idea.

"Well, that's what I told her. But my daughter's don't disappoint." Mom tilted her head to the side and glanced towards me before sipping her wine again.

"Of course not." I smiled at her. "I think it would be fun."

"Yeah, fun to have our faces plastered all over that place." Caroline scoffed.

"It could be fun, and we'd get more free clothes." I added, sipping my water.

I saw a slight curl of my mother's lip as she stabbed into her green beans. She had found my comment amusing. I smiled inwardly and cut off a piece of salmon.

After dinner my mother sat back in her chair. Caroline was dismissed from the table to go finish homework with a promise that mom would be up later to talk with her. I could only guess what my mother was going to talk to her about…and I knew it wouldn't end well.

Mom unclasped her fingers and extended her hand towards me. I indulged her and handed over the photos. She placed her glasses on the bridge of her nose and cleared her throat before studying each photograph meticulously. With practiced eyes she surveyed each, taking in the lighting, the balance, the subject of each print. When she reached the bottom of the pile, where I had placed the pictures of Max, her motion stilled. It was as if she knew who the kid was. I glanced over as she regarded a photo for too long, and then she quickly moved to the next one. "What is it?" I asked, not sure what had captured her attention.

"It's nothing," she was lying, "it's just…" she flipped pictures again, "his eyes…" There was no more to her sentence. She had arrived at the picture of Andy and her son. She knew. Of course she did. "Why in the world is she in this picture? Is she a babysitter now? I thought she got a job at The Mirror." My mother was practically mumbling to herself.

"That's her son." I pointed to the little boy, whose eyes had captured my mother's attention.

"I could…yes, thank you for clarifying." My mother's sarcasm was less than humorous. I sat back in my seat, hating when she snapped at me like that. She glanced up at me, her eyes still burning. "Where are the rest?"

"What?" How had she … "I didn't think you'd want to look at all of them."

My mother regarded the picture once more before her head started moving, slowly at first, up and down, eyes transfixed on the photo. "All right, go." She shooed me away. I wasn't getting my pictures back.

~*~

I had ballet the following night. After a grueling two hour practice my feet were blistery and tired from point. As I slipped out of my shoes and tossed them into my bag, I noticed my friend Graham was still working hard on the bar. He was new, having just arrived in New York all the way from Florida. It was just him and his mother. He didn't have many friends, but I'd immediately taken him on.

His muscles flexed as his knees bent, heels coming off the floor with what looked to be ease.

I came around and stood in front of him, watching as he rose up to his tiptoes, his eyes closed in complete concentration. As soon as his feet leveled off his eyes opened and looked straight into mine. "Hey." He half-heartedly smiled.

"Hey," I smiled back. "Class is over, if you didn't already notice."

He grinned and walked with me over to where his bag was sitting. "I know, it's just my mom is going to be late picking me up, so I didn't think I should hurry." He shrugged, sitting down on the ground.

"Well, I'm sure my driver could take you home, if you wanted…" but Graham shook his head.

"No, I'll wait for her." He gave me a quick smile. "It's the only time we get to see each other, really. And she has another weekend shift so she won't be around."

"I'm sorry, Graham." I lamely muttered, knowing I couldn't soothe his lack of time with his mother. "If it makes you feel any better, my mom is hardly ever around. I doubt she even realized tonight was ballet."

"Your mom is fabulous. It's different." He grinned.

"Oh, that reminds me!" I quickly turned to my bag and extracted a copy of the newest Runway. As I handed it over, Graham squealed with girlish delight. He quickly flipped through the pages, happening to open to the Editor's choice section. The same section I'd had my mom sign for him.

"OH MY GOD! Cassidy!"

I grinned. "Well it'll give you something to do while you wait for your mom." I shrugged, completely not expecting the huge hug he bestowed upon me. "Hey, why don't you come over this weekend? I think my mom is going out on Saturday night."

"All right, I will."

"Cool, I'll text you later." I pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, and just as I headed away, I felt my phone vibrating in my pocket. A text. From Roy. He was picking me up tonight. I texted back quickly and then raced out of the studio and into the back of my mother's town car. The same car she was still occupying.

"I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd pick you up." She leaned over and kissed my cheek.

"So you did remember I had ballet tonight." I smiled.

"Yes, of course darling." She smiled. Her eyes fixed on the city outside her window. She looked…well rather satisfied. Not her normal tired, distraught, over-worked self.

"Is something happening tonight that I forgot?" I wondered aloud, thinking that I had perhaps forgotten her birthday, or an important dinner we were all supposed to attend.

"Hmm?" She turned towards me and then shook her head, as if she were coming out of a dreamy reverie. "No, nothing's happening this evening."

"Oh." I shrugged and sunk back into my seat.

And suddenly I began to suspect that something was happening with my mother. Something was going on that was occupying her thoughts, causing her to act almost happy, content with her life.

Glancing over at her, I studied her stolid expression, noting her slightly curved lips. Whatever she was thinking about, it was making her quite content. I much preferred my mom this way over her when she was pissed off.

Settling back, I enjoyed my quiet ride home with my content mother.

~*~

That night, after finishing an essay I'd been writing for weeks, I decided to take a break and grab a cup of tea. It was late, and as I passed my mother's study, I noticed her light was still on. She was still awake, still tending to 'the book'. Her precious 'book' was the center of her evenings more often than not. It was usually her 'book' that she fell asleep to and the 'book' that she woke up to. Her life was rather bland, I mused, as I quietly shuffled past her study's double doors.

I had mastered getting around the entrance quietly years before. After getting caught one too many times, I had perfected moving silently. I knew exactly where the squeaky floorboards were, and I knew exactly how to maneuver around and get to the stairs. I didn't exactly fear her finding me out in the hall; I just hated disrupting her from her work.

After making a quick cup of Peppermint tea, I quietly ascended the stairs. However, as I neared my mother's study, I heard her speaking. Her voice was low, quiet as always. But it sounded more passionate, more caring…which was quite strange.

Coming to a stop right outside her doors, I narrowed in on what she was saying.

"…lunch?...Just a lunch date. That's all we need….no, we need to discuss…but I haven't…honestly…no, no. We will have lunch on Monday. Yes, Monday…that is all…No, no excuses."

I heard the click of the phone and frowned. My mother never demanded lunch meetings. She usually had people come to her, invite her. This was definitely quite odd. Something was not right.

Stilling my rapidly beating heart, and steadying the teacup in my hand, I regained my composure and made it silently back across the hall to my bedroom. Once inside I collapsed on my bed and inhaled deeply. Something was up with my mother…but what?

TBC...comments are greatly appreciated. :D