Unbound, Boundless Series, Book 2

Chapter Four

I dreamed of my late mother—she and I were getting ready to go out on Easter Sunday. I was about four years old. She'd bought me a lovely little spring trench coat with flowers at the waist. My favorite thing was the white pantyhose and white patent leather shoes. My dress was yellow with a flouncy skirt. Everything was tight because I was a round preschooler, but my mother snuggled and kissed every plump inch of my body. She loved all my beauty and all my seemingly unsightly bits. My mother never let my hair down because it was always too big, curly, and wild, but for the occasion, she set and curled my hair until it was long, wavy, and cascaded over my shoulders and back. Despite loving my hair loose and flowing, I put on an Easter hat with small flowers on the brim.

My mother had worn a long white dress with long sleeves. She wore opaque pantyhose to keep her shapely legs demurely covered. Her shoes were sensible, white leather, and low-heeled. She pulled out a white trench coat from the closet. She told me she had a surprise for me. I jumped up with glee. She offered a white patent leather purse with a gold handle and gold snap for the flap. My mother loved sharing her purses with me, and I finally had one of my own. I beamed and hugged the glossy material and turned and closed the buckle on the flap. We walked out the front door hand in hand.

It wasn't necessarily a memory. It was a subconscious message being delivered. I needed to not let this stop me from living. I needed to be like the little girl, happy to go out into the world with my mother's spirit beside me, lifting me up. I shouldn't bend to the control Matt, or any man for that matter had over me.

When I had awoken, I'd resolved to get out of bed and shake off the depression invading my body. I took a long shower, conditioning my hair while I shaved everywhere. I plucked the stray hairs from my eyebrows. I put on the radio while I did a clay mask as the deep conditioner saturated my long curls, changing the radio station when stupid love songs came on. Preferring to listen to high-energy dance music, I wasn't strong enough to listen to love lost and regrets. I planned to fake it till I made it.

Once I finished my bathroom routine, I moisturized every inch of my body. After towel drying my hair, I doused my curls with hair products to keep them frizz-free and fabulous for my outing. As my hair dried naturally, I put on waterproof mascara and tinted lip gloss because the heat of the day would melt any makeup.

I pulled out a blue romper with a flowing bottom. It looked like a halter dress but gave me the security of being swinging shorts, hitting above the knees. I slipped on flat, strappy sandals. I spritz on a sweet perfume I had purchased in memory of my mom. I had hardly used it. The scent had saddened me, but now, I was happy to smell like her. Not immensely happy, but okay and encouraged life would get better.

I inserted my gold hooped earrings and a few gold bangles I'd inherited from her. The memory of hearing the jingle of bangles made me chuckle instead of the usual tears brimming to the surface. When my mother danced, you could hear the jingling and clanging of her bangles as she shimmied and shook her body to the beat of the music.

Despite being heartbroken over the depressing end of my love affair, I looked at myself in the full-length mirror and admired how pretty I looked. I smiled at myself, smirked, and uttered, "Fuck you, Matt."

I guess I'd moved quickly to the angry phase of break-up grief. I grabbed a shawl in case I got cold. Even though it was hot and humid in Boston, the air conditioning in some buildings created a mini tundra. I put all my things in a tote. I grabbed my sunglasses and put them over my head. My keys were on the hook beside the door and I grabbed them to lock up. I bounded down the steps to the entry of the building. When I opened the door, I found another bouquet of flowers. I sighed in exasperation.

My name was on the card. I pulled out the note and ripped it up and shoved it in an interior pocket of my tote. The flowers from yesterday were no longer there, so I decided to do the same with the new bouquet. I didn't care if he'd spent a lot of money on these deliveries, it was an infinitesimal consolation.