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“Bye, Dasha!” I called out to our housekeeper, who felt like a second mother to me.
I fumbled with my shoes for a moment before rushing outside. Finally, I plopped into the passenger seat, closed the door, and buckled up.
My mom revved up the car and zoomed away. “You’ve got your finals coming up, and I get that it’s stressful, but you can’t keep living like this,” she scolded, making a sharp left turn. “I don’t know, Sofiya, maybe try to get more organized with your time.”
Disorganization has always been my way of life. I used to find a strange beauty in the chaos, even though I had to admit it often drained me more than anything else. I convinced myself that I thrived in stressful environments, though lately, I’ve been struggling to believe that.
As I stared out at the passing streets, I remained silent.
One thing everyone can agree on is how truly beautiful San Francisco is. We moved here four years ago after I finished homeschooling, mainly because my mother never trusted the traditional educational system to make me smart, as she always said. When she announced our move, I was absolutely thrilled. Texas had its scorching heat and adventure, but San Francisco felt like a fresh start.
Growing up, we were no strangers to change and diversity, constantly relocating to new places. Interestingly enough, I was actually born in Russia, though my memories of it are quite limited.
We left Russia when I was very young, so my connection to my birthplace is faint at best. Still, the prospect of attending a traditional school and stepping outside my comfort zone filled me with anticipation. It felt like the right time to start a new chapter and see what the future held.
My mom finally let me pursue a degree at a real university instead of studying online, seeing it as my first step into adulthood. Part of her decision was due to her new role as an English department teacher, which also allowed her to be nearby.
I was aware of this but didn’t mind.
As I looked out at the vibrant houses and buildings, they reminded me of a picture I saw in a magazine that looked like a famous street in Cape Town, though the name escaped me.
I sighed and glanced at my mom, who had been insisting I study in her office for the past two weeks while she finished her courses. I suspected she was just trying to keep an eye on me to make sure I was studying for finals instead of binging The Office for the third time.
I couldn’t quite figure out why, but for the past year, my mom had been breathing down my neck and micromanaging every aspect of my life.
No matter where I went, she was always right there with me, like my shadow.
If I wanted to take a walk, she’d drop everything and grab her sneakers.
If I mentioned heading to the bookstore for books on the Iliad, she’d insist she needed some as well, grabbing her keys and urging me to hurry.
One time, she even tagged along to my esthetician appointment, claiming she wanted to see if my esthetician, Emilie, was as good as people said.
Well, turns out the salon had strict rules about privacy and hygiene, so they didn’t allow anyone to be present during the waxing process.
Thank Goodness.
To break the silence, I turned on the radio and cranked up the volume.
Without Me by Halsey filled the car, and I let myself relax into the music.
I hummed along softly, glancing at my phone to check the time.
09:55 am.
“We’re having dinner at the Noels tonight. Charles told his parents he really wanted to see you again. I think he’s quite smitten with you,” my mom chuckled, though there was no humor in her voice.
She stopped the car and without a word, unbuckled her seat belt and got out.
I followed, feeling like a lost puppy in my own thoughts.
Charles Noels?!
I loathed that guy.
How could he even dare to say he missed me?
Was I dreaming?
