Forgotten

Chapter Title: Echoes in an Empty House “I feel ridiculous! This dress is way too short. Next time, I pick the outfits,” I grumbled. Liara had convinced me to wear a dress and heels for our outing today. I slipped into my new black dress. It was loose and comfortable, but when it came to shoes, nothing seemed right. I tried on every pair of heels I owned before settling on agrey gladiator heel. I curled my hair, thinking a messy bun would look too plain with the outfit. But when we arrived at the artisan café and I saw my reflection, I regretted everything. Not to mention, this place only has high tables with bar stools. Now my whole thigh is exposed for everyone to see. The photos I’d seen of the café painted a very different picture. I imagined a cozy, vibrant space filled with the rich aroma of coffee and warm laughter. Reality, however, was far from it. The decor was warm wood and black metal—minimalist, but not inviting. The tables were spread far apart, and the chairs were tall and awkwardly mismatched with the low tables. You couldn’t sit comfortably or even place your legs properly underneath. We ended up sitting at weird angles, backs stiff from the lack of support. So far, the review wasn’t going well. I had phoned in advance to get permission to review the place, but I never tell them my name, what I look like, or when I’m coming. I believe in honest reviews. Our drinks finally arrived. The presentation was nice. Liara ordered an iced coffee. Not really my thing—most places serve it too watery or overloaded with cheap syrup. They’d scrunched up her straw wrapper into a decorative little swirl on the tray. Cute, but unnecessary. I got a chai latte—caffeine-free. I’ve noticed a lot of readers asking about caffeine content, especially those who are pregnant or breastfeeding. So I always make a point to ask. My latte came with a heart in the foam. It looked adorable, but it was so hot I couldn’t enjoy it even ten minutes later. So I ordered a craft berry iced tea instead. “You look cute, silly,” Liara teased. “I just thought you should look more professional.” “I don’t need to look professional. I just need to look like any other customer. How’s your drink?” I’d already taken a few photos of our drinks with the café’s name in the background. At first, it felt awkward documenting everything I eat or drink, but these days, most people do it. My stepmother once went through my phone and asked if it was a food diary. Then she told me I was a bit overweight and said keeping a record was a good way to control my calories. She turned around and told my father I was bulimic—said I took pictures and then purged. She’s not exactly my biggest fan. I love food. There’s no way I’d waste it like that. My iced tea arrived, and I started slurping it down right away—I was so thirsty. It was strong, with a nice berry undertone, though the aftertaste wasn’t great. “It’s really yummy. Here, taste it.” Liara pushed her cup toward me. She was right—it was good. Not like flavored water at all. I just wish the menu offered more variety—hazelnut, vanilla, something unique. The selection was very limited. Then the food arrived. I got a biltong and cheese toasted sandwich. Liara got a bacon and cheese quiche. Both portions were tiny for the price. Her quiche was creamy and delicious, but she’d barely started enjoying it when it was gone. My sandwich was a different story. It smelled like garlic but tasted like caramelized onions—odd. I opened it up, only to discover jam. Jam! They hadn’t listed that in the ingredients. What if I was allergic to apricots? They should at least disclose it. At last, I could drink my chai latte. It tasted like fireballs—sweet, spicy, nostalgic. I honestly loved it. “So what do you think?” Liara asked. I didn’t know how I’d review this place. There were a few highlights… but more letdowns. “You don’t like it,” she said, reading my expression. “Don’t be too brutal when you write it tonight. It’s a new business, and that whole ‘any publicity is good publicity’ thing? Total lie. You’ve got a following. They’ll avoid this place like the plague.” She wasn’t wrong. “Let’s try some baked goods. Give them a fair chance,” I suggested. We ordered a slice of cake and some scones. The baked goods were in display cases, so probably outsourced, meaning they change often. I was stuffed by the time we were done. I try not to eat at home when I’m reviewing. Honestly, I’d rather be anywhere than home. My stepmother makes being there unbearable. If I stay away, she doesn’t get to see me c***k. Of course, by avoiding home, she’s kind of won anyway. I work out three times a week. My father owns several companies—mainly in marketing and media—so we’re often in the public eye. According to him, I can’t be fat and I can’t be bulimic. Our family works for what we want. So I work—on myself. My mom passed away a few years ago. She was the one who cared. After her death, I turned to my dad for that love… but it never came. He’s a difficult man. Not warm. Not kind. Just… cold. “The cake was really nice,” Liara said. She was right. It was the best thing all day: a death by chocolate slice—chocolate cake layered with choc chips and dark chocolate mousse. The outer icing was melted chocolate with crushed honeycomb, and it was topped with pecan nuts to balance the sweetness. And they gave us a big slice. I devoured mine and ordered seconds. Which was why I now felt so uncomfortably full. The scones, on the other hand, were dry. And not the good kind of dry—crumbly and light—but dry and chewy. Like they’d been sitting out too long. They brought us raspberry jam without asking what flavor we preferred. I don’t even like raspberry. The cream, cheese, and jam were too much for one small scone. “The cake was amazing,” I said, laughing as I pulled out my card. “If I wasn’t so full, I’d get more.” We had a deal—she drives, I pay. I tapped my card and we headed to her car. “Yeah, it’s dangerous to my health,” she groaned. “I wanted to take the rest home with me. You’re a danger to my waistline. I’m not as committed as you to working out. Seriously, my jeans feel tighter already. That’s why I wanted us to wear dresses.” “Don’t be silly. You’re not gaining weight. You can eat anything. I have to go to the gym or I will gain.” “You’re too skinny. It’s your toxic family messing with your head. I’ve told you a million times—you can move in with me. My parents won’t mind.” “And I’ve told you—I can’t. My dad would never allow it. I can deal.” “Sure,” she said, shaking her head. “That’s why you keep running off to review cafés.” She wasn’t wrong. Liara’s family isn’t as wealthy as mine, but they’re not struggling either. That’s why I pay for everything. My dad will never run out of money, and I don’t want to be a burden to Liara’s family. If I moved in, he’d disown me. That’s also why my stepmother hates me—because of the money. Liara keeps telling me to monetize my reviews, to take ads. If I thought I could support myself with that, I would. Maybe if I proved I was self-sufficient, Lyssa would leave me alone. We listened to music as she drove me home. I’m so lucky to have a friend like her. Without her, I’d be incredibly lonely. As the house came into view, I wished she’d drive slower. She stopped at the gate, and I reluctantly got out. She doesn’t drive up to the door anymore. My stepmother told the security guard not to let her in. Even though he sees her all the time, he follows Lyssa’s orders like a dog. I waved goodbye and took a deep breath before turning to face the house. It’s huge—too big for just the three of us. I miss our old house. It was warm and cozy. But Lyssa thought it was too old, too plain. She wanted modern. Sleek. She didn’t want any reminders of my mom. Now we live in a smart, “eco-friendly” house: grey, double-story, flat roof, all sharp angles and windows. On the outside, it looks warm. On the inside, it’s cold. Lifeless. Decorated in minimalist style—ironic, since Lyssa is a materialist. One room’s a walk-in closet for her. She owns too much and always wants more. I walked up the needlessly long driveway. As soon as I opened the door, she ambushed me. “Lyssa,” I greeted coolly. She was blocking the stairs—standard routine. “Where have you been? Do you know what time it is?” “It’s only seven. I was out with Liara. I’ve told you—I review cafés after school.” She knows this. She’s seen the photos. But she loves to pretend I’m a wild child. Like I’m out partying instead of sipping lattes and eating scones. “You are always with that girl. You should be hanging out with a boy, think about your future, about family." She doesn't care she just wants me to admit that I am dating so that she could get me in trouble. Yes, my father is obsessed with grandchildren—specifically grandsons. He even tries to set me up with his friends’ sons. He’s panicked that I never date. I’m in high school, for heaven’s sake. I'm not allowed to date without his permission though. Only guys he approve off. "I'm not dating anyone, but of course you would want me to admit to something like that." “How dare you accuse me of looking for problems! I’m your mother—” “You’re not my mother. And stop pretending. You told the guard not to let her in. You’ve seen my review photos. You know exactly where I’ve been.” “I don’t need to make anything up. You’re disrespectful. Keaton!” And just like that, she called in my father. Like always. He came striding in seconds later—ready to take her side, no questions asked. “Yes, what is it?” “Look at your daughter! That dress is far too short. She wore heels with it. She dressed like a slut to go gallivanting around town with that good-for-nothing leech of a friend!” I was speechless. “Allyson, that dress is inappropriate. You have a reputation to uphold. I won’t have people thinking my daughter is w*****g around.” Unbelievable. “My dress is modest! No cleavage. It’s loose. It’s just a bit short! Look at what she’s wearing!” “I’m a married woman. I dress for my husband,” Lyssa said smugly. Sure. Until someone richer comes along. “You’re both overreacting. I didn’t even do anything!” “That’s enough!” my father bellowed. “Your attitude is appalling. Go to your room. And don’t wear anything like that again or you’ll be grounded.” Fine. I didn’t want to be here anyway. I stomped upstairs, slamming my door. Being sent to my room? Not a punishment. A blessing