Girls are strange things.
Well, for the record, men are too. You just notice girls more.
I automatically feel guilty for denying her this visit for so long.
“That’s why I came,” I answer, now feeling sorry for my reluctance to come home. I don’t know how, but parents are experts of guilt trips.
“I . . .” My voice trails off because I know that she knows she can get anything she wants out of me if she tries hard enough.
“Think about it,” she suggests, patting my cheek, an extremely maternal gesture.
She walks on, leading me to my room. I haven’t noticed, but the butler is following us carrying both of my suitcases.
I sigh, turn from the window, and call, “Yes, Mom,” glumly. Parties do not excite me like they do everyone else.