HUGE HOUSE HATES: Chapter 1

“You can move in with my sons,” he says, as though it’s the most obvious suggestion. I guess I should be grateful that Randolph Carlton even cares what happens to me when he whisks my mom to Antigua to live a better life. I would be if he wasn’t responsible for destroying my family ten years ago. It’s the kind of thing that’s hard to put aside.

“That’s a great idea, Cora,” Mom says with false brightness. She’s trying to pretend that she hasn’t already discussed this with Randolph, but I know better. There’s no way Mom would leave me behind to fend for myself. She needs me to be okay before she can run off into the sunset with her disgustingly rich, cunning, treacherous silver fox and put the past behind her.

I’m not a jealous person, and I’m certainly not the kind of daughter who’d wish for my mom to stay single. She’s had it tough and deserves her time to shine.

But with Randolph?

He is literally the only man, apart from my father, who I hate. If going from a man like my father to a man like Randolph isn’t jumping from the frying pan into the fire, I don’t know what is.

And this huge change to my life is coming at a terrible time. My college friends have all shacked up with their boyfriends, some with more than one guy in reverse harems bigger than anyone should sensibly contemplate. My decision to take an art degree and use it to start a pottery business hasn’t exactly left me in a financially secure position. There’s no way I can afford to rent my own place, and I guess Mom must have told her husband-to-be what a financial failure I am.

“I can’t do that,” I say weakly. “I’m sure your sons don’t want a strange woman to move into their home!” What man would, for heaven’s sake? A female housemate is a recipe for disaster. They won’t be able to roam the house naked anymore or leave their dishes all over the place. A man-cave just isn’t a place for a woman, especially a woman who doesn’t want to be there.

“They’ll love it,” Randolph says. “They always wanted a sister, but it wasn’t to be.” Sister? Oh Lord. We’re all adults, and I’m certainly not in a position to want to accumulate siblings. “Honestly,” he continues, “it’ll be no problem. I’ll let them know you’ll be moving into the master suite, and they’ll get everything ready for you. Treat it as your home, please. You’ll make me feel better about stealing your mom away.”

The word “stealing” slips out of his mouth like the slide of silk sheets over naked limbs, and it should, because stealing comes easily to Randolph. Maybe he thinks I don’t know what he did to Dad’s business. Maybe he’d deny that there was anything wrong with aggressively thieving market share and using underhanded means until your competitor’s company has dried up like grass in the summer sunshine. Maybe he’d deny being to blame for my parents’ divorce after everything fell apart.

Randolph is the kind of man who conceals the dirt on his hands with clean white gloves. I’m talking metaphorically, of course. In reality, his hands are perfectly manicured and unnervingly soft.

I shake my head, but my resistance isn’t genuine because I’ve weighed up my options. Homelessness vs. living with Randolph’s spawn is a terrible choice, but I’d rather have a bed and access to running water than not. Randolph’s sons might be the children of Satan, but at least their father will expect them to play nice, unlike the random predators I could encounter on the street.

Even though Randolph presents me with a neat solution to my problem, I don’t feel any less panicked than when Mom first showed me the giant blue rock on her ring finger.

As always, I curse the men who’ve ruined my life. Randolph for being an unscrupulous thief, and my father for weakly seeking solace in the arms of another woman. I have a vision in my head of what my life would look like if those two things hadn’t happened. Mom and Dad would still be happy. We wouldn’t have lost the house. I wouldn’t be saddled with a mountain of student debt and a chip on my shoulder the size of the Empire State Building. In my mind’s eye, I see myself with a broad smile and sparkling eyes, rather than curled lips and a scowl. It’s like that film, Sliding Doors, where a whole other reality exists because one moment didn’t happen.

I know it’s pointless to imagine. Life isn’t like a movie. There’s no rewinding time, and I just need to get on with it. If I believed in fate, I’d say it dealt me a shitty hand, but I don’t. I believe that people make choices that reflect their true selves. Randolph is a shark who has successfully gobbled up my mother and a lot of my potential in the process. My dad is a grass snake who slithered away at the first sign of trouble and has spent most of his life hiding in the undergrowth. My mom is a magpie, a lover of shiny things and shiny people. Sometimes I catch her looking at me with a furrow between her brows as though she’s wondering how I got so tarnished, but she never asks me why I don’t smile much when we’re together. She just breezes along with enough happiness and joie de vivre for the both of us.

As much as I have a million reservations about moving in with my almost stepbrothers – kill me now – couch surfing or sidewalk sleeping would be worse.

“Okay,” I tell Mom, ignoring Randolph despite the fact he’s standing next to her. “I’ll move into Randolph’s house, and you can fly off into the sunset.”

“That’s marvelous.” She claps, missing the bitter undertone to my words. As long as Mom’s happy, I’m just expected to tag along with matching emotion.

Mom is leaving in three weeks, which gives me just enough time to sort through my belongings, decide what I want to keep, and get rid of the rest. It’ll be cleansing in a way. I’ve had the same room since I was ten, and it reminds me of the past far too much.

Maybe it’ll be cathartic to have fewer belongings, I muse, trying to reassure myself.

As it turns out, the sorting is much harder than I imagine. Mom tries to help, but we just get bogged down in memories that we’d both rather forget. Family pictures break my heart. They go into a box that I’ll store at the bottom of my cavernous new closet. My paltry selection of clothes will look ridiculous. I’m sure Randolph’s home has never seen so many thrift-store purchases.

Moving day is also a saying-goodbye day, a double whammy of unsettling experiences. Mom squeezes me tightly as we simultaneously finish loading her things into a limousine heading for the airport and packing my boxes into a removal van Randolph has paid for.

“I’m going to miss you so much,” she says as her hand strokes over the back of my neck beneath my ponytail.

“I’m going to miss you too, but you’re going to have an amazing time. I want to see everything, so make sure you send me lots of pictures, and we can video call.” I don’t want her to leave with any residual feelings of guilt.

“I will. We can call every day. And you’re going to love living with Randolph’s sons. They really are great boys.”

“I’m sure I will,” I say, imagining two preppy men who look like younger versions of their dad. The image I have in my head involves sweaters draped over shoulders, beige slacks, and boat shoes.

“They’re really excited that you’re moving in.” Mom pulls back, her hands gently gripping the tops of my arms as she looks me over. “The sister they never had.”

“I’m not their sister,” I say, shaking my head for emphasis. I might be taking this ridiculous step to becoming their housemate, but I’m not going to pretend that I’m joining a new family unit.

“You’ll be their stepsister next year when we have the wedding.” Mom tucks my hair behind my ear, trying to tidy me up as always. My style has never met her approval. “You always wanted a sibling, but it wasn’t to be.” She pulls back, tugging her purse onto her shoulder as though she’s eager to leave. She turns, gazing at the limousine, taking a step forward. “And who would have thought that anyone would have five sons in a row and no daughters?”

She says it in a breezy way, but it hits me between the eyeballs like a stray bullet.

Wait. What?

“Five?”

“Yes, Randolph has five boys, all born around a year apart. Some would say it’s a blessing. There are plenty of heirs to the family name, but I think his first wife was disappointed she didn’t have a girl.”

“I should think she was exhausted,” I say. “Five?”

The prospect of moving in with two Randolph juniors was terrible enough, but five? How can anyone be expected to live with five men? Especially when it’s likely that they all look like off-duty polo players.

My mind flicks to my friend Maggie, who’s living in a polyamorous relationship. Her father died, and she inherited a house filled with eleven foster brothers who are now foster lovers!

Eleven.

Men.

I don’t know how she does it. I haven’t found even one man who is worth my heart, and that isn’t for want of trying.

I’m not so lucky as to stumble into love as she has, and there is no way that the five Carlton men are going to be sexy in the way that Maggie’s men are.

“I just know they’re going to look after you like a princess,” Mom says.

“I don’t need looking after, Mom. I can look after myself.”

“I know, darling. But sometimes it’s nice not to have to.”

At that moment, Randolph appears with the last of Mom’s luggage. So much of her stuff has been put into storage, and it feels as though my childhood home has been boxed away, never to resurface. I’m sure Randolph’s house in Antigua is great, but there is no way that Mom’s furniture would fit in. Mom doesn’t look bothered to see her life reduced to a handful of suitcases. She simply smiles over at the man who’s changing everything for the better. Diamond earrings sparkle on her lobes, and her eyes match. There’s a ton of love in her expression, and it gives me a lump in my throat.

Will I ever have the same look?

Will I ever find love as she has?

Would I even want to?

Mom looks at Randolph as though he’s Prince Charming, but she’s forgotten how many tears she has shed because of him. It’s like the past has been scoured with bleach so that the future can be shiny, bright, and new.

I’m not like that. I don’t forgive easily. I hold my anger and resentment in my chest like a burning ball.

I don’t want to have to kiss frogs and then turn a blind eye to faults when I’m in my fifties and desperate. Randolph is pretending to be a good guy, and maybe he will be now that Mom is on his team, but my experience is that leopards don’t change their spots. We thought Dad was trustworthy until we found out he’d been playing hide the sausage with his secretary.

But I don’t want to think about that today. Today is all about new beginnings, albeit forced ones, and I need to take strides forward, not steps back.

“Message me when you get there,” I tell her for the millionth time.

“I will, and you do too. I want to know you’ve settled in and let me know what you think of the boys.” Her eyebrows rise, and it isn’t in a bad way. Is she insinuating that I might like one of them? We certainly don’t have the same taste in men, so I’m not hopeful.

We kiss again, and the hug Mom gives me is so tight it winds me.

I remain on the sidewalk while their limousine pulls away. I gaze back at the apartment block that has been my base for most of my memorable life. I’m anchorless and adrift in a swelling, heaving sea.

The removal van leaves ahead of me, and I plug Randolph’s address into my phone, so I have directions to follow. I’m not familiar with that neighborhood.

I slide my sunglasses up my nose and put my car into drive.

This might just be a journey across town, but it feels like the start of a new life.

I just know I’m going to hate it all.