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Ten Years Earlier

Intoxicated by the May sun bouncing off the Manhattan buildings, my head feels light, almost giddy. I roll over in the wicker lounge and stretch like a cat to reach for the bottle of rosé in the ice bucket and pour a hefty glass. The skin of my arms and legs tightens in the unseasonal spring warmth. I’ve settled in for the day and staked my place on the rooftop, where I’m surrounded by the expansive yet comforting Manhattan skyline above but am very aware of the city that hums below.

Having been a guest of the city for three months, apprehension is starting to creep in. I take a deep breath and a large mouthful of the crisp chilled wine as I contemplate my return to Australia tomorrow morning. For my short eighteen years on this earth, I’ve figured out that running away from problems never solves anything, I’m well versed in problems, just not so much the figuring out of them, and I’m in no way looking forward to having to deal with the fallout that would have occurred three months ago.

My relationship with Dad has always been a turbulent one. I think he regrets that he never had a son to share his love of boats and the family business with. He was always surrounded by women—a dream for most men, you would think. Before my college term starts in June, and if I was still living under his roof, I had two choices: work for my father or look after my twin twelve-year-old sisters. I had my own thoughts on that and worked damn hard at my part-time job, where I scrimped and saved during the last months I was at school, so I could escape both of those options and instead spend three months working at Reggie’s art gallery here in New York City. That did not go down well in his household. Even though mum organized it with Reggie, she would have had to deal with the wrath of my father. 

Half asleep from a combination of midday sun and wine, I hear Reggie’s voice in the distance.  “Adeline, what are we going to do on your last day … child what are you doing drinking? I know you’re eighteen and of legal age back home in Australia, but you’re not of legal age here in America, not even when you’re under my roof.”

"Reggie, you used to be so much fun. My Mum has told me stories! Obviously not now." I huff.      

 

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