A few minutes later, we reach the outskirts of town.
“I hope no one blinked,” Austin says, “you would have missed the thriving metropolitan known as Hawthorne.”
“Enough!” Dad snaps.
My brother scowls, slouching further onto his seat. I lay my fingers on Austin’s hand before giving it a gentle squeeze. When his sullen gaze cuts to mine, my lips lift into a tentative smile and his eyes soften. His head jerks to the window as we turn into a sprawling subdivision that seems strangely out of place in a countryside speckled with red barns and open fields.
In surprise, I blink at the enormous estates we roll past.
Who would have expected a shit town to have such humongous houses? Actually, these don’t resemble anything as common as mere houses. These are mansions. And not the McMansion variety either that are slapped together in a matter of months with cheap finishes. They’re grand old estates that scream generations of wealth.
With wide eyes, I shoot my brother a stunned look. He sits up a little straighter as shock registers across his face.
“This is where we’re going to live?” I ask in wonder.
“Yup,” Mom says. “We’ll stay at Grandma’s house for the time being until we can get everything sorted out and then we’ll decide what the plan is.”
Mom throws another bright smile over her shoulder as if to say- See? This isn’t so bad.
The jury is still out on that one, but I keep that thought to myself.
Even though there aren’t any vehicles behind us, Dad flicks on his blinker as we pull into a long, weathered brick driveway.
My mouth falls open as I glimpse the two-story stone mansion set away from the street on a perfectly manicured lawn. My gaze slides over the architecture, noticing that the roofline has several elevations and most of the windows are arched. I press closer to the glass, unable to believe how extravagant the place is. I mean, look at the entryway…it’s flanked by columns. Columns! Impeccably trimmed shrubbery hugs the perimeter.
“This is our house?” I squeak again.
“Yes,” Dad says, “It is.”
“Holy shit,” Austin exclaims, shaking off his sulky attitude.
“Language,” Mom scolds, but it’s more of an afterthought, not an actual rebuke. Her wide-eyed gaze is glued to the mansion in front of us.
Dad parks the SUV near the wrought-iron gate that bars entrance to the garage. I shake my head, completely blown away by the recent turn of events. When he turns off the engine, we all sit quietly and stare at the house.
“So,” I say, needing him to reconfirm this information, “you grew up here?” This will sound stupid, but I never put it together that Dad came from money. We’re talking generational wealth that gets passed down through trust funds. Unless you turn your back on your family obligations, needing to forge your own way in the world which apparently gets you disowned.
“Yeah,” he answers succinctly. It became obvious early on in our trip when I tried peppering him with questions that he didn’t want to talk about anything having to do with Hawthorne or his childhood. “The moving company should have arrived yesterday and unloaded the furniture. We’ll need to unpack the boxes.”
We continue to sit in the car, staring up at the house as if it isn’t ours, until Dad clears his throat. Then it’s like we’re all waking from the same dream before exiting the vehicle. The four of us walk through the portico flanked by huge cement urns that contain small evergreen trees. As we stand at the massive front door, I stroke my fingers over the smooth wood.
Dad pulls out a key from his pocket and shoves it in the lock before turning and pushing the door open. Even though I have no desire to take up residence in Hawthorne, I’m dying to explore every nook and cranny of the house. We step into a two-story foyer with a white marble tile floor. There’s a sweeping staircase with a fancy scrolled wrought-iron banister that curves to the second floor. A baby grand piano sits near the arched window in the entryway where a steady stream of afternoon sunlight filters in.
Holy shit, we’re now the proud owners of a baby grand piano!
I spin in a circle, trying to take everything in at once. The entryway is as big as the first floor of our house back home. A sparkly crystal chandelier hangs from the second-story ceiling. Similar to the architectural detail outside, arches are present in every room and hallway.
For the first time since finding out about the move, a flicker of excitement fills me. Maybe Mom is right and finishing out my senior year in Hawthorne won’t be so bad.
I shoot her a cautious glance only to find her grinning at me. A smug look dances in her eyes. An answering smile curves my lips as I shake my head. I’m nowhere near ready to capitulate. For the time being, I’m reserving the right to withhold judgment. At least until after the first day of school.