Most girls would love getting a designer dress but when Lela saw the pale pink patterned Alexander McQueen dress delicately set across her hotel bed she was less than excited. She wasn't the same little girl that left home—troubled with anxiety and riddled with naivety. She knew the thousand-dollar dress wasn't a gift from a mother to her daughter. Those fine threads was Gretchen's way of ensuring Lela knew her place and how things were going to be executed while she was back.

Still, drowsy from the Xanax she took to endure the flight there—Lela jumped in a cold shower to wake herself up and then got dressed. She was prim, prepped, and ready when the town car Gretchen sent over to pick her up at 6:45.

Lela slowly gaited to the curb only stumbling twice—she hadn't worn heels since her high school graduation but she knew the black pumps in the box next to her bed wasn't optional. A dark-skinned man about average height in a black suit greeted her with a smile and opened the door. Lela didn't wonder how the strange man knew it was her he was looking for because Gretchen trained him well—she had that talent.

Lela snapped her seatbelt in place as the driver inch away from the curb, into oncoming traffic. She pulled her braids over her shoulder and let her hand meander over the brilliant cut, glimmering white gold diamond necklace. Her timid eyes leer out the tinted windows that only made the world appear darker than it was. The sun was slowly fading—ducking behind achromatic brick buildings as people in business wear padded down the sidewalks and cars whooshed by her window as the driver made sure to stay right at the speed limit.

She closed her eyes resting her head back and gave into the residue of medicine still lingering in her vein. Her body was dormant but her mind raced—zipping through memories that she tucked away in the farthest corner of her mind. The years before she was twelve were years of schedules and routines. Her au pair woke her at five, which was probably early for a child, but Gretchen wanted her to be dressed, feed, and thoroughly prepared when she strode downstairs with her stilettos clicking along the buffed wood.

It was always the same every day, Gretchen would give her a kiss on each cheek, point out something wrong that her au pair did with her hair and tell her to behave in school and to shine because Emery's are never dull. After the seven-minute methodical mother-daughter bonding was over, her au pair would usher her out the door and off to school. Afterwards, it was her Nana that picked her up. It was the best time of Lela's day. Her Nana never tied her down to an itinerary or went over proper procedure before they went into the park or the museum—with her Nana she could be herself; a kid.  

*****

Atlantic, an upscale modern restaurant in the heart of the Financial District was brightly lit as white adorned waiters moved with as gazelles around the tan cushioned chairs and wooden square tables. Lela followed the willowy brunette in the black A-line dress as Chicago's well-dressed, highly educated, upper-crust society dined on petite meals as the chattered about light topics.

"Here you are, Ms. Emery." The hostess gestured to the only empty chair at the table that was prime reality—far from the kitchen and the bar with a great view of the illuminated street as the tinkering of piano notes filtered the truffle butter, tarragon, and jasmine air.

"Thank-you, Ms." Lela offered the woman a smile before she headed back to her post by the door. Lela slowly sat giving a closed smile to the mysterious, suited man across from her. She moved her eyes over to her mother with confusion tainting her irises. The note in her room indicated dinner but not a guest.

"Hi..." Lela inhaled deeply as the title in which she should call the lean, sleek mane, coffee-hued  woman sitting next to her. "Mm..." Lela continued ignoring the bitterness as the foreign word passed over her tongue. "I wanted to—"

Gretchen batted her long eyelashes as she gingerly sat her wine glass down, "Lela." She hissed then pulled her lips up into a smile as she nodded her head toward the gentleman. "I know you didn't forget all the manner. Introduce yourself."

"I'm sorry." Lela hastily apologized to the bister-toned man. "I'm Lela, Gretchen's daughter. Nice to meet you, Mr.—" Lela delicately extended her hand.

"Obasi." The strapping, full-lip, robustly cologne man held back his tie as he reached over the table to shake Lela's hand. "Gideon Obasi." His deep voice drowned out the classical music. He released her hand and sat back down, "Just call me, Gideon, though."

"She can call you, Mr. Obasi." Gretchen swirled the red wine in the glass as she observed her daughter. "Lela, dear...you are not a tree branch during a hurricane. Sit up straight."

Lela lightly laughed as she cringed inwardly. She corrected her small slouch. There were questions she wanted to ask like where was her dad, who was Mr. Obasi and when were they going to see her Nana but she was too timid to ask for fear of being judged by the structure of her words.

"I thought it would be best if we had the five-course meal instead of the nine." Gretchen started as she unfolded the napkin and blanketed over her lap, "Gideon, has a conference call to Tokyo.

"I could care less," Lela thought to herself as she sipped her warm water. "I'm not here for Mr. Obasi."

Lela set the cup down, "What is it that you do, Mr. Obasi?"

"I'm in finance." He told as if she should give him a standing ovation. "But you're in college...what's your major."

You mean Gretchen didn't tell you. Oh, wait. She doesn't know, either.

"Business." Lela mimicked her mother and placed a napkin on her lap.

"Oh...so you want to be an entrepreneur."

Gretchen cocked her head, "Doing what?"

"I liked to bake." Lela answered proudly. "I can sell out a baker's dozen in ten minutes."

"I hope you're not doing too much taste testing." Gretchen toyed with her tennis bracelet. "All that sugar isn't good for your waistline. You know the women on your father's side tend to expand after they turn thirty." She lifted a knowing eyebrow.

Lela started tapping her foot as she rubbed nervously rubbed her finger void of the engagement ring. "I wanted to see Nana tomorrow because I have to get back to campus. It's almost finals and I have to study. Plus, I have work."

"You work." Mr. Obasi gasped. "That's good to here. Most boarding school reared offspring I know don't know anything about clocking in."

"Boarding school." Lela blankly stared back at him.

"Yes, Lela." Gretchen laughed narrowing her eyes at her. "Boarding school. You're father and I sent you there during the divorce." Lela slowly nodded as her mom patted her hand.

"Oh." Lela tapped her temple. "I blanked." She chuckled and everyone else at the table followed suit. "If it's not my class or a latte...I forget."

"That's good to hear. Concentrate on your studies." Mr. Obasi grabbed a roll out the basket. "No, boyfriend. Right?"

Lela's ring felt strange without the weight of her engagement ring and she couldn't wait to get back to her room and call Trevor.

"No." Lela shook her head. "No, boyfriend." She lightly shrugged, "No, time."

Why do you think Gretchen insisted the Lela call her male friend "Mr. Obasi"?

Why do you think Lela didn't tell Gretchen about her engagement?