AISLINN

The room is bathed in the warm orange hues of the afternoon sun as I wake from my nap. Long shadows dance along the walls. I roll over onto my back and stare up at the pure white ceiling, remembering where I am.

Flipping pages diverts my attention to my mother. She's propped up on the other side of the bed with her back to me. She's still wearing her dark denim jeans and lilac blouse from earlier, but her hair is no longer in a high ponytail. Dishevelled, her dark brown hair now hangs around her shoulders, and I realise we've both been resting. I suppose this bed is big enough for the both of us. That's great because I was irritated at having the share a bed with my mum.

She's engrossed in something resting on her lap, and I watch her trying to figure out what on Earth she's doing. She's writing, I think, but what's so important she must do it now? A note? Calculations for the trip? A shopping list, perhaps? No matter what it is though, it's ridiculous.

"Mum, what are you doing?" I say, trying to sound casual.

Startled, she jumps from her spot and spins around. "Oh, my goodness, Ais, you scared the hell out of me."

Laughter bubbles from me. Who else would she be expecting? A ghost? Unlikely. "Sorry," I say sarcastically, "I didn't realise you were such a scaredy cat."

Moving around to face me properly, she flashes me that butter-wouldn't-melt-in-my-mouth smile, and I know she's up to something. "While you were sleeping, I checked out these brochures. There' are quite a lot of things we can do here. I've jotted down a few to show you." She passes me the notebook.

I grab it, still dubious of her intentions. As my gaze wanders down the page, my irritation returns. She hasn't just jotted down a few ideas like she said, she's gone ahead and planned our whole weekend. And without talking to me first. I don't even know why I expected anything else from her; Mrs I-need-to-control-everything. Ms now, I suppose.

The page is divided in two by a line drawn down the length of it, one column for each day of the weekend. Then, horizontal lines split the days into two-hour time blocks. In each rectangle she's written an activity. It looks more like my school timetable than a holiday. I just wish she would loosen up. To just live in the moment for once without planning everything down to the finest detail.

"Mum, what the hell?" I argue.

In an instant, her face changes from excitement to disappointment, but I'm far too upset about this to bother feeling sorry for her right now.

"You said we'd figure out stuff together." I emphasise the last word to really get my point across.

Her shoulders slump, and eyes fall to the plush doona. "I wanted to surprise you," she says in almost a whisper before pausing. She sucks in a breath before continuing. "I thought you might appreciate it."

Oh, my goodness. Not this guilt trip rubbish again.

"Well, I don't."

I don't even care that tears glisten in her eyes. She's not a victim. I was literally napping, and she just went ahead and did what she wanted to without a second thought. And trying to say she assumed I'd appreciate it – absolute rot. The truth is, she's a control freak, and the temptation itched at her until she did what she needed to. How she believed I wouldn't be angry is the more baffling question.

The thing with my mum is this. She believes that if she can control everything, then nothing bad will ever happen. That everything will be butterflies and unicorns – perfect. But life isn't like that. And, the entire point of this trip, I know despite her lack of admission, is for us to bond. How can that happen if I have no say in anything? This isn't a dictatorship.

A pang of guilt gnaws in my stomach. I hate it. I don't want to feel sorry for her. For hurting her feelings. Especially since she hurt mine to start with. I don't want to admit it but some of those activities weren't that bad. A few of them sounded pretty good, actually. Not that I can tell her that now. There's no way I'm admitting I could be wrong. Definitely not.

The room feels like it's closing in on me. I need to get out of here. Leaping from the bed, I'm out of the door in four long strides and head for the bathroom. She doesn't say a word. I didn't give her time to. Besides, I don't have the energy for more guilt tripping right now.

I race down the hall to the bathroom, knocking to ensure it's not in use before I go in. Closing the door behind me, I lock it. My back rests against the door, closing my eyes for a second to regroup.

When I open them again, I take in the bathroom. At first glance, it's nice. It's obviously been renovated recently, with more modern features than the rest of the house. There's still a bit of charm reflected in the claw-foot bathtub, but the glassed-in shower, toilet, and vanity separating the two are all modern, standing along the wall. White panelling with its centre rail adds more history back into the space, as does the duck egg blue pain that stretches to the white ceiling. Small herringbone tiles add more modern features in the shower and backsplash, while ornate mosaic tiles cover the floor.

I wander over to the vanity, picking up a small bottle of shampoo. There's conditioner too, beside a vase of roses. Turning, I rest against the vanity and take in the photograph of a lake beside the door. It looks great, and I wonder if it's the lake near here.

Feeling deflated, I flip the lid on the toilet and sit with my head in my hands, resting my elbows on my knees. I sigh heavily as I stare at the tiles under my feet. What are we even doing here?

I'm interrupted by the vibrating in my back pocket. A text from Maddie. I really didn't need the reminder about the party, but there it is. You'd think my friends would boycott it, in solidarity of my absence, but no. Of course, they won't pass on the opportunity to hang out with the popular kids – including Lockie.

A lump forms in the pit of my stomach. I'd hoped that this party would be the moment he and I would finally get together. We've been flirting practically non-stop for months, and the other day he asked if I was going. It was then that I knew he had something extra in mind. I could see it in his eyes. But now I can't go, I wonder if it'll ever happen.

My phone unlocks, opening to the message.

Maddie: 'Hi Ais. Miss you. How's the trip going?' She adds a few emojis at the end.

Me: 'Miss you too. I'm hiding in the bathroom right now.' I reply with a crying emoji.

My phone vibrates again, but this time it's a call. Maddie's sombre tone mumbles on the other end. 'Hey. Just thought I'd call instead of texting. What's up? Are you OK?' she asks sincerely.

"Yeah, I'm alright," I sigh. "I had a fight with Mum."

"Oh. What did she do this time?"

"She's just taking over everything. You know how she is."

We chat for a while; me venting about everything, while Maddie hangs on my every word. We've always been able to tell each other anything, and I'm glad to have her in my life. She's my best friend, and the sister I never had. I trust her more than anyone else in this world. Before the call ends, she promises me she'll report back everything that happens at the party. My little spy doing all the recon. The thought makes me chuckle, but I'm also glad I won't be completely in the dark.

I slide my phone back into my pocket and take a deep breath before I head back to our room. Readying myself to see my mother, I'm shocked when I open the door to find the room empty. She hasn't left me a note, so she can't be far. The notepad catches my eye on her side of the bed, so I flip to a fresh page and then lie down on my stomach. Carefully I draw two columns, just as she had done.

I hear creaking from outside the bedroom door, lifting my head, expecting to see my mum stroll through the door. But no one enters. A long minute passes by as I wait, before I shake it, returning to the notepad. Then I hear it again. I wait once more, and still, there's no sign of any person. Curious, I inspect the area, opening the door just a crack. There's nothing in the hallway that I can see, yet for a third time, I hear it again. A breeze passes through the sliver of the door opening. On it, a curious scent, like perfume mixed with tobacco. And off I go to figure out what's going on.

Before I get too far though, I spot mum ascending the stairwell, and all traces of the mystery leave my mind.

"Aislinn, I'm sorry about earlier," she says as she reaches the landing.

She moves closer still, pulling me into a hug. It's uncomfortable and I stand there silently with my arms by my side, wishing for it to be over. But it doesn't end, so I raise my arm half-heartedly, lightly putting it around her in an effort of good will. Finally, she withdraws her grasp from me.

"Are you hungry? Maggie told me about a little place just down the road."

"Sure, I could eat," I reply.

A few minutes later, we step out onto the porch, ready to walk to dinner. The air is crisp, and I shiver. Maggie's over by a row of plants, tending to them when she spots us.

"Oh, there you are. I did some checking for you about the bonfire. It's on this weekend, tomorrow night," she explains.

"That's great. What time does it start, and how do we get there?" Mum asks, patting my arm, my excitement evident to them both.

"Around dusk, I think. If you head to the lake, there's a dirt road that will take you to a clearing. That's the spot. I'm sure there'll be quite a turnout, so just follow the crowd after you park."

We thank Maggie before setting off down the street. As we walk, Mum brings up the topic of tomorrow's activities. I can see she's trying to make an effort, and so I do the same. And for the first time in ages, we seem to get along. It's almost like we didn't argue earlier.

Main Street's footpath is lined with lampposts. The urge to swing around them in a circle is too much, and I playfully wrap my arms around each one as we walk. I feel like I'm five years old again – carefree and happy. Mum doesn't seem to mind me acting childish either, as she laughs loudly at my antics. She even gives one a circle too, but almost falls over from dizziness. Our laughter is the only sound on the street, with the occasional car going past, and some ruffling in the trees.

When we reach The Bluebird Café & Diner, we're greeted by a vibrant blue sign. The door jingles as we enter, and a woman in twenties shows us to a booth. She takes our orders, then disappears into the back behind a swinging set of double doors. There's a lot of people here, I realise. It must be the place to go around here.

Our meals arrive after fifteen minutes or so. While Mum thanks the waitress, I check my meal. The burger is perfectly pink, just as I'd asked, and sits high in a glossy brioche bun. They've successfully omitted the pickles and onions as requested. Mum's gone for the lot — tomato, lettuce, pickles, beetroot, onions, and extra sauce, plus a side of creamy aioli for her fries. Swallowing a crisp fry, I take a long sip of my Coke.

The friendly atmosphere of the place must have washed off onto us, because we manage to have a perfectly good night together. We eat, we talk, and we laugh. Just like we used to. I don't even realise I've shared my thoughts with her, being more open and honest than I have since, well, Dad left.

"Just as well we walked here," Mum says lightly. "I don't know about you, but I'm stuffed. And as much as I loved that caramel tart for dessert, I need to walk it off before it goes to my butt."

I almost spit out the mouthful of soft drink, laughing. But I agree too, nodding.

As we set off back to the B&B, I remember the notebook that I'd started to redraw. "Mum," I say, getting her attention.

"Yes, sweetheart?" she replies.

"Let's make some plans for tomorrow."

She grins broadly at my suggestion, her eyes sparkling. "Of course. What would you like to do first?"

And in that simple response, I finally feel heard.

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