1 MOVING

"Could you give these drinks to the moving guys outside?"

"Sure, one sec."

I walked outside into the hot sun towards the group of men.

"These are from my mother, she says thank you for coming by even on the last day," I said, handing each one of them a cold energy drink.

"I thought there were seven of you?" I asked.

"Ah, I'll give this to him. He's in the driver's seat. Kind of keeps to himself," replied one of the guys as he took the last drink from my hand. 

"Oh, okay."

I glanced into the driver's seat and saw a young man in a black baseball cap with earphones on. When he glanced my way, I quickly turned around and walked back to the house.

For some reason, I could still feel his eyes on me as I disappeared into the shade.

  ****

The home I had grown up in slowly disappeared from my sight as we drove away. Everything I was ever accustomed to eventually vanished. I was nostalgic, yet we had barely left the city.

I would direly miss the beautiful room that I took years to perfect to my taste, and most of all, taking long walks by the river in front of our house.

My parents and I were on our way to Toronto where we would restart our lives. I was reluctant to move but we had no choice. Two months ago, my parents closed the biggest case they ever had.

They put an infamous drug lord behind bars and became the spotlight of all TV news channels. As you might have guessed, they are lawyers, not just any lawyers, The Blanc Lawyers.

They owned the biggest law firm in Montreal until two weeks ago when they moved their business to Toronto. In all rights, their law firm would knock out Pearson and Specter from 'Suits' in one round.

I would know because I've watched 'Suits,' and my parents are better than Mike and Harvey combined. I am not bragging; you should see them in action.

Their determination to close the case caused them sleepless nights. Right after they sealed the case, my mother received a death-threat call from Andrew–the drug lord–himself. How he managed to get his hands on her cell phone number still scares me. What lengths is he willing to go to get what he wants?

I noticed how much it affected my mother, and I didn't throw a fit when she told me we were moving. More than her own life, she cared that I was safe. We had police officers stay over at our house and tail me whenever I left for school. It was uncomfortable at first, but my parents insisted I don't dodge them.

We spent two weeks packing and preparing everything for the movers so that we could simply settle in once we got there. I was home alone for nearly a month as they moved their business, but one of the detectives stayed over just in case Andrew's men dropped in or he happened to call. Nothing out of the ordinary happened—well, something did happen, but I should not get ahead of myself.

So here we are, driving to safety. In my perspective, Toronto isn't safe. For a drug lord like Andrew, the safest place would be the North Pole or a bunker under the sea, yet even then, I am certain he would find us. Somehow.

"Mila, it will be a wonderful start for all of us, and you get to attend all those concerts you could not because it was too far of a drive, " my father, James Eduard Blanc, said as he tried to cheer me up.

He has curly brown hair,  bronze skin, and a set of striking blue eyes. His features give him an upper hand when he presents cases in court because he is 'unusually' handsome, whatever that means, but it's more of his cold stare when he's in the moment.

"James, keep your eyes on the road," my mother said, cutting my train of thoughts. "Mila will do just fine in Toronto. Besides, she's tougher than we know," she added, turning to wink at me.

My mother, Lisa Annette Blanc, has beautiful black hair that flows down to her shoulders, dark chocolate skin, and a set of hazel eyes that give her an authoritative air.

Consequently, I am the best of both worlds. My semi-curly hair is cut short and coloured blonde. I have dark brown skin and a set of bluish-green eyes that I constantly hide behind a set of thick-rimmed silver glasses.

My parents named me Mila Kate Blanc because they thought I'd be more of an artist than a lawyer. All honesty, I am a photographer and writer, but I still have no idea why they thought that two crazy lawyers would breed an artist. Law in itself is art–that's what I always tell them.

We drove for four hours before we stopped for some food. At McDonald's, we ordered the new McRib and sat at the furthest table. I noticed the cashier glance at our table severally before our eyes locked. I smiled a little before looking away and slipping my earphones on.

My parents never mind that I have my headphones on because they are rarely plugged to my phone, especially when I am outside. I like to give the impression that I prefer not to be bothered, don't we all?

On our way out, I headed to dispose of our garbage and the trays. The cashier walked towards me, slipped me a napkin, and I looked up at him, earphones still on.

"For the spot on your sweater," he said, gesturing.

"Thanks," I replied, nearly in a whisper.

Napkin in hand, I got into my seat and buckled up. When I opened the napkin to clean the spot, I noticed he had doodled his phone number on it. Smooth move, Dave.

I cut the part with his number and stuffed it into my backpack beside me, knowing all too well I'd forget about it, or so I thought.

We were back on the road when the rain started falling. I watched as the window got covered in droplets then streams of water. I was tempted to open it just a crack to let the wind blow in the sweet scent of the earth.

Two hours later, we drove into our new driveway. We got our remaining bags out of the trunk and hurried into the house, through the door in the garage that led directly to the kitchen.

The house was warm and smelled of freshly baked oatmeal and raisin cookies. The movers had done a remarkable job with the house. Everything we had owned was neatly placed, a bit differently from the old house, but it looked great.

My mother had been working with them for two days as they set everything up. Our new kitchen was bigger, the living room was a bit smaller but cozier with the new sofas, the dining room was just about the same. We had three bathrooms, four rooms, and a library where my parents could work, and I could study.

My room was at the end of the hallway. I'd tried to imagine how it'd look until I opened the door; It was better than I'd thought!

My bed was in the middle with my favourite blankets on it, my dressing table was on one side, and my desk on the other. By the window, my mother had bought me a new comfy window sofa.

"Do you like it? If you don't, feel free to change things around," my mother said, walking in.

"No! It's perfect the way it is!" I replied, beaming with joy.

"We'll have a long time to get used to the house and all," my father said, standing in the doorway. "See you downstairs in a few minutes," He added, walking further into the room and taking my mother's hand, leading her downstairs.

I shut the door, dropped my bags by my desk, and slipped out of my sneakers. I needed a quick shower. My closet was right beside the bathroom door. My clothes hang neatly in a line with a shoe rack at the bottom.

I placed my sneakers on the rack, grabbed my bathrobe, and entered the bathroom. I slipped out of my clothes and threw them in the laundry basket beside the sink.

Body tingling from the hot shower, I wrapped my hair in a satin towel and headed downstairs for supper. I could hear my parents' light laughter and chatter coming from the kitchen.

"James, come on," my mother said amid sniffled giggles.

"What? It's our house, we can do what we want," he replied giggling, right when I walked in.

"What are you two giggling about?" I asked, staring right at them. My mother looked at me and smiled sheepishly.

"We were making out and—"my father started.

"I don't wanna hear it," I said, quickly cutting him short before he continued.

My father has a way of making everything very awkward, especially when he talks about relationships and intimacy.

"Well, you'd asked," he smirked.

"You're acting like a bunch of teenagers!" I shot back.

"Someone has to since you seemed to have skipped that part," my mother replied. "When are you going to get a boyfriend? Or even any friends? You rarely ever go out and you just turned 21! Come on Mila!"

"I thought we had this conversation before," I murmured as I slowly walked away and stuck my head in the fridge. "I did have friends; I just didn't bring them home."

"Mila, promise us that this time, it will be different. That you will make more than an effort to fit in and have fun! College is supposed to be interesting," My father said from over my shoulder. "Dinner is in the oven, by the way, no snacking"

"Fine—"

I stuck my head out of the fridge and dragged my feet to the dining table. They were right, I have to have some fun! Get out more! Live life like any normal teenager would. The boyfriend part, I was very skeptical about.

We sat at the table and devoured my mother's roasted chicken like wolves. After dinner, they were planning on staying up to watch a movie, but I needed sleep. I had early classes tomorrow and I didn't want to look like a zombie on my first day. I said goodnight and went to my room.

I sat on my bed and looked around. The room was bigger, and I felt a bit weary inside. I was used to everything being so close because it made me feel secure, like a butterfly in its cocoon. Now, everything seemed strategically placed. It's like I was in a dollhouse.

I went under my covers, phone in hand, and towel finally off my head. I checked to see whether I'd set my alarm. It read 7 am but I was sure my mother would be the one to wake me up.

I connected my phone to the charger, placed it on the surface beside the bed, took off my glasses, and turned my night light off. I stretched the covers under my chin and noticed a steady red light above the bathroom door.

I rubbed my eyes and blinked a couple of times and it disappeared. I needed to see the optician.

Once my head fell on the satin pillow, I was gone.