Free Love Is Louder by Antoinette Candela, Paige Maroney Page B

opulence and privilege, I see someone vulnerable. I worry about her more than I should, and I think that’s my main reason for this visit. I will always love my mother, even if I don’t agree with her on a lot of things.
    Ten minutes later, I turn onto the large street I grew up on in the more affluent part of Massapequa Park. I tamp down the emotions when the brick pretense of my childhood home comes into view, bringing back so many memories.
    I pull up the endless cobblestone driveway and stare up at what used to be my bedroom window where I spent many nights studying and many nights sneaking out. I laugh at the memories. Being a teenager has been the best part of my life thus far. If I could have chosen, I would have postponed that time for a little while longer.
    The smell of freshly cut grass saturates the air as the landscapers manicure the acres of lawn surrounding the house. Squinting against the sun’s glare, I step out of my SUV, walk up the broad granite steps, and open the door without knocking and step inside.
    Glistening white marble floors, cream walls adorned with expensive paintings and an extravagant crystal chandelier that shimmers in the sunlight remind me of my upbringing and all the advantages money brings.
    “Mother,” I call out as my eyes drift up the spiraling staircase that leads to the second floor of their sprawling fifteen-room mansion. There’s no reply, so I cast my eyes across the open foyer and into the equally expansive sitting room filled with photos and memories of my life. My parents lived vicariously through me for most of my life. Sadly to say, my mother still does.
    From the mantel of the fireplace, I pick up a family photo from when I graduated from Harvard Law a little over five years ago. A picture without Brie, whom I was engaged to at the time. A picture that Brie agreed to take after my mother demanded a photo be taken of just the three of us. It started with my mother as soon as I slipped the three-carat diamond ring onto Brie’s finger.
    “How is my handsome successful son?” My mother’s familiar voice crawls up my back, catching me off guard. Turning, I meet her adoring blue eyes, and for a moment, my frustration vanishes. Feigning contentment, I smile broadly and take her in. She is a natural beauty and has aged well over the years, avoiding the sun and never missing her weekly facial appointments and proud of the fact she’s never gone under the knife. She’s in her late fifties, shapely and toned, and dressed in a navy skirt and white silk blouse with her black hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail. She’s holding a glass of red wine, the one accessory she can’t live without.
    “I could be better.”
    Replying with that answer is a big mistake on my part, as my mother’s eyebrows shoot up. She’s going to want to know the reasons behind my bad mood. Knowing Mother, she thinks it has something to do with Brie upsetting me and not meeting her unattainable standards.
    She strides across the room with a hard expression, her lips tight and her eyes icy. When she catches the reluctance in my eyes, her eyes soften, and a sincere smile forms on her thin red lips. Coming here was a bad idea, but I honestly miss her and a part of me wishes she’d change her attitude about certain people. Life is too short for this kind of shit.
    I blow the air from my lungs in an attempt to gather myself to deal with her as I lean down to give her a kiss on the cheek.
    “Is it her?” she asks. She gives me a long, appraising look, the one that sharpens into advice.
    I’m not even going to entertain this with her. Brie or my marriage is not a topic of conversation.
    “Will you ever truly be satisfied with anything, Mother?” I mutter in consternation. “It’s work.”
    “Honey, I want the best…”
    “Do you? Not just with my career... everything .” I can’t talk to her about what is going on or what I’m feeling. It’s a bad idea, so I skillfully spin the