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The following day found me no closer to having a clean apartment than I’d been when I’d hung up from Orlando. After our conversation, and the picture in the magazine, I’d found it very difficult to settle to any one task, and so had sort of floated from one area to the next, not really accomplishing anything. I’d tried to at least get the recycling ready for my landlord to take to the road for me, but couldn’t even get that done. The piles of magazines were still all over my carpet, and the recycling box was still half-empty.

I was flipping through a month-old issue of People Magazine, my self-esteem dropping lower by the second, when a knock sounded loudly on my door. I froze for a minute, not sure I’d heard right. Sometimes when my neighbours received visitors, it sounded like they were knocking on my door, but I was pretty sure that wasn’t the case this time. I heaved myself up off the floor, wincing at a cramp in my foot from sitting too long, and went to the door.

My mother breezed past me as soon as I opened the door. Her expensive, yet very over-the-top, perfume nearly choked me as a cloud of it lingered in her wake and I had to wave my hand in front of my face for a few seconds before I could take a proper breath again. By the time I’d recovered, she was standing in the middle of my living room, looking at the piles of stuff spread all over the floor with a look of disdain on her face.

“How can you live like this?” were her words of greeting. “Really, Peyton, this is gross.”

“Oh relax,” I said, moving a pile of Sherman’s toys from the armchair beside the couch so she could sit down. “It’s not dirty, it’s just a bit cluttered.”

She crossed to the chair, inspected it for a second, wiped it with her black leather gloved hand, and sat gingerly on the edge, as though afraid she’d either wrinkle her outfit or be swallowed by the mess. Knowing her, both thoughts had probably run through her mind already.

“What are you even doing here?” I asked as I sat back down on the floor in front of the couch. I felt like a troll next to my mom, as always, especially when I compared her sharp red suit that hugged every curve and had probably come from some exclusive designer, custom-made just for her, to my ratty-looking blue jeans and chocolate-coloured sweater that made me look like I was wearing a garbage bag.

“I was in the neighbourhood, and decided to stop by,” she said, shrugging. She raised a perfectly-manicured hand to smooth a non-existent piece of hair from her carefully made-up face, drawing my attention to the rather large diamond she was sporting on her left ring finger.

“You’re never in this neighbourhood,” I pointed out, knowing that the section of London that my little flat was in was distasteful to her, and so she made a point to avoid it. I had a feeling that ring might have something to do with her visit, but she’d never forgive me if I didn’t let her play out her little scene, so I didn’t say anything about it.

“Is it so wrong to want to visit my only daughter?” she said, shrugging her shoulders dramatically and flashing that ring at me again. It must have been at least five carats, set in a white-gold band with a swirling pattern leading away from the stone. I thought it was much too large for her small fingers, but she’d never accept anything smaller.

“I guess not,” I replied, looking back down at my magazine. “It’s just a little unexpected, that’s all.”

“Well, there’s someone I want you to meet, Peyton,” she said, shifting excitedly on my chair. Her voice became almost shrill and forced me to look at her, to make sure she wasn’t going to pass out or throw up or something.

“Okay,” I said slowly, not sure where she was going with this.

“He’s parking the car, he’ll be right up,” she gushed. “Wait until you meet him, he’s so handsome, so sweet, so rich!”

I rolled my eyes. The ring was suddenly falling into place, as was the whole visit. She had a new boyfriend, and she couldn’t keep him to herself. Of course, she was hoping I’d mention it to Dad the next time I talked to him, but I had no intention of getting in the middle of the train wreck I knew that conversation would be.

I let Mom chatter on for a few more minutes as I idly flipped through my magazine. She gave me everything but the man’s measurements and, of course, his name, and by the time he finally knocked on the door, she was practically shaking with excitement. Before I could so much as close my magazine, she was on her feet and sprinting across my living room in her three-inch heels to get to the door. I decided to stay put.

I wasn’t sure what I was expecting when Mom’s new boy-toy walked into my living room, but it certainly wasn’t what I got. This man couldn’t have been any older than me, with sandy brown hair, cut short and gleaming with what I assumed to be gel, and a very well-cut navy blue suit, with a crisp white shirt and navy tie. He looked like he’d stepped right out of the pages of GQ, and it was almost sickening the way Mom fawned over him, straightening his tie, smoothing his hair, holding his arm so tight I’m surprised he didn’t lose the feeling in his fingers. Instinctively I turned so that my left side was hidden, and pulled my sweater closed around my neck to hide my scars.

“Peyton, this is Garret,” Mom said, her voice suddenly sounding like a little girl’s, all high-pitched and giggly. “Garret, this is my, uh, Peyton.” She couldn’t bring herself to say the word ‘daughter’ to a man who’s mother was probably younger than she was.

“Nice to meet you, Peyton,” Garret said in a thick British accent, extending his hand. It took every ounce of strength I had not to laugh in his face, but I managed to restrain myself, and shook his proffered hand awkwardly. His voice was very deep, and very smooth, like something I’d expect to hear on the radio, and his teeth were perfect, straight and white, a reflection of the smiles I’d seen so often in my entertainment magazines. If I looked closely, he kind of reminded me of my father in his younger days, before stress and too much take-out had taken their toll on him and expanded his waistline somewhat.

“Uh, do you want to sit down?” I said, gesturing to the couch. I quickly shoved the pile of magazines to the floor to make room.

“No, we can’t stay, darling,” Mom cooed in that sickeningly sweet tone of hers. Since when was I ‘darling?’ “We’ve got tickets to a matinee today, we don’t want to be late.”

“Of course,” I said, moving toward the door. “Well, don’t let me keep you.” The stench of her perfume was starting to give me a headache.

“Before we go, we have some news to tell you, dear,” Mom gushed, tightening her vice grip on Garret’s arm. He didn’t seem to mind, grinning down at her, the same gooey look on his face that she had on hers.

“Oh?” Her ring flashed as she reached up to run a perfect red fingernail down Garret’s cheek. I knew exactly what was coming.

“We’re engaged!” she burst out, finally looking at me as she shoved her left hand in my face. Obligingly, I took it and studied the ring for a second, plastering a fake grin on my face.

“Congratulations,” I said, though it sounded hollow, even to my own ears. I couldn’t see how this was a good thing, other than it would shut Dad up about support payments, since there wouldn’t be any more once Mom got married. The fact that she was marrying someone young enough to be her son was slightly creepy, but I kept that little thought to myself.

“You have to be part of the wedding, of course,” Mom went on, grinning up at Garret. “We’ll have a small ceremony, at the house, in April. You’ll be a bridesmaid. Won’t that be fun?”

I swear, I was almost physically ill at the idea of standing in front of a bunch of Mom’s snotty friends, in a hideous dress that made me look like an elephant without a trunk, while everyone stared and laughed behind their hands. I felt all colour drain from my face at the very thought of such a horror.

“Um, wouldn’t it be better if you just eloped?” I said weakly. “You know, you could fly to Mexico and get married on a beach at sunset or something? Wouldn’t that be better?”

“No, not at all,” Mom said, shaking her head. There was an edge to her voice now, a warning that I’d better not interfere with her perfect plans, or else. “We want a big celebration, Peyton, and I think, after everything my first marriage wasn’t, I deserve that.”

I glanced up at Garret and saw that he, too, was studying me in a less-than-favourable way. I could see what he was thinking, just from the look on his face. He was wondering how someone who looked like my mother could end up with such a blob for a daughter. His scrutiny made me squirm slightly and clutch at the neck of my sweater again.

“Come, Elaine, we’ll be late,” he said, no emotion in his voice now. He moved toward the door as though he couldn’t wait to get out of my dingy little flat. The charm from what he’d first walked in was gone, and I was left with only mild disgust. Maybe he’d be a perfect match for Mom after all.

“Yes, of course,” Mom agreed, following him. “Peyton, we’ll discuss the details later. So much to do, so little time!” She gave a very shrill laugh. “And dear,” she threw over her shoulder as she went into the hallway. “Try some fruit or steamed vegetables for dinner, okay? You’re looking a little bloated.” She blew me a kiss and trotted off down the hall after Garret.

I closed the door and shook my head in utter disbelief.