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just
wants you to be happy.”
    “Well, then
she should take some time to find out what it is that would make me happy,” I
snapped.
    “You’re
right, Brooke. I’m sorry she’s being like that.”
    “Have any
other ideas?” I asked.
    “Move out.
She’ll get over it, especially when her friends start talking about how
wonderful it is that you’ve gotten your own place.”
    True. My
mother’s liking for things going according to her plans was second only to her
desire to maintain the approval of her friends. Maybe I was more like my mother
than I realized. No, the old Brooke was. That line of thinking is what kept me
with Spencer. I was determined to never again lose who I really was. Or used to
be. Who I wanted to be. And though it was not what had driven me to sign the
papers, moving away from my mother and her influence was necessary for me to
reclaim myself.
    And so I
resolved to go forward with my plan, regardless of what my mother or anyone
else thought about it. I taped up the box I had been busy filling, thus sealing
my decision.
     

Chapter 5
     
    M emorial Day. A time most of the
country devotes to cookouts with family and friends. Not my family: we scatter.
Mom was working, Memorial Day being one of the biggest days of the year for the
botanical gardens. She had to be on hand to answer questions about rare
varieties of roses and drum up design business for herself. Dad was playing.
Golf, that is. Each year he played in a charity scramble. He claimed that the
fact that it was for a good cause excused the fact that his game was less than
stellar. Jill was off somewhere with Dave, as usual. That left me alone,
something I was used to and no longer minded much.
    Since I was
going to be moving in just a couple of days, I decided to check out a local
home boutique for decorating ideas. The holiday meant sales galore, and before
long I had filled my cart with pillows, art, tchotchkes, you name it.
    I tried not
to over think my decisions as I chose the items, determined just to buy what I
liked and not what I thought the magazines, or my mother, would approve. I’d
somehow chosen lots of grays and yellows, colors I didn’t realize I liked,
especially not together, but it seemed to work.
    “You must be
starting from scratch,” the woman at the register observed.
    “I am,” I
answered. “I’ve finally decided to leave the nest. You’d think after
twenty-three years I’d have enough stuff to fill a small apartment, but
apparently not,” I said, indicating the pile now sitting on the counter.
    “Well, you’ve
got good taste,” she said. “All of these things will work wonderfully together.
Just don’t rush trying to get it all put together. Take your time.”
    “Thanks,” I
replied. “But I’m a teacher, off for the summer, so I really want to try to get
it feeling complete before I go back to work in August. Besides, decorating
will give me something to do.”
    “Are you
looking for something?” she asked, one eyebrow arched. “To do, I mean. Because
I really need to hire someone part time to help with the seasonal change over.
Summer is our busiest time in terms of design. The schedule is flexible and
I’ll give you a fifty percent discount.”
    A summer job
was the last thing I’d been looking for when I walked into the store that day.
After all, part of the appeal of teaching was having the summers off.
    But what good
was a summer off when everyone else was working? I’d been looking forward to
summer break, but hadn’t really thought about how I would fill the days.
    I eyed the
pile of things I was purchasing. Half off would make a huge difference,
and I did love the items in this store. I had never worked retail, always
preferring office type jobs during college breaks. But that was in the past.
And since I was re-creating myself, it seemed like a great time to tackle a new
project. Besides, it was just for the summer. “Sold,” I said, extending my hand
across the counter to shake