The Studio

     Oh how wonderful! My parents were deciding to be a host a family for foreign exchange student. Now this is going to be great. They are so happy that the kid was finally coming to our house. I could see the excitement in their eyes, it was growing everyday. This is going to suck a*s.

     Waking up today I was annoyed as hell. The kid is coming today. I have to get dressed in my "best" so I can make a good impression. What's that going to matter? Walking to my closet I look and see mother had already put her front runner in the front. Of course she wanted me in a pink floral print dress. Finally I find my black tight button up that has belts around the waist. Then I go find my black jeans and my black combat boots. Pink socks just incase mom b*****s I'm not being girly. I choose to also wear the light pink bra and panty set she bought me three weeks ago. Then I'm off to the shower.

     I can see the anger written clearly across my mother's face as I come down stairs for breakfast. Only this time unlike so many others she says, "Well that's pretty too. Maybe we should go shopping soome time this week?" Her happy demeanor throwing me off. I was expecting to be in trouble.

     "Sure, mom, if you want we can," I said though I was looking at dad. We were having our normal silent conversation. Me asking what's wrong with her. Him saying I have no clue but it's nice. Me disagreeing and saying it's creepy. Instead of our usual breakfast of eggs and toast she had made a feast. "Wow, mom, you went all out... mind informing us why?" I asked afraid she maybe planning to kill us.

     "Well when Rapheal gets here I want us all to be happy and I figured you guys deserved a good breakfast. Now, Whinnie, you do have to show him around the school on monday. I'm sorry but you do so please try not to be rude. He is going to be a guest in our house for six months," Mom said smiling.

     Breakfast was over quickly enough and seeing as how the guy wasn't suppose to get in for three more hours I went upstairs into what used to be my studio. I had a few more paintings to move before he arrived. Dad walked upstairs and asked if he could help. "Sure, dad. Some help would be great," I responded happily.

     "Which one's the heaviest baby girl?" He asked. Looking around at the three paintings left in the room. One was a landscape I had finished a year ago that I haven't had the heart to sell yet. The second one was one I had only finished a week prior and already had a buyer for. The last one was one I had done of my Aunt Penny and her daughter Rachelle. It was my best piece and although my aunt wanted it I couldn't get rid of it.

      "The one with Rachelle is the heaviest. I hate having to move all this because of him. I know mom wants him to be comfortable and that the attic is too cold. I know we have to move my studio but thanks for not making me try to fit it all in my room.'

     He looked down at me as he picked up the painting, "Bronwyn Elizabeth Morgan, you listen and you listen well. You didn't want your mother to know that you've been selling your art to help us save the house. You can't get too mad at her when she gets annoyed at how much we spend on your supplies or that she wanted to move your studio. You are doing a great thing, she doesn't know it so you can't blame her. We both know the truth and as long as you know she loves you then what does it matter?"

     "I know dad. I just wish she didn't treat it like it's a waste of time and money. Oh and Ms. Renard said that if I can have a piece ready in three weeks that she will show it to her sister, the one that runs the gallery in New York? Dad I could have my pieces in a gallery. In New York," I was all but singing the last few sentences. We were placing them in the attic when mother yelled it was time to go.

     On the way to the airport we were silent in the car. The only sound was the one being made by the heater. It's low hum was like a calming embrace for me. There was going to be some one new in the house. Someone none of us truly know. We're trusting some guy to come in our house and not wreck it.