Unspoken Truths

2nd Chapter!

I walked out of my room and out of the hallway, or “wing” that Isabella, Giulio, and I shared. My room was at the end of the hall with Isabella’s and Giulio’s room on either side of mine. Next to Isabella’s room was our guest room, and next to Giuio’s room was mom’s confort camera. I walked to the room, delibrately taking slow steps. I hated confrontations with my mother. She was really emotional and whatever she felt, I felt. It was like we were emotionaly connected. And we were more tiek sisters, not daughter and mother.
I stopped outside her study and looked through the glassed french doors. I dug my feet into the plush white carpeting that covered the hall and knocked softly at the door. Through the glass in (he door, I could see mom’s head jerk up. For a minute I could see bitterness and anger on her face, but it quickly changed when she saw it was me. She smiled and guestered for me to come in. I opened the doors and walked in.
As soon as I opened the doors. I smelt the Roman breaze air freshener that my mom loved. She said it reminded her of Nuvola and the Vatican, the two places where she had been raised. The carpet in her room was even more plush than the one in the hall. It was the color of the sands on the beaches of the Mediterranian; a soft, warm yellow-white. The walls of the room was the softest shade of blue you could imagine with crystal-clear photos of the sea, her home-town, and the Vatican. In the far-right hand corner From the door was a desk with a folded down white laptop, 3 coffee mugs filled with all the different types of colord pencils you could imagine, and photos of Nona, Papi, Giulio. Isabella, and me. There was a white old fashioned phone that was covered in post-its. And I knew that in the drawers in the desk there were all sorts of paints, pastels, and canvases. My mom was an artist, creating her works both on the computer and on canvas. She would spend hours in here, thinking, creating, and erasing. There was a big white couch on the wall opposite the desk. Mom was curled up on the couch, reading Frankenstein. She put in a bookmark, her own creation, in her page and set it down on the table beside the couch. I walked over to it and sat down stifly next to her.

She looked at me, with the most warmest smite and said, “Oh Ari,” she said exuherent. ‘'Frankenstien gave me the most perfect idea for a new peice of work.”
I looked at her and smiled. This was turning out to be...different.
“Listen,’ she said as rushed to a large, empty canvas laying oil the floor. “i’m going to make the background black. with white clouds. I’m going to use silver paint to draw swirls emerging from the top corner and when the reach the middle, BAM! they’re going to change to blood red! What do you think?”
I forced a smile onto my face; what was wrong with her? “That’ll be awesome.” I said. trying to sound happy. But my mom was quick and I knew she coutd hear the faint depression in my voice.
Her face fell slightly as she asked, “What’s wrong. honey?”
I got up and sat on the white couch; she came and put her arm around me. I sighed.
“This isn’t about what happened at dinner today?”
I looked at her, and sighed again. “Yeah. It is.”
Mom gave me a big hug and pointed to a silver statuette of Lady Moon on her desk. “See her?” she asked me.
I nodded.
“My mother, or Nona, gave this to me when I got married.’' she said dreamily, remembering life in Italy.
“But what does this have anything to do what happened tonight?” I asked, confused.
She smiled. “Nothing. But always remember this, I am not your father. And even though he is just about the least open minded person on Earth, he only wants the best for you. And Ari, I do think you went too far for both of us tonight.”

“I did not!” I exclaimed, defiant. “I don’t betieve that there’s a god that created us! I don’t care that if I’m not Christian, I'll go to hell! You told me to give grace, and I gave grace as I knew to give it! What kind of god lets his creation ruin thier home? What kind of father just lets his children go because of one mistake?” I was mad. Normally. I loved chalenging everything and anything about every religion, hut with my’ parents, who were Catholic and very strict about religion, I coutdn’t take it. Why couldn’t they just let me be me?
“Ariana,” my mom was mad too. She was very opened minded, but hated when anyone challenged what she believed. I could see that she was trying very hard to keep her cool. I want you to think about what you’re saying." she said, a harsh bitterness to her voice. “And then, and only then, I want you to come back and talk to me.”
I glared at her and she at me. Then something clicked. Mom wasn’t always a Catholic. She used to he Wiccan, but then she had converted to Catholic. Or, so Nona had said.
“Arianna, did you hear a word I just said?” she nearly growled.
“Yes,” I replied, trying to match her voice. “But why? You’re not even that religious. Dad has to drag you to church. And Nona said that your side of the family aren’t Christians. So why?” I was nearly yelling by now. “Mom, I want the truth. All thses years you’ve been hiding something from me, and I know it. I want the truth.”
Mom’s eyes narrowed into slits, "You’re not ready hr that.”
“So there is something!” I exclaimed. “Mom, how much more longer can you keep it from me? I can see you cracking under the strain everyday. And I know you’re hiding something from dad, too.”
She sighed, but not in defeat, but in exasperation. “Arianna Nerezza,” she nearly spat, extremely angered. “Out.” I refused to move, so she grabbed me by the shoulders and led me out of of the study and walked me to my room. She gently, but firmly shoved me into into my room. “Next time you walk into my study and plan to ask questions, think about them before you do. And there is no truth. It is what we are.” And with that, she closed the door, leaving me to my confused thoughts.