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Watching her every movement reminded me of my mother. The happiness in Lila’s eyes, the sheer joy of wanting to do something for someone else. The feeling was suffocating. I knew that coming back would be somewhat difficult but I could never imagine that the lady of the house was an askew version of my own mother. Handing me a tea saucer Lila asked me, “Does it feel different?”

Slightly taken aback by her question I sighed, “It is quite strange, to be honest. Every memory has been erased or replaced with something I know nothing of.”

She placed a teacup on my saucer then filled the cup with coffee. My mother would never do something as distasteful as this. Mother would always lightly saunter into the room, strategically holding the teapot before pouring the warn tea. The simple thought of change infuriated me; the color of the curtains, the fabric of the carpet, it was all wrong. I didn’t want to remember the last safe place as a tacky refuge to a temp!

The living room was shrouded with tacky knickknacks from the Orient. The formerly eggshell walls were now a displeasing orange sherbet. “Do you have napkins?”

Lila looked at me softly. Not wanting to see her soft features I turned and looked at the teacup. Lila handed me a napkin and sat down opposite me in her gauche love seat. “My grandmothers rocking chair used to be there.” I suddenly said. The napkin started to rip between my fingers.

“How old were you when you lived here?” Lila asked me.

Looking directly into her eyes, “Five years old,” I answered, “I still remember my phone number the address here and everything.”

Lila flipped her golden hair, “This house is fairly different from when you once lived here isn’t it?”

My cheeks tingled, “yes, indeed.”

Lila placed a cookie in her mouth and took a single bite, “You are not the five year old you once were, you know.”

I exhaled noisily then covered my mouth with embarrassment, “I know.”