DOMINION by Bentley Little (interesting books to read .TXT) 📗

“We did.”

“Times have changed.” Penelope grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl on the counter and picked up her books. She was about to head upstairs to drop the books off in her bedroom when she was stopped by her mother’s voice. “Aren’t you even going to stop by and see your other mothers?”

Penelope turned around. She licked her lips. “I’d rather do it later,” she admitted.

“It’s your first day of school. They’ll be interested in what happened.”

She put a hand on Penelope’s shoulder. “They care. We all care.”

“Yeah,” Penelope said.

Her mother punched her playfully on the shoulder. “Knock that off.” She smiled at her daughter. “Come on.”

Mother Margeaux, dressed entirely in black as usual, was seated behind the massive desk in her office, talking on the phone, berating the person on the other end of the line. She nodded curtly at Penelope, at Mother Felice, then continued unabated with her diatribe. “What I expect,” she said in a hard, even voice, “is that you correctly perform the function for which you were contracted. If that is too difficult, our company will find a more effective and efficient means of delivering our product. Do I make myself clear?”

Mother Felice sat down in the dark leather couch against the wall and motioned for Penelope to do the same. Penelope shook her head and remained standing.

Mother Margeaux hung up the phone, coolly and carefully replacing the receiver in its cradle, then glanced up at Penelope, smiling tightly.

Light was reflected in her deep brown eyes and in the smoothness of her slick black hair. “I trust your first day of school was satisfactory?”

Penelope nodded, not meeting her mother’s eyes. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Are you satisfied with your classes? With your teachers?”

“I guess…”

“If not, I can arrange to have you transferred. This is your senior year, and it’s important that you maintain your grade-point average.”

“My classes are fine.”

“That’s good.” Mother Margeaux nodded. “That’s good.”

Penelope said nothing. The three of them sat silently for a moment.

“Is there anything else you wish to tell me?” Mother Margeaux asked.

Penelope shook her head. “No, ma’am.”

“I’d better get back to work, then. Thank you for coming in, Penelope.”

She was dismissed. The conversation was over. Mother Felice stood up. “I guess we’ll see your other mothers.”

“You’ll do well this year,” Mother Margeaux said to her daughter.

“You’ll make us proud.”

Penelope nodded, following Mother Felice out of the office. She did not notice that she was sweating until they stepped into the hall.

Although Mother Sheila was out somewhere in the fields, overseeing the collection of representative samples of today’s harvest, her other mothers were in the testing area of the main building, supervising the analysis of grapes which had been picked this morning. A team of analysts sat at a long counter in front of the window, testing the balance of the must in order to make a preliminary determination of this year’s product potential while her mothers looked on.

“Penelope’s home!” Mother Felice announced, closing the white door behind her.

Mother Margaret was quietly conferring with two of the analysts. They both looked up at the announcement, smiled absently, nodded, waved, and continued talking. Mother Janine, however, immediately stopped what she was doing and hurried over, her spiked heels sounding loudly on the tile. Penelope felt herself tense up. Mother Janine reached her, threw her arms around her, and hugged tightly. The hug was a little too long, a little too unmotherly, and Penelope anxiously held her breath. As always, she tried telling herself that Mother Janine really loved her and cared about her, but what she told herself and what she felt were two different things. There was something disturbing about her youngest mother, something she could not quite put her finger on, and as soon as Mother Janine let go, Penelope stepped back and away.

“I missed you,” her mother said in that cloying little girl voice she used when talking to Penelope. “I always hate it when summer ends and you have to leave us and go back to school.”

Penelope nodded, said nothing. The truth was that for the past two weeks she had not seen Mother Janine except at breakfast and dinner. She didn’t know how her mother could miss her.

“Did you meet anyone yet? Any cute guys?”

Penelope frowned. “It’s only the first day.”

Mother Janine laughed, a strange sound that segued from the high falsetto of a child’s giggle to the low chuckle of a deep-throated woman. “Never too early to start.”

“Yeah.” Penelope nodded and turned toward Mother Felice. “Well, we’d better go, let them get back to work.”

“Okay,” her mother agreed.

“We’ll talk at dinner,” Mother Janine said. “I want you to tell me all about your day, everything that happened.” She gave Penelope’s shoulder a small squeeze.

“See?” Mother Felice said as they walked across the small lawn to the house. “That wasn’t so bad.”

Penelope grimaced and said nothing.

Her mother laughed.

The two of them parted at the kitchen. “Now I’m going to the Garden,” Penelope said. She grabbed her books from the kitchen table and went upstairs to her bedroom. Her feet were silent on the heavy carpet as she walked down the long hallway. She glanced into the open doorways as she passed and noted as always how the tastes and personalities of her mothers were reflected in their bedrooms. Mother Margeaux’s sleeping quarters were simultaneously imperial and practical, the warring values represented by a huge bed with an intricately carved oak headboard and a large, simple desk topped with neatly stacked piles of paperwork. The off-white walls were decorated with framed original prototypes of Daneam labels. Next door, Mother Sheila’s room was the most mundane, filled with bland contemporary furnishings that looked as though they could have come straight out of a catalog photograph, and a single framed print on the wall that always reminded Penelope of hotel art. Mother Margaret’s room decor was the boldest and probably most interesting, with its ultra-modern bed, non-dresser, and startling juxtaposition of Old World folk art and original paintings