Wings Unfolding-End

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"It all came clear, listening to you both. You and I were to be him and Mother, all over again. All these years and he finally got what he'd wanted all along--my mother back. Oh, you planned it so carefully Patrick. You played right into his weakness when you 'designed' my face as you did. So congratulations! Your plan worked. You have his money. But know this. You and my father gave me new wings with this new face, and I intend to use them to the full. And I'm starting by dropping the weight of this house. I’m selling it."

"Selling? Why? To whom?"

"Northrop Development wants to pull it down and put up a shopping center or a restaurant or something. Maybe all of the above. I'm through with my cocoon. I might as well let it go. It's going to be demolished. So," she said, pulling the ring from the pocket of her suit, "I'm sure you'll be wanting this back."

"Do you really think I want to marry you just to get this house? I don't care about this house or your Father's money. I'm not marrying those things or your father's dream. I'm not interested in some version of your mother for his sake or mine. I want you."

"But you aren't marrying me, Patrick. You're marrying what my father and you created. Only neither of you understood exactly what you were creating, the metamorphosis you made happen. I'm free, Patrick. My wings are dry, warmed by the fire I just passed through. I'm ready to fly."

Patrick just stood there staring with his brows furrowed.

"I don't want to fit into the cocoon that Serena or Clarissa or Father or you think I belong in. I don't want to take care of anyone but me now. I'm tired of being manipulated."

"You have it all wrong, Monroe," he finally said.

"Do I?"

"Yes. Yes, you do. I love you." His voice gathered speed and intensity. "Your father loved you. Can't you see? He admitted that he used you but there toward the end he woke up and realized what the family had done to you. He couldn't undo all that but he tried. He liked knowing that you wouldn't have to face your sisters' wrath all by yourself, 'just Monie.' He saw me as your full battalion, backing you up, helping take care of the house and most importantly taking care of you. He didn't want to see you alone and lonely anymore."

He reached forward and Monroe let him take her face in his hands.

"I loved you before your face changed, just as you were. Look back and you'll see."

Monroe felt her confidence slipping and she pushed his hands away from her. She had been so certain. How could she tell if what he said was true? How could she risk trusting him?

"No." Monroe drew a breath and lightly stomped her foot. "No, Patrick. I have to end this. It's too close to what was, and far from what I want. You are part of this life. I want a new one."

"That doesn't mean you have to completely scrap the old. Even butterflies find themselves living in the same surroundings as they did when they were caterpillars. Portions carry over and become part of the new because they are good and true."

"Please, Patrick. It's enough. I've made up my mind. Here, take this." Monroe pressed the ring into his palm.

"You haven't convinced me, Monroe. I'll accept this. For now. But this fire in you is destroying good things too, things that should be preserved. Can you control that inferno within so those new wings don't burn up and drop you?"

Monroe remained silent. Lost in new fear and confusion, it was best to say nothing.

"I see," Patrick said at last. "I should be going then, too." He left the house without looking back.

~*~*~*~

Monroe waited this time until the limousine pulled away from the door. Franco appeared with her coat in hand.

"It's over?" he asked. But he wasn't smiling anymore.

"Yes, Franco. It is. It is over. All of it." She sighed heavily. "I need some air. I'll be back shortly."

Monroe walked back down the sidewalk, through the pedestrian gate. Standing where she had this morning, she stared up at the house again, until her fingers began to chill. She reached for her gloves, but found they were not there and tucked her hands in her coat pockets instead.

The wrought iron fence spiked from the ground, this time separating past from present. It was easier now to see the house as though she were a stranger passing by. She was. Everything she'd had, everything she'd known was changing. There should have been more joy to it than this, more than just a brief flicker of triumph. It was going to take more time, and much more thought, before she was comfortable. If she was going to carry something into the future from this, she didn't want it to be loneliness.

She felt certain wouldn't see anything of her sisters again, ever. But Patrick...would he come back? He had always been so doggedly persistent. If he showed up tomorrow on the doorstep, wouldn't that say something she should listen to? If...If...If....

The clouds were gone now. Sunlight played on the soft blue paint, but there was no butterfly there. It was what it was--an old house. She'd been wrong to look for more than was there. Or less.

She was what she was, all at once different and the same. Monroe. Free. With wings to take her forward. Or back. That she would have to figure out in flight.

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I'll be back on Monday with more Cereal. Everyone should have ham and eggs on Sunday. :) Grab a good book!