Page 46 of The Originals


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I roll my eyes at her formal language. “Yeah, great, I accepted those terms,” I say. “Fine, Mom. Whatever. Just let me go upstairs and Cinderella the day away. Just leave me alone.”

My mom looks stunned at first, then there’s a fire in her eyes like I’ve never seen, not even when Betsey got a three-hundred-dollar speeding ticket. I wonder: Is this the first time we’ve ever had a real fight?

“Elizabeth Best, cut the attitude right now. In life, we make choices, and then we live with them. You said you’re growing up, now start acting like it. Live with the choice you made.”

Something snaps inside me, and suddenly, my mom’s feelings and future are not my priority. Maybe for the first time, I only care about me.

“The choice I made?” I shout, fuming. “Was it my choice to be stolen from some lab? Was it my choice to run? Was it my choice to live as a third of a person? No! All of those were your choices, not mine!”

My mom’s jaw tightens as she clearly tries to compose herself.

“I’ve told you this a thousand times,” she says through clenched teeth, “but the people who paid us to create you only wanted one. The best one. They wanted the perfect baby, and the other two—who were not as perfect—would’ve been…” Her words trail off. “I had to take you. I had to do it.” Mom lifts her chin a little, resolute.

She’s told us the story a lot, but only since we moved to California. Before then, it was all innocence and bliss. After we fled Florida, she told us about her work at the genetics lab that was secretly cloning humans while the rest of the world was getting excited about a cloned sheep. She told us about her boss, Dr. Jovovich, who was in on the plan to steal us. She showed us the newspaper reports from when his practice was exposed and he was publicly taken to jail in handcuffs—when, under oath, he admitted that we just might exist.

When everything changed.

“Yes, you’re such a martyr,” I say sarcastically. “You implanted the embryos into your womb like the Virgin Mary of Science and gave up your whole life to raise us. Well, thanks. I mean, living a third of a life is almost as good as having a real one.”

My mom looks so floored by what’s flying out of my mouth that for a blink I think I’m done. But then, the unfairness of Sean driving me, I throw one final insult at her.

“I’m not even sure why you bothered. You’re not even our real mom. You should have just left the un-best of us to die.”

I turn and go back upstairs, running by Ella and Betsey and their open mouths on the way to my room. To my bed. I’m shaking with the realization that I’ve just unlocked something better left shut tight. I’ve changed my relationship with my mother. And worse, I’ve never felt so unsure of who I am, which is pretty messed up coming from someone who’s already broken in three pieces anyway.

After a few hours, the guilt is weighing me down to the point that I know I have to apologize. Even though I’m mad at Mom for not letting me date Sean, what I said was horrible. And ultimately, I know that the way back to normal—to Ella, Betsey, and I living as three people instead of one—is first a truce, and then, eventually, a conversation. But everything starts with me saying I’m sorry.

I leave my room to find her, but when I go downstairs, she’s not around.

“She just left,” Betsey says, looking at me disappointedly. “Like, just right now.”

“Where’s she going?” I ask.

Betsey shrugs. “Running errands before work.”

“I need to talk to her,” I say, knowing that the longer it takes to apologize, the worse it’ll be. “I’m going after her.”

I rush to the entryway and shove my feet into whatever shoes are there, then grab the keys and run out of the house. I jump into the car and race up the driveway, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel while I wait for the painfully slow gate to open.

“Come on!” I shout at it.

Once I’m through, I pull up to the busy street and look both ways: I can see Mom stopped at the light down the hill to the left. I wait for some cars to pass, then turn and quickly move into the same lane she’s in. About six cars behind because no one will let me pass, I follow her down the hill and through town, past the mail place where she has her PO box, the drugstore where she buys her vitamins, and the bulk supermarket where she stocks up on stuff for the house. I follow her until we pass everything familiar.

Then I start to get curious.

I’m still three cars back when Mom pulls into a parking lot next to a duplex that’s been converted to office space. Not wanting her to see me, I drive past and park a little way down the street. I watch as she walks up the steps to the office front door. Then, instead of just going inside or knocking, like you would with an open business, Mom pulls out a key and unlocks the door herself.

“What is this place?” I ask aloud.

As I’m musing to myself about why an ER doctor needs a private office, Mom emerges, locks the door, and gets in her car and drives away. I don’t follow: I drive around the block and park in the space she just vacated. I try the door, and attempt to see into a window, but everything’s locked and dark. I walk around the side, searching for another way in, but there’s nothing. Completely confused—apology forgotten—I return to the sedan and drive home wondering. I mean, maybe it’s nothing.

But in this strange life I lead, you never know.

Maybe it’s something, instead.

ten

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