Page 206 of True Blue

She scoffs. “You think this is my fault?”

“Cut the bullshit, Dawn.”

Her eyes widen comically, and she presses a hand to her chest, scandalized. “Theodore!”

“Why?”

She looks perplexed by my question, and it only makes my anger burn hotter.

“Why couldn’t you just accept Indie? What did she ever do to you? What did she ever do besides love me?!”

“She’s…” she starts, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. “Because she’s….”

“She’s….” I jab, yelling now. “Come on! Spit it out! You had so much to fucking say a year ago? What’s wrong?”

She snaps her mouth shut, her lips pressing into a mutinous line as she raises her chin in defiance.

I laugh, “You don’t even know, do you?”

She doesn’t say anything, just picks up her glass and gulps down another big sip of wine.

“Here, I’ll tell you,” I hiss through gritted teeth. “Because Indie is everything you are not. Indie is strong. Indie is kind. Indie is caring. Hard-working. Accomplished. You wanted me with someone like you—useless.”

Dawn laughs, the sound empty and dry.

“Yes, yes, I’ve heard all about Saint Indie for a lifetime.”

“That’s the thing, though. Indie isn’t a saint,” I smile proudly and shrug. “And I still love her more than anyone on this earth.”

My mother flinches at those words, blinking rapidly like she’s pushing back tears.

Abruptly, she stands, grabs the bottle of half-filled wine and hurls it at me. I turn away to shield myself as the glass hits the wall right next to me. I feel the bite of broken glass splitting open my cheek and temple, and the wetness from the wine splattering on my shirt.

My body freezes in shock for a second, and when I finally glance back to her, she looks at me like she’s waiting for me to back down. To roll over, to obey like I used to.

I scoff, pressing two fingers to my cheek and seeing them come away red.

“Yeah. There you are,” I shake my head.

“That little bitch was included in the will, but not me! ME! The daughter who let that old bat live with us because I knew what she was sitting on!” she shrieks, before blinking as if realizing how unhinged she sounds. Clearing her throat, she smooths down her hair. “Your Nana clearly wasn’t in her right mind at the end!”

“Because she had pneumonia,” I say, my voice low. I scoff at my mother, who doesn’t look guilty, still defiant. “She was sick. But she made the will before she was sick, and Dunk said she was coherent. Competent. Sure of what she was doing.”

“And what does he know?” she mutters.

“He knew Nana! More than you did. Indie knew Nana more than you did, too. Because she loved Nana and Nana loved her.”

“Love,” she sneers. “If I could go just one goddamn day without hearing about such nonsense. What does love do, Theodore? Does love put dinner on the table? Does love keep the gardens growing? Does love wash the laundry? Will it clean the floors?”

I just stare at this woman in front of me, teeth bared, eyes wild, truly unhinged for the first time. She gestures wildly around the messy room as if proving some point. The state of ruin of this house, of this life, of my mother. Miserable and empty.

“No. You know who does that? Me. Your mother. I kept this house running. I kept your father fed. I kept you little brats fed. I did everything for this family, and what do I get?” she shrieks, slamming her glass of wine on the ground. “Your father left me!”

I blink, shaking my head at that information. “What?”

“Your father has been having an affair—oh, but get this—not with some hot receptionist or some whore from the bar, no, your father truly outdid himself—” she cackles, pantomiming a drumroll. “With your uncle Jerry!”

I freeze as she cackles, the sound manic.