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Lucas was on the edge of his seat, staring at Birdie as if he didn’t recognize her. “What are you saying?” he asked.
Birdie’s hand went to her mouth as tears sprang, unable to look at either one of them. “Mia’s right. I’m not her biological mother. But for all intents and purposes I am her—”
“Don’t you dare say it,” Mia threatened, her own eyes tearing. “Don’t you dare say those words after you’ve lied to me all my life about this and so many other things.”
Birdie merely nodded. Her hand covering her mouth.
“You lied about my dad, you lied about my grandparents, and you’ve lied about being my mother. And those are just the things I know about. I’d be stupid to think there weren’t more lies. There’s a word for people like you.” She held up her smartphone. “Pseudologia fantastica. Fancy words that mean you’re a pathological liar.”
“Mia—”
“So, who is my mother?” Mia asked, her tone demanding.
Birdie glanced toward Lucas, who bolted out of his chair and stood with his back to them, his hands intertwined on top of his head, as if processing the information.
He lowered his hands to his hips, and said over his shoulder. “Maybe your mo… Birdie and I should talk first.”
“No,” Birdie replied, resolved to tell them everything just as she intended when she had walked through the door. “This involves both of you, so you should both know, together.”
Mia continued to regard her as a hostile target, despite the tears running down her face, while Lucas couldn’t seem to even look at her, fixated on whatever was outside the window.
Birdie continued to take the hits. Unsure how many more she could absorb. “There were reasons I didn’t tell you, either of you, but they don’t seem to matter now. I swear I was going to tell you.”
“Stop,” Mia said, clenching the sheet and blanket, her knuckles white her face full of rage. “Just tell me who my mother is.”
Your biological mother ….” She swallowed, as Lucas remained with his back to them, his hands back on his head as if preparing for the blow. “Your mother is… was… my sister, Maisie. Maisie Wellborn.”
* * *
Wayward
Sixteen years ago - Birdie
Birdie was layingon the hood of Peter Dooley’s pickup truck drinking a wine cooler and staring at the stars dotting the sky.
“You ever plan to leave Wayward, Pete?”
Taking another gulp of his beer he asked, “Why would I want to?”
“I don’t know. To do something else. Be someone else.”
“Why would I wanna be someone else?”
“Never mind,” she said. Chucking the Bartles and Jaymes wine cooler bottle over her head, hearing it land in the bed of the truck.
“Come on Birdie, either make out with me or let’s go to the party at Chuckie’s house.”
“The one where everyone’s celebrating Santos getting invited to try out for South Carolina? No thank you. I’ve got better things to do.”
“Like what?”
“Like sit here with you and check out the stars.”
Peter jumped off the hood in frustration. “Well then, if you won’t go to the party or make out with me, you can stay here all by yourself checking out the damned stars.”
She sat up, alarmed. “You’re gonna just leave me here?”
“Hell, yes. You’re supposed to be the easiest lay in Chatham County and I can’t even get you to show me your tits. So, yeah, I’m leaving you here.”
