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My mom reaches over and squeezes my knee. “I know it’s been tough-” she cuts off as I snort.
Tough. Yeah, sure, that’s a word for it. The last two months since I lost my father have been tough. Two months in which neither my mom nor I wanted to go back to our apartment once they gave the all clear. Two months of being in a refuge camp outside the Quarantine zone. Two months in which I was expected to just get over the loss of my father and accept another man into the space he’d vacated.
“You’ll like him, I promise,” she’s said this to me more times than I can count. Every time she left our tent to go on a date with him, to spend time with him, she asked me to come along. I, of course, refused.
She’s been with him for nearly a year, but this is all new to me. And I’m bitter as hell about their relationship. If you can even call it that. The one and only time I’ve met the man my mother would have left my father for was when they got married at the Palm de Rosa courthouse.
I’d spent all of twenty minutes in the man’s presence and now I’m moving into his house.
Thank god it’s only for a few months. “I don’t know why I couldn’t just stay with Callie until August.”
My mom’s full lips tighten, and I know she’s refraining from saying something we’ll regret later. So I sigh and shift in my seat. “Sorry. I’ll be on my best behavior. You know that.”
She glances at me, and the tight line of her mouth softens into a smile. “I know, honey. I just want you to be happy here.”
I nod. “I know.” And Idoknow. If I’m honest, I want her to be happy too. The last few months, hell, almost the entire year, have been tough. On both of us. Sure, she was going to leave my dad, but things between them hadn’t turned hateful or mean. She still cared about him.
I’m not foolish enough to think that people stay together forever, even my parents. I just wish she’d told my dad she was having doubts before she cheated on him. Maybe she did. I don’t know.
“Did you do your affirmations this morning?”
I don’t look at her. “Its still morning.” Too early, in my opinion, but my mom was anxious to get out of the camp and into Coach Lachlan’s giant ass house.
I can feel her disapproval so I sigh, flip the visor down on the car and look into the mirror, meet my gaze. “I am full of positive, loving energy. I find gratitude and joy every day. I give myself permission to heal. I free myself from destructive fears and doubts. I release all that is not in alignment with me. I am a beautiful, unique soul and I acknowledge that my existence and contribution on this planet is needed.”
The words fall off my tongue. They aren’t new. My mom gave me this list of affirmations long before the Quarantine. Long before my father-
It’s only recently that she’s been obsessed with me repeating them every morning. She’s also gotten big into making me meditate regularly. She’s worried about my mental health. And she’s doing everything in her power to make sure I am healthy, without forcing me to go to a therapist.
I know it comes from a place of love, which is why I tolerate it. It’s only for a few more months, anyway. I can handle it for a few months.
Just like I can handle living with Coach Lachlan and his football star son, Finn, for a few months. Finn had been noticeably absent at the ceremony. I wish I could have been too.
The Lachlan’s live at the very back of a gated community. My mom stops at the gate that is actually manned by a real life guard and not just a machine where you can put in a code. The Guard ducks down until he sees my mom, and then nods. “Mrs. Lachlan.”
Oh, damn. I didn’t think it would make my stomach hurt to hear her referred to as Mrs. Lachlan, but it sure does. When he looks at me and says, “Miss Lachlan,” that hurt morphs into rage.
“Yoon.Miss Yoon. My last name is Yoon.” I practically snap at him. His brows rise, and he looks back at the iPad in his hand, and then up at me.
“I have you down as Miss Lachlan. Coach Lachlan’s daughter.”
I glare at him. My mom places a restraining hand on my knee, likely sensing that I’m on the verge of yelling that I am in no way related to the asshole that tempted my mother into cheating on my father.
“Hon,” my mom says in a wheedling tone. “It’s just to get in the gate. You’re living in the Lachlan house.”
I grit my teeth against the stinging in my eyes and repeat my affirmations to myself in my head, before adding onI alone hold the truth of who I am.When I’m finished, I’m still furious, but it has given me time to get my anger under control. To not rip this man who is just doing his job a new asshole. Our family drama is not his problem. And it’s only for a few months.
I breathe in through my nose and let it out before saying through my still clenched teeth. “All of my IDs say Sabine Yoon. Is that going to be a problem?”
The guard relaxes and gives me a relieved smile. He turns the iPad around so I can see the screen. There is a picture of me, a list of my physical attributes, including my one hundred and fifty-two pound weight. There’s a list of my habits and hobbies. And there, under the picture that looks recent, is the name Sabine Lachlan, Daughter of Coach Anthony Lachlan. Resident of 6457 Beaumont Drive.
“It shouldn’t be a problem. We have everything we need here.”
My mouth curls into a fake smile. One that I’ve mastered in the last few months with the survivors of the sickness, with the workers in the camps, with the counselor at my school, and the admissions office at the university. The guard doesn’t know the difference. My mom sure does. Her mouth tightens. But I don’t know what she wants from me? To be happy about this? About being called someone else’s daughter when my dad has only been dead for months. Some people might still count it in days. Less time than that show90 day fiance.
I don’t know how I’m supposed to be happy about this.
I really don’t.
