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“Can you tell us about it?” Kennedy asks softly.
Sagging back into the couch, pulling one of the throw pillows into my chest, and wrapping my arms around it. My eyes scan the faces of each one of my friends, looks of concern marring each of their faces. Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, I launch into a long overdue tale.
“You know that I don’t come from money.” They all nod in affirmation. It isn’t something they have held against me. “I haveone sister, Karoline, that you just met. Kavanagh is my brother. All three of us have different fathers. Our mother gave us her maiden name, as none of our fathers acknowledged us. Mother never wanted kids and treated us like dirt under her shoe, except for Karoline. My mother and sister are actually a lot like Danica and the Pussy Patrol.”
Taking a long pull from my wine glass, I prepare myself to get through the rest of my story.
“When guys started showing me interest, Karoline went out of her way to lure them away. Most of the time, she did something sexual. Since they had an older woman, I was no longer interesting. She would tease them for about a week, making sure she had successfully chased them off, and then she would move on. Kavanagh is the oldest. When he figured out what she was doing, he would run as much interference as possible. He was trying to work, go to school, and help take care of me. The poor guy had his hands full.”
“Wait a minute,” Gareth interjects. “Where was your mother if your brother was raising you? That is what you are inferring, correct?”
“You are correct. Kavanagh was raising me”—taking a deep breath, I continue—“my mother was off chasing down her next sugar daddy.”
“Holy shit!” Kennedy exclaims.
“Yeah, the story gets a little darker. Constantly getting put down, Karoline beating me up, and being told that I wasn’t wanted got to me. I started cutting as a way to escape.”
Kennedy lets out a gasp, curling into Ashton’s side and hiding her face in his chest. Ashton wraps his arms around her slight frame, comforting her. Doing my best to put her feelings aside, my tone is flat as I continue speaking, determined to get through my story and get my past out in the open.
“My mother found evidence of what I was doing and put me into therapy. It was one more way for her to belittle me. Since living in a trailer and having an absent father wasn’t a big enough humiliation.”
Tears are streaming down my face, and they go unchecked. Anger radiates off of the guys. Somehow, I know that it isn’t aimed in my direction. Picking up my wine glass, finding it empty, I head to the kitchen to refill it. Taking a moment to myself, I brace both hands on the edge of the counter. My head hands causing my hair to fall forward, hiding my face.
Pushing away from the counter, I move to the sink and splash my face with cool water; my movements are exaggerated, trying to give everyone a chance to absorb my sad tale.
“Are you okay?” Kennedy asks me upon my return to the living room.
“Yeah.”
“So, if you and your sister don’t get along, why would she come all this way?” Kennedy asks again, sniffling slightly as if she, too, has been crying.
“I didn’t go home for Christmas.”
“So?” Rodney says, making is sound like a question, confusion evident on his face.
“My mother saw us on television from Pittsburgh,” my words trail off, hoping that I don’t have to spell every embarrassing detail out.
“I don’t understand. What does that have to do with anything?” Gareth asks.
“My mother missed her opportunity to flaunt my semi-celebrity status around town, gaining her extra attention,” I say the words in a near whisper, but I know they all hear me anyway. My tone is full of humiliation and embarrassment. My face heats, and I know that it is from more than just the effects of the wine.
“Are you fucking serious right now?” Rodney asks in outrage, jumping to his feet. He starts pacing the floor, tugging at his hair as he walks.
The faint ringing of my cell phone can be heard in the other room. Ignoring it, my gaze turns to Rodney.
“Unfortunately, that answer is yes. That is how my mother and sister are. They kept calling me, wanting me to come home, and I ignored their calls. Not returning their voicemails only made it worse. I finally called my mother back several days ago, and she went off on one of her tirades. Mother wants money and is trying to get it from you through me. It wasn’t a pleasant conversation. It never occurred to me that Karoline would show up.”
As tears threaten to fall, my chin quivers. When I spoke to my mother and she mentioned my “rich friends,” it didn’t occur to me that she would get desperate enough to send my sister here.
My phone rings, stops, and rings again. Rodney, already on his feet, marches toward my bedroom, mutteringfor fuck’s sakeunder his breath.
“Guys, I am sorry for her showing up here unannounced.” They all wave me off as Rodney enters the room, my ringing phone in his hand.
Taking it from him, my eyebrows knit together when I see that it is Brock calling me. Silencing the phone, he immediately calls back. Not in the mood to deal with whatever meltdown he is having; I shut the damn thing off.
“Your sister?” Kennedy asks, her tone is terse, glaring at my phone.
“No.” I sigh, shaking my head back and forth. “Brock.”
