“What?” I yell at the top of my lungs. “I did no such thing.”
“What in heaven’s name is going on here?”
Great. Mom’s here now. This is only going to get uglier, and I know exactly how it’s going to play out. Mom’s going to believe Gisele. How do I know? Because shealwaysbelieves Gisele. Even when I was really young, Gisele would tell Mom I was to blame for things, things that she did. Then, I’d get punished. For example, there was the time she cut her own hair, then blamed me. Another time, she got into Mom’s makeup and trashed all of her expensive eyeshadows and blushes. She blamed me. It didn’t stop either. Even when we were older, Gisele was still blaming me.
Once, Gisele ran Mom’s car into a post, and she blamed me because “I distracted her while she was driving.” Here’s the thing, I wasn’t with her when that happened. But it didn’t matter. In each of those instances, I was punished, and Gisele pranced along on her merry way never blinking an eye. She’s seriously sociopathic.
So, here we are again. Except this time, it’s about her fake boyfriend and me. A fake boyfriend I had no clue about until I woke up this morning.
So, I could stand here and defend myself, but I’d be wasting my breath. You don’t believe me? Just watch and listen.
“What happened, Gisele?” my mom is by her side in seconds.
“Jo. She slept with William last night. She lured him from the bar in town and took him home and had s-sex with him.” Gisele’s crying now, and they look like real tears. I’ve got to hand it to her, this is an Academy Award-winning performance. She ends with a sob and the words, “M-my William.”
I’d love to clap, but there’s no time.
“Josephine!” Mom exclaims. “You…. Tell me you didn’t do that!”
Sure, I could launch into all the ways Gisele’s theory doesn’t hold water, but why bother? So, I shrug. “I slept with him.” It’s the truth. I’m not going to draw out the inevitable.
“Mom!” Gisele blubbers. “Make her leave.”
I’m way ahead of her. I’ve already made it to the swinging kitchen door. When I look back, the first person I make eye contact with is Billy. He’s standing in the corner leaning on the cabinets, his arms are crossed. He hasn’t said a word since my dad walked into the kitchen.
It figures.
I turn away and start to push the door open when my mom says, “I don’t think you should stay here, Josephine.”
Great. I’ve been kicked out of my own house. On Christmas fucking Eve. I turn back to Billy again, but he’s not looking at me. I feel someone’s hand take mine. Clancy is pulling me out of the kitchen and away. Outside the kitchen, I whisper to her, “I need to pack a bag.”
“I’ll help. You can stay with us.” Yay, I get to spend Christmas with the Clancys. They’re nice. I love them. But they aren’t mine.
I hope they don’t mind me crashing at their place for a night or two. I need some time to sort myself out. At least I’ve got a job. Sort of.
Chapter Six
“Why does your mom do that?”
I know what she’s talking about, but I’ll play along. “Do what?”
“Always side with Gisele. She didn’t even give you a chance for rebuttal.”
“It wouldn’t matter.” I touch my cheek and wince. My eye hurts too. Gisele’s nails are long and coffin shaped, so I’ve probably got long welts on my cheek. Deciding to worry about my face later, I grab a duffle bag and start stuffing it with clothes. I walk to the man-bath and gather up my hair supplies, toothbrush, and what’s left of my toothpaste. Slinging it over my shoulder, I nod to Clancy. “Ready. Let’s go.”
We make our way up the steps and turn right at the top and beeline it to the front door. There’s no reason to speak to anyone again. It’ll only end up worse than it is now.
“And what about that dickless wonder, Billy? You’d think he could have stepped in to help you out.”
“Uh-huh.” She’s been talking nonstop since we jumped in her car. Luckily, Clancy only lives about a mile from my house. I mean, my parents’ house.
“I can’t believe he just stood there like a fucking pussy.”
“Right?” I’m doing my best to play along, but that excuse was weak. Knowing what Clancy is saying is the truth makes my heart break just a little bit more. You see… I’m not as strong as I appear. I’m quite the opposite, actually. I’ve had to pretend that I’ve got a hard shell built around me to withstand, well, life—not just Gisele, even though she’s a big part of the reason I feel like I’ve got no redeeming qualities. She’s always picked at anything good that ever happened to me until I just believed she was right that I’m not special. I’m not funny or pretty or smart. I’m not trustworthy or talented or capable of doing anything worthwhile in life.
And while I know she’s not completely right, a big part of me believes a lot of what she’s said throughout the years. So, yeah, I created this crusty shell around me and learned how to banter and snap back at her. I’ve had to, or I’d cry all the damn time. Even her text messages to me are nasty. There isn’t one instance that she doesn’t give me the eye-roll emoji at least once during a text message conversation. That doesn’t sound like much, but it is to me. She finds me eye-roll worthy.
“God, and your dad….”
