“Dad, you wouldn’t. Dad, you can’t! Listen, it was all my fault, I promise.”
“How is it your fault that he cheated on you?”
“Um, I kinda wanted out. I saw a chance, and I took it.”
“Explain.” He dusted the bed for Covid and copped a squat on the edge before dragging Mom down on his lap. Can’t let his precious wife slum for two minutes.
“Before you start, what is this place?”
“It’s a motel, Dad! It’s the first one I came to, and I was tired and emotionally drained.”
“He needs his knees capped for that alone. Get your stuff; let’s go; you’re not staying here.” Well, I knew that was coming.
It wouldn’t help to argue because he wouldn’t hear me anyway, and Mom was already moving around the room, picking up the few things I’d left in the bathroom. My phone rang before I could get a word out. “That’ll be your sister.”
“Annabelle? Ah, dammit, Dad!”
“Hello!”
“I’m on my way to Mom and Dad’s. Be there.” She hung up the phone in my ear, and I felt real fear for the first time. Dad, I can swindle with crocodile tears and a pouty lip, but my Irish twin, no luck there.
“Who else did you tell?”
“Your brothers.”
“You didn’t…” These people are going to end up making me feel sorry for this idiot and, worse, having to protect him when all I want is to be done with this whole mess.
“Let’s go. You can tell me on the way how you did this. Better yet, we’ll wait ‘til we get home; that way, you only have to tell the story once.
“And after that, you’re going to leave it alone, right?”
“I’m not making any promises, and I’m not the one you have to worry about. Guess who’s over at Annabelle’s place.”
“Grandpa?” My heart sank when he grinned. Why couldn’t I have been born into a family that had some sense? This is all their fault. If they hadn’t raised us kids to fight dirty, none of this would’ve happened.
“Ride with your mother and me; I’ll have the driver follow us in your car.” He kissed my hair, “It’s gonna be okay, Princess.” Who said it wasn’t? I wish there was something I wanted because this is the kind of situation I could milk. But alas, I’m so spoilt I don’t need shit. Damn!
I was all but hustled out of the room and into the car downstairs after getting dressed again; I didn’t put up any kind of a fight for too many reasons to count, not least of all the fact that my sister would hunt me down and drag me home if I didn’t do exactly as she said. The truth of the matter is, I’m more afraid now that she knows than I was before. That tyrant has been running my ass ever since I left the womb.
I hadn’t thought this thing through completely, which I am only now seeing. You see, my plan was to share the funny story of how I maneuvered my unwanted ex into cheating on me, thereby giving me an easy out once the dust had cleared. We would’ve laughed and had a few chuckles before moving on.
What I stupidly overlooked was the fact that my family’s radar doesn’t work that way. In every situation, Dad especially listens for only one thing: some kind of affront against one of us, meaning Mom and his kids. He’d go to bat for others in the family as well, but not as hard as when it comes to his precious wife and kids.
It wouldn’t have mattered to him if I’d dragged Dale naked through Main Street at high noon; the fact that he thinks I am hurt is all that matters in his mind and the minds of the rest of these criminals I call family. We’re all wired a little differently, I guess you can say.
So, you see why, when I realized my ex’s work friend was getting a bit too close, instead of reacting like a normal human being and throat-knuckling her, I propelled that poor, unsuspecting girl into the arms of a certified deadbeat. It’s because I was raised not to give a fuck, and maybe worst, not to take shit from anyone, no matter who.
Don’t get me wrong, Dad and the others didn’t teach us to start shit with anyone for any reason, but we sure were encouraged to end every fight that came our way. Our great uncles’ mantra is, ‘Don’t mess with anyone first, but if they mess with you, fight until we get there, we’re coming.’
When you’re raised by a father who has the hands of a surgeon and the heart of the most vicious mob boss, it can be complicated. Add in Grandpa, who, as the story goes, didn’t know about Mom until she was a teenager, and his brothers, who had no kids of their own and were only too happy to have a niece and daughter to fawn over with their billions and you’ve got a recipe for something that could’ve gone way south.
By that, I mean if it hadn’t been for Mom’s stability and her soft heart, all of us might’ve turned out way different. Dad, Grandpa, and the Uncles aren’t exactly the law-abiding sorts if you know what I mean, and it gets worse when it comes to us kids.
On the one hand, we were coddled like spun gold, and on the other, I have to admit, we were raised like thugs. When you’re six years old and a grown man trembles and sweats with fear while having a calm conversation with your father after mistakenlyrunning over the bike you foolishly left in the street, you kinda start realizing some things, and I’ve always been smart.
Now, of all of us kids, Annabelle is most like him and the one we all have to adhere to at moments like this. I’d like to pretend that I don’t know how she got that way, but since I’m a mere eleven months younger, I know plenty. There wasn’t much difference between the two of us, except for my family’s archaic nobility system, where the eldest holds sway over everyone else in the line of succession.
The only difference is that most noble houses usually overlooked their female children, while my family went above and beyond to turn my sister into a cross between Cerberus and Queen Tiye. Not that any of us escaped being molded the same way, but there’s a difference that cannot be missed.
