How The Sun Rises

4: Bluffs and Apologies

I wanted to deny it.

I wanted to say that no, I was not the McCaid girl. But I couldn't because it was true. That's exactly who I was.

"Y-yes." I stammered as her face transforms to that of a harsh glare.

"Your mother is Angelina McCaid."

It was not a question.

She already knew the answer and it was because of that I knew she was testing me.

"No," I said quickly. "She's my stepmother."

She didn't reply at first. She just stood there, looking frustrated and confused. I understood her hatred for my mother--or stepmother. She of all people had every right to despise my mother and I knew that she did right down to her very core. I could see it.

"She's a heartless woman." Is all she said, and she did so bitterly, with a look of distaste in her eyes.

I didn't make any move to speak, but directed my attention toward the grocery bags on the counter.

As horrible a woman I knew my mother to be, not once had I thought of her as a villain like most who knew her did. She didn't have a kind bone in her body and if it came time to pick and choose, I knew she would always save herself before anyone else. Despite that, not once had that made my opinion of her any less than of when I first met her as a child.

Even with her crude personality people continued to swarm her with the simple desire to gain approval. I couldn't judge anyone for that because I was no different. Despite her constant insults and spoiled demands, I never failed to try and please her.

I always made it my goal to make her happy.

"She isn't that bad all of the time." I whispered to myself.

Jackson's aunt, Debbie, turned to look at me. Her face was pinched in confusion and disbelief and I knew what she was about to ask before she even opened her mouth.

"How can you defend her?"

I didn't really have an answer. Not one that would satisfy her, anyway. No one was ever happy with my reply to that one question because it wasn't the one they wanted to hear. It was not the one they expected or understood. The fact that my step-mother, whom I thought of as my real mother, was the cause of my biological mother's death didn't bother me. It had never affected my opinion of her in any way. A lot of people, including herself, had always wondered why.

"I just don't blame her," I shrugged.

Debbie raised an eyebrow at me as she began to unpack the groceries. No one ever understood how I was so forgiving towards my mother, even with her cruel treatment towards me. They always asked how I could stand to be around her or listen to her tell me what to do. As much as I tried, I could never explain the reason why I was the way I was.

"She caused your mother's death," Debbie scoffed. "What is there not to blame her for?"

I flinched the second the words left her mouth. I didn't look up at her, but kept my attention focused on my hands as they pulled boxes of pasta from a paper bag.

Spaghetti. Small shells. Fettuccine.

"If not for your step-mother being so heartless, your mom would still be alive. How can you not hate her?"

Macaroni. Rigatoni. Angel hair.

"Your step-mother basically killed your mom and Ja-"

My hands slammed down on the table before she could finish because I knew where she was going, and I didn't want to hear the end of it. I'd repeated it to myself for years, thinking that my own relief caused someone else's pain. I could not bear to hear it aloud, especially from someone else's lips.