Like Mother, Like Daughter

Chapter Two: Highs and Lows

I was relieved that Dad was able to get the trespassing charges leveled against me and Franny dropped, but I got quite a talking-to from both of them in regards to my drinking. I pretended to listen, nodding my head at the potential dangers of drinking underage, while their words of concern went in one ear and out the other. I did not have a problem, I realized that, and the sooner the two of them could get with the program, the better.

It was the notion that my mother wanted to get all in-depth and compassionate with me all of a sudden that really turned me off. Ever since Dad had gotten back and she'd kicked Tommy to the curb, literally, I'd managed to hold her at arm's-length. She'd given me more details about what had happened with him over the years, and why she had had to do what she did, in getting us to live with Uncle Ian. I agreed with her, ultimately, and supported her reasoning, and yet, the thought of getting close to someone, anyone, again was foreign to me. I was close to Uncle Ian, and to Pops, but that's where I drew the line at closeness.

"You can't keep pushing her away," Uncle Ian told me as we sat in the living room of the house, where I sat between him and Pops on the couch in the living room. "I tried to push this one away, and look what happened..."

"Hey, you were my type," Pops shot back with a grin at Uncle Ian. "Your disgusting son of a cunt half-sister tried to get in the middle, though..."

"Mick," Uncle Ian said warningly.

"Oh, you mean Sammi?" I asked, my voice appropriately contorting into one of disdain. "Call her that, for all I care."

"Don't women find it insulting?" Uncle Ian wanted to know.

I laughed aloud. "Not when it's deserved, which it is. Too bad Mom didn't kill her," I muttered, reaching out towards the coffee table and grabbing my bottle of beer. "That gross, disgusting, poorly-patterned rug and a ceremonial dumping at the side of the road was way too good for her in my book..."

Pops laughed at that, his eyes shining. "If it weren't for the high-class words, you'd sound like a Milkovich, Iana."

I made a face at him, my mouth full of beer, and hastily swallowed it before returning my bottle back onto the table. "I can sound Milkovich if I want," I replied.

"Careful, Mick, she'll win," Uncle Ian warned.

"Besides, I am a fucking Milkovich, Pops; don't let the moniker of Blomqvist fool you," I replied, getting to my feet. "Of course," I went on, putting my hands on my hips, "Grandpa Terry wouldn't be pleased if he found out that I had girls in my bed as well as guys..."

Pops made a face. "No idea."

"The evil, psychotic prick would probably think it's hot," Uncle Ian muttered, reaching out and attempting to take my beer bottle.

Immediately, I reached out then, grabbing back the beer bottle as quickly as I dared and chugged the rest of it, staring at them both as I lowered it slowly. When they stared at me then, eyes wide and mouths open, something erupted within me as a tremor filled my body. "The fuck are you looking at?!" I demanded.

Pops immediately turned and regarded Uncle Ian then, and shook his head. "Swear to god, she looks like a fucking twin of Mandy..."

"Mandy?!" I demanded, looking from one to the other. "Who the fuck is Mandy?"

"Your aunt," Uncle Ian replied, his tone hesitant, almost as if he wasn't sure he was at liberty to share this information with me.

I raised my eyebrows. "I've got another one? Not just Fiona and Debs? Or that cunt Sammi that I don't even count?"

Pops smirked. "Yeah, you've got another aunt," he replied.

"Jeez," I muttered, swirling the last of my beer in its bottle as I leaned up against the mantle. "I guess I just thought that you were an only child, Pops..."