Forever Young

Chapter Two

    A loud giggle interrupted my sleep. I opened my eyes to find a pair of green ones peering back at me, inches from my face. I groaned. Eyes that green could only belong to one person: my eight year old stepbrother, Mark. And if he was in my room, that meant his twin sister Molly wasn't far behind. I looked at the clock. Fifteen after seven. Ugh.

    "Get off," I groaned again. I tried to push the blankets off of me, but Mark had me pinned down. "Mark! Go away!" It was too early to deal with this. I mustered up all my strength and pushed. Both Mark and my quilt landed on the bed beside me.

    "Mo-om!" Mark cried, the sound  piercing the early morning quiet. When he didn't get a reply, he wrestled the blanket off him and jumped to the floor. He walked to the door and grinned at me before slamming it behind him."Mo-om!" he called again. "Laney hurt me-e!"

    "She hurt me, too!" I heard Molly's voice chime in, even though she hadn't even set foot in my room. It wasn't a surprise. They usually teamed up against me, and both Mom and her new husband - I refused to call him my stepfather, and flat out drew the line at calling him Dad- almost always believed them over me.

    I sat up and put my head in my hands. Never in my life had I met such brats. If all kids acted like that, I was going to have to rethink my chosen career path. Two was bad enough; trying to teach a roomful of them? That was enough to make the Dalai Lama curse.

    Mark and Molly continued  to cry until I heard my mother's muffled voice over their fake sobs. I held my breath and hoped against hope that she would tell them to suck it up. It was too early for a lecture.

    No such luck. Seconds later, I heard the creak of a loose floorboard and footsteps in the hall. The sound came closer and stopped outside my door. I exhaled, defeated.

    The door opened, and my mom stepped inside. Her face was lined with sleep, but that only intensified the look of extreme disappointment she wore. The twins hung behind her, with only their blonde curls visible. "Laney," she chastised, "why did you knock your brother off in the floor?"

    He's not my brother. I met Mom's gaze and prayed my voice wouldn't waver. "I didn't. I pushed him over on the bed."

    Mom furrowed her brow. She looked at Mark, then back at me. For one brief moment, I was hopeful. I allowed myself to believe that, for the first time in two years, Mom was going to take my side. She had to know I'd never hurt Mark or Molly, or any child, for that matter.

    But then she pressed her lips into a thin line, a look I'd come to recognize all too well, and I knew my hopes were in vain.

    She held out her hand. "Give me your phone."

    "But-"

    "No buts, Elaine. Give me your phone and apologize to your brother."

    I fished my cell out from under my pillow. My mom can crossed the room, hand still outstretched, twins at her heels.

    I put my phone in her hand and said, "He's not - I'm not apologizing for something I didn't do!"

    Mom's lips pressed tighter, until they disappeared altogether. "Very well. Then you can have this" - she held my phone up - "back in two weeks."

    "Two weeks?" I exploded. "That's not fair!"

    "Neither is the way you treat Mark and Molly," she replied, her calm voice a stark contacts to my outburst. I didn't have a response to that, so I fell back against my pillows. Mom shot me a look that said drama queen, before she and the twins left me alone.

    Not so long ago, my mother and I had had a relationship. We'd stay up late, watching scary movies as we munched on popcorn, trying to keep our giggles to a minimum while my dad slept. We'd go on adventures on the weekends, sometimes not coming home until well after dark. She gave me cooking lessons when I was ten, and on days when she came home before Daddy, we'd rush and around the kitchen, making him a surprise dinner.

    When I was twelve, Daddy died. Hit by a drunk driver on his way home. Isn't it funny how fast life can change? In the time it took to feed my puppy, he was gone. The police officer that knocked on our door told Mom Daddy didn't suffer, but I didn't believe him. Not one word. My Daddy was alive; it was somebody else's husband and father laying in the morgue.

    It wasn't until I saw him in the coffin, wearing one of his business suits with his hands clasped over his breast, that the realization hit me.

    Mom never once cried in front of me, but I could hear her the sobs tear from her body late at night, long after I was supposed to be in bed.

    For the next three years, it was just the two of us.

    Cue Brian Williams, my dad's so-called best friend.

    He showed up one day to help my mom fix the dining room floor, and never left. At least, that's how it seemed to me. Two months later, they were engaged. Four months after that, they were married, and Brian moved his things -including his kids- to our house, and so began my living nightmare.

     And also the dream.