Chapter 3

3

Abrielle

THE PAST PART

I'm sitting at my desk. The one with the front left leg being held up by some old magazines promising happiness, money, and a quiz about sex.

Dumb enough for me, that word still makes me blush a little.

No reason for it though.

Just something about those three letters put together.

Natural? Taboo? Fun?

I drip my paintbrush into a cobalt blue color I made on my own.

As I stroke what I hope to be a serene kind of sky, my little desk lamp I got for Christmas turns out.

First thing I do is click the button a few dozen times, as though that's going to magically fix it.

I could go scrounge around for another light bulb.

Why bother?

I already know what this means…

I stand from the squeaky chair and walk to my bedroom light switch and flick it up.

No lights, Abrielle.

"Shit," I call out.

I hate being in the dark, even if it's not dark outside yet.

I emerge from my room like a kidnap victim trying to escape a house of hell.

Inching down the hallway of our small apartment.

My first stop is the kitchen. To the fridge.

Not for a snack though.

The fridge is never full.

Last time it was full was about six months ago when Mom slept around with that married car salesman. She threatened to tell his wife unless he bought us groceries. And Mom a diamond necklace.

From my understanding and upbringing, true love comes in the form of intense blackmail and lasts about three weeks. Then it's off to the next lover.

The fridge is dark.

I try every light switch in the apartment.

Nothing turns on.

I glance at the messy dining room table.

Stacked with bills and random boxes of stuff.

My favorite is the box of specialty vitamins that Mom tried to sell about a year ago. One of those not-a-scheme ordeals where you sell these magical vitamins and then get other people to sell them as you build a team to make money.

Mom made me take those vitamins.

They gave me diarrhea. I had to spend a night in the hospital to get fluids back in me.

She lovingly asked why I have to ruin everything enjoyable in her life.

Thanks, Mom.

I shuffle through the stack of bills and see the words FINAL NOTICE in big, red letters. On our electric bill.

"Fuck," I groan.

I run back to my bedroom and find a folder of finances.

That's what I call it.

The Folder of Finances.

As though I'm some fancy person with a finance degree.

I try to manage the bills the best I can.

I paint canvases and try to sell them.

When the cops don't chase me away, I do caricatures.

For free… but tips are welcome.

I have a list of our bills and…

"Fuckity-fuck," I whisper.

I forgot to put down for the electric.

We were behind but not enough to get it shutoff.

Mom got a speeding ticket last month and that threw off all my numbers.

I look over at my painting - with half a serene sky painted, the other just boring, white, dull. Non-existent.

Fitting for this moment.

But now I have to wait for Mom to get home and tell her we have no electricity.

She'll either laugh and drag me to a friend's house to stay…

Or she'll blame me and I'll get told all the reasons and ways I've fucked up her life.

I sit outside our apartment door and do what I do best.

I daydream.

I daydream of a gallery with my name on it. Of a large space for me to paint. I'm forever in overalls that are paint stained, only cleaning up nice when there's a showing. Even then, I'm wearing jeans and a white shirt that's half tucked in. I sip expensive wine, good champagne, pick at appetizers that the catering staff I've hired walks around with.

People come from all over the state, the country, even the world to see me.

A man with a French accent flirts with me and begs for me to come with him to Paris to paint.

Another man from London who has a devilishly sexy squared-off chin tells me how he's from royalty and will buy a castle if I just run away with him forever.

Across the hallway from me, the door opens and Mrs. Duggen shuffles out.

"Gabrielle," she says.

She adds the G to my name and I tried to correct her once and you would have sworn I'd asked her to give me the calculations needed for a rocket to go to the moon.

So to her, I'm Gabrielle.

Just leave it at that.

I wave.

"Locked out?"

"Nope."

"Something is wrong."

"Nothing for you to worry about," I say with a big smile.

Mrs. Duggen holds up a finger and goes back into her apartment.

When she returns, she has a glass of milk and a small plate with two cookies on it.

She tells everyone she makes the cookies but they're store bought.

"This will fix all your troubles," she says.

I can't be mean to a sweet lady like her.

I thank her.

The milk is cold. The cookies are a little hard, but who am I to complain?

Mom's been gone for the entire weekend.

I'd like to assume she's working but she's not. She's with some new guy.

The only good of that is she'll come home with something.

Money, gifts, I don't know.

I eat the cookies, I drink the milk, and I return the glass and plate in front of Mrs. Duggen's door.

I'm like a low class Santa.

That makes me laugh.

It feels good to laugh.

Then I feel like crying.

Before the tears can come, the hallway door opens and I see Mom.

New sunglasses on the top of her head, a fresh tan on her skin, new makeup, clothes, everything. She looks stunning. Luxurious. She's smiling ear to ear.

"Did you lock yourself out?"

"Power got shut off," I say. "I completely-"

"Good," Mom says. "Fuck them. Pack a bag."

"What?" I ask.

Mom sticks her left hand down and into my face.

My jaw drops.

"I know!" Mom cries out. "I can't believe it either!"

It looks like Mom had an eventful few days away.

It looks like Mom got married.

I'm used to this kind of thing.

The whole pack-a-bag-we've-got-thirty-minutes-to-get-out-of-here routine.

Normally it's a landlord or management company coming after us. This time, Mom and I are moving into some giant house with her new husband.

Yeah.

New husband.

"You've never heard of him before?" Mom asks me.

She stands in the doorway like a teenager in love.

Practically floating in the air.

"No," I say. "You said… Caspian?"

"Jack," she says. "What a great name, right? I wasn't even looking for someone! I was just at a bar, having a drink. I heard someone say his name and I looked."

"Love at first sight, huh?"

"More than that, Abrielle," Mom says.

"Gross."

"Not gross. Beautiful."

Nothing like picturing your mother humping some stranger in the bathroom of a bar.

"It was amazing," Mom says. "He swept me right off my feet, Abrielle. I know I've said that before. But this time…" She sticks out her left hand again.

"Mom, that's…" Fucking insane? Fucking stupid? Fucking childish?

"That's amazing," I say. "Congrats."

I hug her.

A part of me really grabs for some hope.

Maybe it'll be different this time.

You know?

Maybe this is really happening.

Two people can meet and fall in love right away.

Even if things fall apart…

… at least I'll have electricity for a little bit, right?

Ever see a movie or show with a house that has one of the gates with two pillars made of bricks? And you need a code to get the gate to open? And when the gates opens you drive up a road full of trees that make it so you can't see the mansion until you're close to it?

Oh yeah… that's my new house.

Mom is besides herself with happiness.

She's practically bouncing in her seat.

I clutch my old book bag tight.

It's all I've got in this world right now.

Mom sees her new marriage and the mansion, and has dreams of lounging in the pool all day and worrying about where to go on vacation next.

I see it a little different than that.

I see a house with electricity, running water, and I assume a fridge full of food.

If I have to play the smiling, good daughter card for a little while, then so be it.

Hey, I learned from the best how to fake at enjoying life to get what I want and need, haven't I?

The driveway is one of those that wraps into a big circle so you don't have to worry about backing out. There are big steps that lead to the dark red door. The house is made of beige colored bricks and shutters that match the door. I'm sure everything in and out and around this house has been strategically designed.

Who exactly is my mother's new husband?

Some real estate guy.

Of course I looked him up.

A strikingly handsome man with an adventurous smile and eyes that make me a little uneasy. He has that shady salesman look to himself.

Then again, there's nothing to gain from being married to my mother. It's not like she's secretly hoarding a family fortune that Jack wants to steal.

Mom parks the car. The front door opens.

Out steps Jack.

Wearing black pants and a dark-blue shirt, tucked in.

"He's so fucking sexy," Mom mutters.

"Ew," I whisper.

She laughs. "I guess that's true, considering he's your new stepfather."

I cringe at that word. Stepfather.

Do you know how many of those I've had in my life so far?

You know how some women dye their hair so much they forget what their natural color is?

That's my mother with last names.

Honestly, I'm not even sure why my last name is Mallory.

Is that my mother's maiden name? My birth father's name? Then again, I don't think my mother even knows who my birth father is.

As a kid she used to tell me a stork brought me to her.

Weird.

Mom hurries out of the car, rushes up the steps and jumps into Jack's arms.

He catches her and spins her around.

When she's back on her feet, he touches her face.

They definitely have a connection.

I hate that feeling of hope that hits you when you're excited. In my experience, it's all bullshit.

Hope lasts about as long as a rainbow does. And it's just as rare.

Mom looks at me and waves for me to get out of the car.

I do so, slinging my bag over my right shoulder.

I approach with a smile. This all feels so rehearsed. I mean, I have done it a time or two before.

"There she is," Jack says to me. "Even more pretty in person."

I let out a nervous laugh. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Caspian."

"Please, call me Jack," he says. "Mr. Caspian is if you're in my office about to get fired!"

Mom cackles so hard she sounds like a crow flying overhead.

Jack offers his right hand.

I shake it.

"I guess we should handle the tour," Jack says. "You're going to love this place, Gabrielle."

"Abrielle," I say. "No… G …"

"You know, I was wondering about that," Jack says. "I swore that's how I heard it. And here I am, assuming. Forgive me, Abrielle ."

"She's used to it," Mom says.

"There are twelve bedrooms in the house," Jack says. "Eight are up for grabs. First floor. Second floor. Even on the third floor. You pick the room, Abrielle."

"Pick your own room," Mom says to me, her eyes wide.

She's enjoying this.

For me, it's weird. It's really fucking weird, okay?

She just met this guy a few days ago and now I'm here at his mansion about to pick out my own bedroom?

The only good thing is maybe the size of the place means I can have some space to myself.

We enter the giant house into an open foyer.

Mom squeaks with delight and starts to spin, arms out, like she's in some movie.

To her, this is all like a movie.

Jack looks at me and points. "Down that hallway there are the first floor bedrooms. There's some great views. And one of the bedrooms has its own private entrance. Or exit. Takes you right out to the pool."

Of course the place has a pool.

I start my travels from the foyer to the hallway.

I can hear Mom beaming with excitement at everything she looks at.

I guess I'm happy that she's happy.

At the end of the hallway, I turn left.

A first floor bedroom with my own way in and out of the house does sound kind of nice.

I figure that's a good place to start this self-guided tour.

As soon as I make it to the door, it opens on its own.

For a split second I think there are automatic door openers run by sensors.

Nope.

The house isn't that advanced.

The door opens because someone is in the bedroom.

That someone is a shirtless boy, standing almost twice my height.

I say boy … but he looks like a man.

He's my age.

I swallow hard.

My eyes bounce quickly to look at his muscular, cut body.

My brain tells my mouth not to drool.

He curls the left side of his lip into a high snarl.

"Who the fuck are you?" his voice growls at me.

Oh, sure, nice to meet you to.