Selkie

Chapter One

Chapter One

What would you do if you found out your life was a lie? I chose to protect my Mom. She had just lost her husband, and even though I hadn't taken shape in her womb, she was still my mother. She had raised me. She taught me how to wash my hair, ride a bike, and bake killer brownies.

I wasn't ready to extend that same sentiment to my Dad but this really wasn't Mom's fault.

 After the initial shock died down, I knew that even though there was no other option for me, nothing more had to  change for her. I really believed that if I could just pretend that it wasn't real, then nothing had to change.

I would handle the whole adopted thing on my own and she could go on pretending that she had a daughter. 

The day after we read the will. The day after I read Dad's confession. I sat at the Kitchen table of my childhood, sipping my coffee and tapping my toe in time to a song on the radio. I truly believed that everything would be fine if I acted like it was fine. 

Mom was in a spirited debate with my oldest brother about what exactly should go on the tombstone. Brad wanted it to read, "Winning isn't everything, but wanting to win is," a Vince Lombardi quote.

If you don't know who Vince Lombardi is, you've never met my Dad or any of my obnoxious brothers. When I think about it - looking at my Mom's sweet, tired face, I almost understand why he did it. She wanted a daughter so badly. A House full of three boys and a football coach husband was a lot of testosterone. My Mom is a slight, blonde woman whose main joys in life are home decor and monochromatic outfits. She always looks beautiful. Even now, wracked with grief and surrounded by other people's opinions, she looks like a monarch holding court or, at the very least, a friend of Gwenyth Paltrow at a hotel brunch.

I didn't inherit any of her poise, but that makes sense since I'm not actually her daughter. Now that I know, I can't unsee it. It's in the little things. We are both small - neither of us over 5'3, but where her colouring is fair and delicate, mine is dark. Her skin has natural golden undertones, and mine is... pale. My face is moon surface white, spooky white, and my dark eyes make it all the more disconcerting. I remember growing up and thinking it wasn't fair that I got such dark, dull eyes when my parents were blessed with brilliant blue ones. Recessive genes, my ass.

Would it have helped knowing why I looked like the gothic teen in my golden family when I was a teenager? Probably not. Being a teenager is hard for everyone.

"Enough. I will not have a sports cliche for my husband's epitaph."

"He was our Dad"

"Get out."

I had never heard my Mom use that tone. Not with anyone. All three boys blanched and left immediately. When I'd made the decision to move back home, it was to help my Mom take care of Dad's palliative needs. She never once complained. Never showed any hint of the weight she was carrying for our family. I didn't really blame my brothers for believing the facade. I still don't. But, a part of me was thrilled when she sent them all home to their respective partners.

"Can I make you a cup of tea?" I asked her, knowing it was more for me to have something to do with my hands than it was for her. I think she knew it too.

"Yes, Edie. Thank you."

The following day she sat at that same kitchen table in a beam of orange light. I shuffled my way into the kitchen on slippered feet. My braid was coming loose from a night of tossing and turning, and the bitter smell of coffee called me like a siren's song.

"Baby, I'm going on a trip." My mother, whose entire life revolved around her little duplex in the fashionable part of town, was going on a spontaneous trip. The woman who wouldn't trust a garden service with her prized roses. The same one who cooked family dinners every Sunday night - even as Dad was dying - was going on a trip. "It's a cruise around the world. I bought my ticket last night, and I leave on Friday." She said it all in a rush, as if it were something to be ashamed of, her grand confession. "Your aunt Liz is coming to watch the house. You can head back to school for next semester - I never should have let you take time off to come here. I am so sorry, Baby. But it meant so much to have my baby girl around. I know it was selfish. I know I'm being selfish now but I just... I can't be in this house. I can't explain to Brad why his epitaph plans are stupid or let Jason know that Dad being dead means he won't get free tickets to any more football games. I just can't. I'm going."

My Mom had never said the word stupid in my entire life. 

I remember asking her, "What about 'Beloved husband, beloved father, beloved coach?'

"What?"

"For Dad's epitaph. It accomplishes what Brad is so hard for but reflects your class."

"Don't talk like that about your brother" Of course, she didn't realize that Brad isn't exactly my brother. I remember idly wondering if she would mind me talking about him that way if she knew. I love Brad. I love Jason. I love Dwight. I love their partners and their kids. But there is nothing more obnoxious than fantasy football leagues and the people who take them too seriously. Nothing in the world will change my mind on this.

"I think the trip is a good idea. A trip around the world is a bit much, but if anyone can handle it and look good doing it, it's you." That's when she started to cry. Finally. "Why did you book the ticket for the day of the funeral?"

"Because I would rather die too than wash any more dishes." 

Have you ever laughed while crying? The real kind of tears that wrack your body and wring you dry? There is nothing like it. It's the best medicine. I think it's the salt water.

I dried my eyes and asked, "Okay, if you leave Friday will you make the funeral?"

"Yes, my flight isn't until the evening."

"Okay. So the plan is to have your bags packed and ready to go for the funeral and head straight to the airport afterwards?"

"That's the plan."

"I'm your girl."

I helped her pack her bags and set things up for Auntie Liz at the house.

I didn't tell Mom I wasn't going back to school. She had enough to worry about.