Chapter 2 #2
“Like any of us is any different,” Ian says in my defense, big block letters on his shirt spelling out Be Fucking Nice.
Mazie sits down next to where my sister kneels and tilts her face up. “You’re my aunt.”
Taryn glances to me before smiling at my daughter. “I am. Aunt Taryn. What’s your name?”
“Mazie Violet Stone.”
Violet, after our mother.
“Mazie Violet Stone,” my sister repeats. “Very pretty.”
My kid melts into Taryn’s side at the compliment, obviously desperate for female attention. It makes me feel like shit that she’s gone without for so long, but Taryn has two kids of her own, and Mazie probably gets a mom vibe from her.
Taryn plucks at Mazie’s dress. “I bet pink is your favorite color.”
“Yes!” Mazie shouts, and I wince, walking over to where she sits with Taryn.
“Inside voice, Maze.”
She ignores me, flapping her hands to make the gauzy skirt flounce. “I love pink so fucking much!”
I roll my head back to my shoulders, taking a deep breath before telling her, “You have to stop cursing.”
“You curse,” she points out, and true, but…
“You’re a kid. You’re not allowed to curse.”
Mazie eyes me unhappily, but Taryn jumps in.
“Cursing is fun sometimes, isn’t it? I know when we get so excited or angry, it feels like there are no other words to use besides curses, but—” Taryn holds out her hand, keeping the attention of my six-year-old “—we have to be careful with our words. We don’t ever want to hurt other people with our language, right? ”
“Right,” Mazie says, fully in it.
“I also don’t want you to be hurt because sometimes people are judgmental and not so nice. I don’t want other people hurting your feelings because they judge you for cursing.”
“What does judgmental mean?” Mazie asks, and Taryn motions to all of us in answer.
“Some people might look at your dad and think he’s not very nice.
” I assume she’s referring to my height, build, hair, tattoos.
..general demeanor. I don’t exactly blend in most places.
“They might judge him because of what he looks like, and that’s never a good thing.
Should we ever judge people or treat them mean because they look different from us?
” When Mazie shakes her head, Taryn nods.
“You’re right. We absolutely should not be mean to people because of how they look or talk, but it still happens.
A lot of people will still be mean and judge others.
And until you’re a little bit older, I think we should work on not cursing, so people don’t think mean things about you, okay? ”
“Okay,” Mazie agrees.
I dip my chin in thanks to Taryn before Ian pumps his fist in the air. “Well fucking said.”
I roll my eyes, only to realize I’ve unconsciously closed the distance, along with Ian. The four of us close together.
Leaving Griffin still standing straight-backed like a soldier at the door. I turn to fully face him, finally meeting his gaze since he’s removed his hat. His eyes are the same brown as mine. We all share them, dark brown eyes like Mom.
My brother—the one who I know holds a lot of resentment toward me…
not so undeservedly—makes an assessment of me, top to bottom.
Though I would never admit it out loud, Griffin makes me feel worst of all.
Because he’s the good guy. Former military and current first responder.
He literally sacrifices himself every day and always does the right thing.
And I haven’t. I’ve never done the right things. Never made good choices.
At least, until now.
“You don’t judge a person by what they look like,” Griffin says to no one in particular, his voice steady and low. “You judge them by their actions.”
It’s a deliberate shot at me. He has every right to be angry, and while my first instinct is to fight back, I don’t, because this is all part of the process. Being here in person, listening to what they have to say.
Might as well get started.
“I, uh…” I scratch the back of my head. “I made some coffee.”
“Ooh!” Mazie hops up. “Can I have cookies?”
When I nod my answer, she runs to the kitchen, the four of us following. I sold off a lot before moving here, packing only the essentials, including a handful of kitchenware. When Taryn notices the coffee mugs I retrieve from the cabinet, she freezes.
I set three of the ceramic stonewashed cups on the counter. “I bought them from your shop a few years ago.”
She picks one up, eyes drifting between it and me. “I… I didn’t think…”
Think I knew she made pottery? That I cared she sold it online?
Either answer is shitty, and I don’t want to be the person she expects. I want to be better. “You do good work.”
Surprise raises her brows, but she accepts my words with a nod. Then she helps herself to coffee and finding milk in the refrigerator. Mazie asks her for a glass before going on and on about the best way to eat cookies. It’s by dunking the whole thing in milk first.
Ian pulls up a chair next to my daughter, easily falling into conversation with her, allowing Mazie to ask him questions about why his hair is gray, if he is as strong as “my daddy,” and when she can meet her cousins.
He answers them all patiently. His hair is gray because only the best-looking men have gray hair. He is stronger than her daddy—absolutely not. And she’ll be able to meet her cousins soon.
Once she finishes her cookies, I tell her to go into the living room to watch television, and she happily zips off, leaving me to face my brothers and sister alone.
“So…”
They stare at me for a long moment, and then the rapid fire begins all at once.
“What the hell is going on?’
“You bought this house?”
“Why didn’t you tell us about Mazie?”
“Do you have a job?”
“You think you move back and everything is gonna be fine now?”
“Who is her mother?”
I close my eyes, squeezing them tight as their questions fly so fast I can’t keep them all straight.
The pinch of my fingernails into my palm centers my awareness enough that I can form some words, stilted as they may be.
“I wanted to come home to give Mazie a family.” Forcing my eyes open, I look to each of my siblings, swallowing around the rock in my throat. “I needed my family.”
They don’t respond. Ian, of course, holds nothing but understanding in his features.
I wish he wouldn’t be so accepting of me.
I spent the last twenty years basically doing nothing but being a thorn in his side.
Actually, worse than that. I only realized after I had Mazie what he’s probably been feeling.
Anxiety, fear, stress, pain, panic, dread.
My whole life, I looked up to Ian as if he were my father, and I only ever gave him reason to worry.
Then there’s Taryn, eternally suspicious.
With good reason. She’s had a rough go of it, being the only girl with three brothers.
Considering all the things I feel completely out of my depth about with Mazie, I assume it was really difficult for her when our mom passed.
I’d taken it pretty hard, but I was so young, I believed I had it the hardest. I thought I was grieving the most. When, really, they all lost her too, and more than my brothers and me, Taryn lost something with Mom that she couldn’t replace.
As I figured he would, Griffin appears as if he’d like to leave.
I have a lot of work to do, repairing what I broke with my brothers and sister, but I know it’ll be more difficult with him.
We never saw eye to eye. Although if I really reflect on it, I never really saw eye to eye with any of them because I’m the youngest one.
I’m the baby and the fuckup. The bastard who couldn’t be bothered to do the most basic of things like return a text.
I’m not sure when exactly it happened—if it was my third return to rehab or when I promised to show up to help when his twins were born and his wife died, then I never followed through—but Griffin stopped trusting me.
I don’t blame him. I’ve been a shitty brother.
But I want to make it up to them. Or at least try.
“I’m sorry,” I start, which is inadequate, but it’s all I’ve got right now.
Griffin crosses his arms and remains silent, though he does jut his chin out, a small acknowledgment.
It’s Taryn who gets to the heart of the matter. “Why did you hide your daughter from us?”
“I wasn’t hiding her. I was…overwhelmed.” I’ve done a lot of therapy to tackle all of my demons, but the most difficult to overcome has always been the constant feeling of inadequacy.
No one in my life—not my mother or my siblings—ever made me feel that way, but I’ve never been able to shake the belief that deep down I am simply not good enough.
After all, I am the straw that broke the camel’s back. Our father left after I was born. When Mom died, I was the only one never to have visited her in the hospital. And Amy, Mazie’s mother, chose drugs instead of the life I tried to give her.
Standing here, with all of my deficiencies on display, I have trouble forcing the words off my tongue.
I rub the heels of my hands against my eyes.
“I spent most of my life doing shitty things, and I didn’t care about who I hurt, but now…
” I let my arms flop down to my sides. They weigh one thousand pounds. “I need you.”
Then I let go of all the weight I’ve been carrying for so long and tell them everything.