Chapter 2 – Six Years Ago - Almost 15
NICOLETTE
“Ma!” Bianca calls as the front door slams shut.
I pour some apple juice into a glass while my mother blends mashed potatoes with her handheld mixer.
“I’m in the kitchen, bella,” Mom answers, stopping what she’s doing almost instantly.
The rest of the food is warming up in the oven while we get ready for dinner. Can’t say they really care if I join them. I don’t think anyone would notice if I disappeared off the face of the planet.
“I brought someone for you to meet.” Bianca’s tone grows all giddy as her high heels clack across the linoleum a short distance away.
We don’t have a big house. It’s a modest three-bedroom. Thank God I have my own space. I couldn’t stomach the thought of sharing a room with my sister. She’d probably put something in my water to give me diarrhea just for fun.
My best friend, Brenda, thinks she’s part devil’s spawn. Brenda hates Bianca to her core, and she’s not shy about telling her that, especially when my sister says something hurtful to me. She does that a lot.
What the hell did I ever do to her other than exist? I don’t get in her way. I don’t even talk to her.
Mom fusses with her auburn hair, touched with a few grays. A smile stretches on her face, as though she knows who Bianca brought for dinner. I couldn’t care less. He or she is probably an asshole like my sister is.
I walk over to the adjacent dining room, grab one of the chairs, and plop down on it, sipping on my drink. My back is to Bianca just as she comes in. I can hear her popping her gum.
“Mama,” she says, her voice an irritating sound. “I’d like you to meet my handsome boyfriend, Raphael. But everyone calls him Raph.”
I stop drinking mid-sip, my shoulders tensing.
Did she say…boyfriend?
Someone actually wanted her? This is what the boys out there are looking for? A Bianca? I’m doomed. I’ll be single forever.
I stand no chance against the Biancas of the world. I’m not as pretty as her. Never was. She’s got big boobs—she even had them at my age—while I have tiny ones and a stomach that kinda rolls when I sit. Hers was always flat, and she made it her mission to brag about it to my face.
Is that why my parents like her better? Because she’s prettier? Smarter? She always did well in school while I struggled. I was never good at anything. I’m still not. I can barely make friends. Brenda is my only one. Maybe I’m just unlikable.
Tears prickle in my eyes, but I don’t cry. Not with them around. I don’t want them to know how much their rejection hurts.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Ricci.” That rich timbre sends goose bumps threading down my arms.
He sounds older. Way older.
Every part of me wants to turn around. To see who he is. But I stay rooted in place, my fingers fastened around the cup.
What does he look like? Is he tall? Is he ugly? I hope he is. If he’s cute, she’ll gloat nonstop. The sun revolves around her, and the rest of the world is insignificant.
“Where’s Daddy?” The words stretch with a whine. “I was hoping he got to meet my Raphie.”
Barf. I can almost see her scratching his chest, like he’s her puppy.
He’s not the first boyfriend she’s brought home, either. The last one lasted two months. I hope this one lasts less. I’m not bitter, I promise. She’s just not a nice person.
“Oh, he should be home very soon,” Mom says, her voice swelling with excitement. She really wants this to work. “It’s nice to meet you, Raphael. Bianca has told me so much about you.”
She has? When?
Of course I wouldn’t be privy to that information. Unless Bianca was using that information to hurt me, of course.
“I didn’t realize she was bringing you over tonight,” Mom adds. “I would’ve made myself look a lot more presentable.” She laughs nervously.
“You look beautiful as you are, Mrs. Ricci.”
Every word drips with honey. I’m sure my mother is blushing.
“What a sweet boy you are, making an old woman feel nice.”
“I told you he’s a keeper, Mama.” Bianca sighs, all dreamy.
I bet he’s rich. That has to be it.
“I hope you’re hungry,” Mom says. “I made veal cutlet with homemade spaghetti.”
“Yes. I am,” he tells her politely. “Thank you.”
“Did you make any grilled chicken for me?” Bianca asks. “You know I don’t eat that fried crap.”
She grows irate, and I roll my eyes a little too hard and snicker. Not on purpose. Maybe.
“Umm, did you say something?” Bianca shouts over to me with contempt.
But I just sit there, not wanting to deal with her right now. Maybe she’ll forget that I’m here. Kinda wish I had some actual invisibility power right about now.
“Hellooo! I’m talking to you.”
Ugh. Crap. I’m gonna have to face the wicked witch.
I huff a long breath, pushing my drink away as I turn, quickly catching her with an ill-tempered gaze.
“Did it sound like I was saying anything, or am I not allowed to dri—?” The rest of the words die in my throat as I take in the most handsome man I’ve ever seen in my entire life.
This isn’t an exaggeration.
He stands tall, towering over her, definitely taller than six feet.
His thick, jet-black hair is coifed back, eyes large and almost just as dark.
He looks tough, like he could beat anyone who looks at him funny.
And it’s not because of the muscles on his body.
It’s his entire persona. If I saw him on the street, I’d cross to the other side.
He looks at me inquisitively, tilting his head sideways a little, probably thinking how someone as ugly as me can be related to someone as pretty as his girlfriend.
I incline my chin up higher. When they knock you down, you’ve just gotta brush off the dirt and keep on moving. I think I read that somewhere once. Or maybe I made it up because my life is a constant cycle of falling and getting back up again.
“You lose your tongue?” Bianca sneers, curling her arm around his lower back with her other palm propped on her hip, her eyes intensifying with rage. “You have a problem with how I eat?”
I don’t care how she eats. What I have a problem with is how she talks about people who don’t eat like her.
“Maybe if you took a lesson from me, you wouldn’t look so…” She gives me a dry once-over. “You know…you. Try dieting.”
She laughs a cruel kind of laugh. Her face upturns with disgust and the back of my throat aches with a fresh coat of pain.
“Or, better yet…” she adds. “Skip that cake at dinner at least once a week. Maybe you wouldn’t be so chun—”
“Bianca,” Raph suddenly warns, his eyes snapping to hers. “Stop that. Right now.” His voice curls with a twinge of well-contained wrath.
Did he just…
Did he just defend me?
My sadness transforms to utter shock.
My mother barely gives me a look, and my heart breaks all over again. This right here is my life.
They don’t care.
No one ever has.
Until this very moment.
Instinctively, I want to run up to my room and cry. It’s what I do at night when no one can hear me. And right now, that’s all I want to do. His eyes connect with mine, and this time, I find them carrying sympathy.
I don’t want to be pitied.
I grind my teeth, trying my best not to expose my pain. But I feel the tears shimmering within my eyes, and the more pity I find in his striking gaze, the more I want to cry.
“What?” she huffs.
“Don’t ever speak to her like that,” he chastises. “That’s a terrible thing to say to your own sister.” His entire face hardens. “What the hell is wrong with you? You’re supposed to protect her from people like you, not be one of them.”
My heartbeat jumps to my throat.
Silence stretches as she stares incredulously at him.
Okay. Wow. I think he just called her a bully. She must be dying inside.
She rolls her eyes on a faint smile. “Don’t let her fool you, babe.”
She gets all bubbly, but his face stays the same, not an ounce of give. Hard, unblinkingly he stares at her.
“She’s always making fun of me for trying to take care of what I put in my mouth,” she attempts an explanation for her cruelty. “She’s not as nice as you think. Believe me.”
When a tear slips out of my eye, I discreetly brush my thumb past my lower lashes, but when I look up, I find him looking down at me, and my stomach turns.
He saw me cry. And I hate that he saw me at my weakest. A man such as him—strong, well put together—probably looks down at weak, pathetic things.
“Honey, I’m home,” Dad’s voice booms through the space around us.
I straighten my shoulders, but Raph doesn’t stop staring in my direction with compassion in his gaze.
“Daddy!” Bianca rushes toward him just as he marches in. “Look who’s here.”
She grins at Raph, and when my father greets him, that’s when he parts his attention from me. And I feel all alone again.
Why did he look at me like he cared? Why did he get angry with her when she said those things? He’s her boyfriend. He’s on her side. Not mine.
He probably just feels sorry for me. That’s all that was.
They get to talking, and we finally move to sit for dinner. I try to make myself invisible, which obviously isn’t hard when you’re me. You just have to sit there and exist. They only see you when they need something.
Silently, I take miniature bites of the veal, barely even touching my pasta. Her words echo in my head, and I hate that they do.
But what if she’s right? What if I’m eating badly? Maybe I should stop eating so much dessert and carbs. Maybe they’ll love me more if I look more like she does.
Bianca’s like one of the girls from the magazines: tiny waist, brown eyes that are almost hazel, black shoulder-length hair that seems to always stay shiny. Oh, and she has big lips that match her big chest. The boys love her.
Me, on the other hand? I have pale green eyes and plain brown hair. I don’t dress in tight clothes like the other girls do. No one notices me. Not at home, and certainly not at school.
Dinner finally ends, and Bianca and Mom start clearing the table, while my father grabs a beer and heads to the living room.
“Come join me,” he calls to Raph, settling on the sofa and turning on the TV.