Kate, love, were home, come see the shopping, calls my mum as I step through the front door. I bite my lip, shut my eyes, and the door swings open without ceremony. A flash of bright pinkgreenpurple bursts into the hallway like a flamboyant tropical bird.
Hey, sis, look what Mum Teresa bought for me a voice chirps. The girl twirls in front of me, eyes wide. Mum Teresa? Mum Teresa? I stare at the doorway, trying to spot the smiling mother.
There she stands, cheerful and beaming. Kate, look what Marissa and I have picked up we grabbed some bits for you too, come over, have a look. This is just your style, right? Marissa chose it. She thrusts a pink Tshirt with a blue horselike creature and a golden horn emblazoned on the chest into my hands.
I stare gloomily at the shirt. Try it on, quick.
Im not putting this on, Mum, I snap.
Kate, whats wrong? Your sister tried hard to pick it out, Mum says, a little exasperated.
Shes not my sister, I mutter slowly, retreating to my room and slamming the door shut.
Little brat, Mum huffs, stamping a foot. Come on, Marissa, lets go, dear, you understand?
Yes, I understand, Mum Teresa, I reply, feeling a wave of nausea.
Our newest daughter arrived three months ago, ringing the apartment bell and asking for my dad or rather, my stepdad. He isnt my biological father; I learned that just three months ago when Marissa moved in. He spent hours trying to convince me its all nonsense, that he rescued me from the hospital, raised me, loves me, and still does. But Im already stubborn, a bit heavyset, unhappy with my looks, a fragile soul, selfcritical, a lover of poetry and painting, haunted by a failed first romance. And now these new revelations.
Ive always been Dads little girl, but now it feels like a replacement. Dad, missing his real daughter, clings to this stranger, to me. Since Marissa appeared, Mum seems to have lost her mind perhaps she always dreamed of a perfect, bright, slender, carefree daughter, unlike me. Marissa has captured everyones attention and affection, except mine, of course.
Dad, trying to make up for lost years, dotes on his biological child, Mum squeals with delight, while I feel utterly invisible. By pure chance I overhear them planning to tell me Dad isnt my real father. Were three in the kitchen, unaware Ive slipped in. Mum, flushed, insists she never intended to steal Dad from my mother, explains she was a confused eighteenyearold girl abandoned by a fiancé while pregnant. She says Dad felt sorry for her, helped out because she had no one in the big city, and when I was born, that bond grew between two strangers.
Both parents went through divorce, then I arrived as a standin daughter for Dad everything clicks, right? My first impulse is to run away, to escape these traitors. Dad senses my intention and declares his love for me, Kate, Im a bit embarrassed, but I think I love you a little more. Youre my golden girl. A little more? He circles around that empty shell called Marissa, calling me his golden girl.
I start demanding Mum give me my real fathers contact details.
Why would I need that, Kate? Mum genuinely asks. He left you, left us ran away before the registration. Everyone thinks Sasha is your real dad. Why ruin what weve built over years?
So my golden Marissa gets to meet her dad, but I dont? She needs a fathers love, and Im fine without it? I retort. Go on, enjoy your beloved daughter, kiss her, thats what you wanted, right?
I pause, then decide not to hunt down that betrayer now. When Im older, famous even, then Ill find him, and hell jump at me the way Dad jumps for Marissa.
All traitors all of them
I sit at the kitchen table, scribbling dark poems and sketching grim pictures hooded silhouettes with scythes, hanging men, demons, rain and fog. I despise them all.
Sister, damn it, our sister, I cant wait for the holidays so I can go to camp all summer and avoid that omnipresent Marissa, I mutter. Of course shes gorgeous, boys stare at her, unlike me. I wear black hoodies, my hair a blackviolet mess that falls in clumps over my thick face. I know Im chubby and not pretty. I just want to grow up.
I watch them have fun together, even though they politely invite me along. We recently went to the cinema; the film made me cry pinksized tears. Dad nearly wept too, trying to look good for his favourite daughter. I sit sulking, sighing through the whole show, glancing at my phone, feeling utterly improper.
Whats proper about ignoring my own child and frolicking with some strange girl, chattering like a magpie and smiling? Disregarding my own child to please a fickle teen? If I were to disappear, they wouldnt even notice, they’d rejoice with their beloved Marissa. Im stuck here, listening to bleak music, staring at the ceiling, no one understands me, and Dimmy never looks my way. Where is Dimmy? Where am I?
Maybe I should run after all. Maybe I should head to the coast, hop on a ship, and sail to Australia.
Kate, knockknock, Dad says you need to brush up on English. Youre brilliant; I used to get threes at your age, now youre pulling a four in English, he says.
I know him well; we lived with Mum and her husband in Bolton for six years, then Mum split with John and we moved to Spain, so I know Spanish too.
Thanks, no need, I grunt, turning to the wall, making it clear Im not interested in this useless chat.
Mum still flits around with Dad and Marissa, giving them a spare room while they retreat to the lounge, turning our flat into a circus tent.
Kate, youve lost weight, look, Dad, Mum Teresa, see how pretty you are. You should get a new haircut and ditch the black hair, they coo.
I twist away, mutter something, and retreat to my room, skipping dinner, hating them all.
Marissa enrolls at university, I stay at this cursed school, everyone pesters me, Marissa sits next to Dimmy, whispering silly proposals.
All the scum, all the traitors I hate them.
One autumn evening, the weather is dreadful. I cant sleep, so I sit in the dark kitchen, sipping tea from the oversized mug Dad once gave me. I keep the lights off, stare out the window, sighing.
Footsteps echo; I hide, the bathroom door creaks. I hear Marissas muffled voice on the phone.
Are you crazy? Its night, everyones sleeping, Mum, she says. I tense up. No, Mum, Im not going to Asomething, Im happy here. I finally have a family. Mum, I finally have my own room, I can sleep naked if I want, no one barges in with a bottle of gin. Im loved, Dad loves me, not like you said. Aunt Tessa, Dads wife, is now my real mum. She cares for me, treats my illness, believes in me. Ive told her everything, she cried, and we decided not to tell Dad or Kate. To them Im a happy foreign girl, not a nervous wreck.
She goes on about a little sister, a normal teen, how no one drags her to a psychiatrist, how no one forces men into her bedroom. She dreams of the day theyll be just two sisters conquering the world.
She thanks me for not listening to you and moving back home to her real family. She says shes learning, has a dad, mum, and sister, and wishes you happiness too.
I stop listening, creep back to my bed, bury my head under the pillow. What a nasty person, pretending to be hurt, making life miserable for others.
A few days later, embarrassed, I ask Marissa to help me with English. She obliges, and we try on that ridiculous unicornhorn shirt with tiny shorts.
Is this a nightgown? I ask.
Mate, did you really think your older sister has lost it and wants you wandering the streets in this? Yeah, its a nightgown. I wanted one like this as a kid, but Mum said it was too childish and bought me silk sets. I wanted the unicorn one
One night the parents catch us on the floor, hugging and sobbing. What for? Who can figure out teenage girls? Fifteen minutes later theyre laughing about the horned horse on my pajama that I refuse to take off.
For New Years I give my sister a rainbow unicorn and a pink unicorn onesie. Marissa declares shes the happiest ever and bursts into tears.
In spring, now slimmer, with a stylish cut and natural hair colour, Im praised as a top student. Dimmy, the same Dimmy, approaches, stammering, Are you going to camp this year? I smile, cant believe my luck, and say, Of course, but in the second half of summer were all going on holiday with the family. He promises to wait for me at camp.
