The Originals

Page 15

My mom’s jaw tightens as she clearly tries to compose herself.
“I’ve told you this a thousand times,” she says through clenched teeth, “but the people who paid us to create you only wanted one. The best one. They wanted the perfect baby, and the other two—who were not as perfect—would’ve been…” Her words trail off. “I had to take you. I had to do it.” Mom lifts her chin a little, resolute.
She’s told us the story a lot, but only since we moved to California. Before then, it was all innocence and bliss. After we fled Florida, she told us about her work at the genetics lab that was secretly cloning humans while the rest of the world was getting excited about a cloned sheep. She told us about her boss, Dr. Jovovich, who was in on the plan to steal us. She showed us the newspaper reports from when his practice was exposed and he was publicly taken to jail in handcuffs—when, under oath, he admitted that we just might exist.
When everything changed.
“Yes, you’re such a martyr,” I say sarcastically. “You implanted the embryos into your womb like the Virgin Mary of Science and gave up your whole life to raise us. Well, thanks. I mean, living a third of a life is almost as good as having a real one.”
My mom looks so floored by what’s flying out of my mouth that for a blink I think I’m done. But then, the unfairness of Sean driving me, I throw one final insult at her.
“I’m not even sure why you bothered. You’re not even our real mom. You should have just left the un-best of us to die.”
I turn and go back upstairs, running by Ella and Betsey and their open mouths on the way to my room. To my bed. I’m shaking with the realization that I’ve just unlocked something better left shut tight. I’ve changed my relationship with my mother. And worse, I’ve never felt so unsure of who I am, which is pretty messed up coming from someone who’s already broken in three pieces anyway.
After a few hours, the guilt is weighing me down to the point that I know I have to apologize. Even though I’m mad at Mom for not letting me date Sean, what I said was horrible. And ultimately, I know that the way back to normal—to Ella, Betsey, and I living as three people instead of one—is first a truce, and then, eventually, a conversation. But everything starts with me saying I’m sorry.
I leave my room to find her, but when I go downstairs, she’s not around.
“She just left,” Betsey says, looking at me disappointedly. “Like, just right now.”
“Where’s she going?” I ask.
Betsey shrugs. “Running errands before work.”
“I need to talk to her,” I say, knowing that the longer it takes to apologize, the worse it’ll be. “I’m going after her.”
I rush to the entryway and shove my feet into whatever shoes are there, then grab the keys and run out of the house. I jump into the car and race up the driveway, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel while I wait for the painfully slow gate to open.
“Come on!” I shout at it.
Once I’m through, I pull up to the busy street and look both ways: I can see Mom stopped at the light down the hill to the left. I wait for some cars to pass, then turn and quickly move into the same lane she’s in. About six cars behind because no one will let me pass, I follow her down the hill and through town, past the mail place where she has her PO box, the drugstore where she buys her vitamins, and the bulk supermarket where she stocks up on stuff for the house. I follow her until we pass everything familiar.
Then I start to get curious.
I’m still three cars back when Mom pulls into a parking lot next to a duplex that’s been converted to office space. Not wanting her to see me, I drive past and park a little way down the street. I watch as she walks up the steps to the office front door. Then, instead of just going inside or knocking, like you would with an open business, Mom pulls out a key and unlocks the door herself.
“What is this place?” I ask aloud.
As I’m musing to myself about why an ER doctor needs a private office, Mom emerges, locks the door, and gets in her car and drives away. I don’t follow: I drive around the block and park in the space she just vacated. I try the door, and attempt to see into a window, but everything’s locked and dark. I walk around the side, searching for another way in, but there’s nothing. Completely confused—apology forgotten—I return to the sedan and drive home wondering. I mean, maybe it’s nothing.
But in this strange life I lead, you never know.
Maybe it’s something, instead.
ten
I wake up completely focused on and unsettled by the possibility of Mom having secrets—and what they could be. Then my emotions flip like a switch and I turn pure mad when I remember that it’s Sunday: the day I get to go to a movie with a guy I don’t even like, thanks to Ella’s clumsiness and a stupid short straw.
Most inconveniently, Ella twisted her ankle last night. She was cagey about it, but Betsey told me she’d been dancing around her room, trying on outfits, and she tripped over a pair of shoes. Mom said it looked fine but that Ella needed to stay off it for a day… maybe two days. Normal teens would go to the movie anyway, hobbling if they had to, to spend time with their crush. But in our house, if you’re limping or coughing, you’re housebound. It’s too hard to fake someone else’s affliction, and god forbid the school nurse would want to take a look.
When Dave rings the buzzer on the gate one minute early, I push the button to let him through and then peer out the window as he navigates the drive in a different gleaming Lexus from the one I saw him driving at school. Does he live on a Lexus farm? The car and the whole thing make me cringe, but knowing how Ella must feel about me going on her date, I vow to be nice and try to have a good time. At least I get to see a movie.
“Hi, Dave,” I say sweetly when I open the door.
“Hi, Elizabeth,” he says, eyeing my casual wrap dress, pausing a little too long at the neckline. “Nice threads.”
“Thanks,” I say, pulling on a jacket and buttoning it up to the top. I force myself to notice what he’s wearing: a button-down with checkered Vans and jeans. I have to admit, he doesn’t look bad, either, but I hold in the thought.
“Ready to roll?” he asks, shifting awkwardly, like maybe underneath it all, he’s nervous. Honestly, it makes me warm to him a bit.
“Um… my mom wants to meet you. Is that okay?”
“Of course,” Dave says easily. “Parents love me.” I sigh too quietly for him to notice: Apparently that glimmer of sweet nervousness has been replaced by cockiness.
Despite the fact that the last time we spoke we were screaming at each other, Mom is inquisitive but friendly; despite the fact that I saw her at a secret office, I’m polite back. Thankfully, she doesn’t keep us too long: We’re out of the house less than five minutes later.
Beyond her reach and anger and secrets, I relax on the way to the multiplex. Dave isn’t my style, but he’s okay… as a friend.
“Nice car,” I say as I lean back in the passenger seat.
“Yeah,” Dave says. “My dad let me borrow it.”
“Don’t you have one just like it?”
“Mine’s used, but yes,” Dave says, glancing at me with a smile that I’m sure makes some girls swoon. “I drive it to and from practice and sometimes some of the other guys get rides. It smells like french fries and sweaty socks.”