“It’s not nice to belittle someone’s attempt at friendship, Maggie,” Ran scolds. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you how to graciously accept a gift?”
“My mother never taught me anything other than how to be a deceitful, home-wrecking liar,” I spit.
Ran’s eyes flare open, then he immediately recovers and they soften with empathy. If my own eyes hadn’t been so obsessed with his mouth, I would have missed the brief moment that I caught him completely off guard. The moment I caught myself off guard, too. Why do I still hate her so much?
“Well, she might not have taught you how to play nice, but I doubt she taught you to be a liar. From my experience, you seem pretty frank.” Ran tilts his upper half toward me and I push back into the wall to reclaim my personal space. “That might be who she is, but that’s not who you are.”
“You don’t know who I am.” My voice falters, the emotion heavy in it like it’s a physical substance.
“No, I don’t,” Ran agrees with a lift of his chin. I glimpse the illuminated, red EMERGENCY ROOM sign through the front window as the ambulance slows and settles at the entrance to the hospital. “But I’m hoping you’re gonna give me the opportunity to get to know you a little more.”
CHAPTER SIX
The annoying trill of video game sound effects rattles into the sterile hospital room air. I’ve been clamping my jaw so tight for the past hour that I don’t think I’ll be able to open it to eat tomorrow. The tension started in my teeth and radiated into my skull, and is now completely gathered right around my eyes, burning behind them.
“Kinsey, come give Michael a hug.”
A towheaded girl with iron-straight blonde hair hanging to her waist edges hesitantly toward the hospital bed. She pauses for a moment, and then swiftly dives in for a second-long embrace.
“And now your turn, Jefferson.” A boy that appears identical, just a year or so younger, doesn’t look up from his handheld gaming device as he brushes a shoulder into Mikey in an unenthusiastic attempt to appease his mother. Our mother.
“Brittany and Valerie, you’re next.” Two five-year-olds with strawberry blonde curls snuggle into Mikey’s side and give the most impressive performance out of the four. “Very good,” my mother says, apparently pleased with everyone’s compliant, if hesitant, cooperation.
“Michael, Sterling said to send his condolences. He’s traveling in Spain again and won’t be stateside for another week. He says he’s sorry you’re feeling so bad.”
“Feeling so bad?” I hiss over the top of my celebrity gossip magazine, unable to put up with this ridiculous show any longer. “Mikey has freaking cancer and was vomiting up ungodly amounts of blood last night. I think the term ‘feeling bad’ expired when the doctors discovered the massive tumor taking up residence in his brain.”
Our mother purses her perfectly outlined lips and her golden eyes become slivers. “Now, Margaret. I understand that this is all very upsetting—”
“Upsetting?” I chuck the magazine onto the tray table in front of me and the pages flutter angrily. “Upsetting is sitting here watching your children pretend to have any ounce of emotion for this stranger in the hospital bed. Upsetting is listening to you call us Michael and Margaret. It’s Mikey and Maggie.”
“Mar—Maggie,” she corrects herself, smoothing her skirt down with her palms. “There are many stages of grief. Anger is one of them. I think you could benefit from talking to someone. They have fantastic programs here at this very hospital that will help you process all of these confusing emotions you’re feeling.”
“Anger is not a stage, Mother.” I thrust my weight upward and rock unskillfully onto my feet. When will the strength in my leg come back? I could use a little more power right about now. “Anger has become a lifestyle for me. Compliments of you walking out on your family ten years ago.”
My mother pulls in a ragged breath through her nose and I wait for it to come back out, but it doesn’t. “There are people you can talk to about that, too, Margaret.” Her voice is tight and controlled. “If money is an issue, Sterling and I are happy to assist in any way we can.”
“I don’t want your money,” I spit, locking my right knee in place so my leg doesn’t give out from the prolonged standing. If I fall on my face now, she’ll see just