by Violet Blaze
“There's no law against marrying your stepbrother.” I slid my eyes away and focused on the floor. Call me a weirdo, but it was true: I'd checked. And why should there be? Flor and I were not related, and I didn't consider him my sibling. I didn't care if anybody else did. They hadn't lived my life and it wasn't their happiness that was on the line: it was mine.
“It's sick, Abigail. I don't care if there's a law on the books or not. You have a moral obligation to act a certain way.” My dad turned to me and our eyes locked, his just as blue as my own. I wondered suddenly about my mother and what might've happened if she were still around, if Flor and I had met on the street instead. “What about your sister, Abi? Don't you want to have a future with her? If this continues, I don't know if you will.”
My eyes filled with tears, but I pushed them back, forcing my hands to stay in my pockets, so I didn't clench my fists.
“It's just love, Dad. We're not hurting anyone.”
“Abigail, stop. This discussion is over. You heard what I had to say. Florian is a cancer and I'm cutting him out of our lives.”
“What about River?” I asked, refusing to let this go. I had a feeling that if I dropped the ball now, I might never be able to pick it up again. “Do you really think she's going to abandon her son?”
“River can make her own choices,” he said, but his voice broke a little on the last word.
“Dad, where is she?” I asked, but he shook his head.
“Abigail, maybe you should consider moving back in with me.”
I glared at him and blinked back tears.
“No.”
He whirled on me then, a fit of anger and rage and such overwhelming sadness that I thought I was going to die from the onrush of emotions.
“Either you'll move back in here and say goodbye to Florian or we're done.”
“You'd give up on me?” I asked. “Just for that?”
“I gave your mother the same choice when she started drinking again, and she chose alcohol over you. Don't make the same mistake, Abigail.”
“This is different,” I said, but I could see the look in his eyes. It was going to take something big, huge, to change his mind. He truly believed this was the same, that Flor was a drug. At times, he'd felt like one, but I was in love with him. I wasn't giving him up.
“Dad,” I started again, but he cut me off, moving across the kitchen and getting too close for comfort.
“Do you want people to look at you differently for the rest of your life? Do you want to be judged? Ridiculed? You won't be accepted if you do this. It isn't right.”
“Honestly, Art,” Addi said, moving into the room and taking my hand in hers. “If we all lived our lives in fear of that, we'd still be building houses out of mud and thatch. Patrick and I wouldn't be together right now, and Theo and Yuu,” she glanced over at me as my dad cringed, “wouldn't be out looking fabulous. I know you love your daughter and want what's best for her, but really, and you know I don't say this lightly, I think the best might be Flor.”
Addi exhaled and shook her hands out, like the words had physically pained her. She wasn't big on speeches and even less so on 'mushy, heartfelt crap', but she was here and she supported me, so I considered myself lucky.
My dad didn't look impressed.
“I appreciate the fact that you want to support your friend, Addison, but I'm sorry. A few well chosen words aren't going to change my mind on the matter.” He paused when his phone rang and frowned at the caller ID before answering. “Art Sharp speaking.”
I watched the change in his face, watched it morph from bad to worse.
His stricken expression made me feel dizzy. What now? As if the situation wasn't bad enough already.
That big thing, that huge one, that I needed to make him see, it had just happened.
Too bad it was impossible for me to be happy about it.
I found Flor waiting in the parking lot of the hospital, sitting on the hood of the silver Mazda he'd had since he was eighteen. His arms were crossed tight over his chest, but it was hard for me to appreciate them given the circumstances. When he glanced up at me, I looked down, staring into the blue eyes of the vampire girl on his right forearm; it was easier to stare at her than to try and decipher the expression on his face.
“She won't see me?” he asked, and I shook my head. My stepmom, always slender and chic and put together, had been a wreck, lying in that hospital bed with a faraway look that made it easy to forgive her for the things she'd said about me earlier today. This is not just Florian's fault. Maybe your daughter seduced him? Did you ever think of that? The family fight of the century felt like it'd taken place weeks ago, not hours.
“She started to cry when I went in,” I said, trying not to feel hurt by her rejection. I swallowed hard against the emotions. Today had been so full of angst and frustration and yes, an overwhelming sense of love for Florian. He hadn't backed down, not even against his mother or the wild flying fists of my father. He'd declared his love for me blatantly and without apology. I would've smiled, but the situation didn't really allow for it. The air was humid and heavy, yet somehow it was still freezing cold outside. I guess winter really was on its way. “My dad literally told me to get the fuck out.”
My head snapped up as Flor's boots scraped across the pavement and he came over to stand next to me, putting his hands on my upper arms. I shivered at the sudden rush of warmth and finally gathered the courage to look up into those beautiful eyes of his. They had this oh so subtle slant to them that made me wonder where Flor's father had been from. He definitely hadn't gotten those from Gram Gram's Germanic heritage.
“No more little sister?” he asked softly and this time, I knew he wasn't talking about me.
I shook my head.
“No more little sister,” I said, wondering if he'd be angry with me. River's miscarriage was not our fault. I knew that because I'd been standing there when the doctor said it, when he'd assured my dad that the stress of today wasn't to blame. According to him, women over forty have a one in two chance of late term miscarriage. Unfortunately, my dad didn't seem to see it that way. When he'd told me to leave, his voice laced with heartache, I'd seen it in his eyes. I was terrified of seeing that same look in Flor's.
I watched him closely as he brushed a loose strand of hair over my shoulder. In those emerald eyes, I saw guilt and frustration and maybe a little bit of shame, but I didn't see anger. He doesn't blame me. I licked my lips nervously.
“Flor, I'm sorry,” I said, but he was already shaking his head, bracketing my face between his warm hands. His scent washed over me, mixing with the damp smell of rain and storm that was clinging to the air around us. Flor leaned down and looked me straight in the face.
“You have nothing to apologize for, Abi.” I tried to nod, but Flor held me firmly in place. “Abigail, don't. Don't blame yourself for what happened today.” Flor sighed and released me, running his hands down my upper arms, just like he'd done that night three years ago, outside of a party I never should've been at. “Even if my mom hadn't found us out, she still would've lost the baby, and this fight would've happened anyway, down the line somewhere.”
“I know,” I said, leaning into him, relishing the warmth of Flor's body, “but the hope is gone, Flor. My dad will never forgive me for this. Never.”
“If your dad's too stubborn to realize that this wasn't our fault, that you're so worth loving even my presence shouldn't be able to diminish his affections for you, then he's an idiot.” Flor touched my chin and made me look at him again. “And Abi, now that we're together, you have to know, the hope … it's always there.”
Flor pressed his lips to mine, softly, sweetly, gently.
He was right, of course, but only time would tell if my father could see it that way.
I squinted at the test tube in front of me, filled with wheat germ, warm water, and dish soap. The top layer was entirely alcohol, drawing up little white strands of DNA that were supposed to be put on a sli
de and inserted into the microscope at my elbow. Don't ask what wheat germ DNA has to do with forensic science; it's a mystery to me, too.
I was paired up with Camo Girl again, doing my best to ignore her mumbling and her ridiculously over the top flirting with our instructor. He was kind of a jerk anyway, but I wasn't sure if I'd wish this girl on anyone. In the last thirty minutes, she'd already managed to break two glass beakers and come this close to spilling boiling hot water on my bare arm.
I finished the sketch in my lab book and took a step back, watching as she inserted a pipette and sucked up some of the liquid. I wasn't surprised when she splashed the majority of it on the countertop instead of the slide. I took the opportunity to check my phone while she fumbled around, and saw that there was a text from Flor.
And also one from my dad.
Holy crap.
It'd been two weeks since we'd been outed. And two weeks since my stepmother's miscarriage.
In that entire time, neither River nor my father had contacted either of us. Flor had tried to see her, but she'd refused to see him; she wouldn't even let him into the house. I tried to tell Flor that it wasn't his fault, that she just wasn't ready to see anyone, but I knew it was killing him inside. And my dad? Well, his stress response usually went like this: rage, silence, acceptance. I kept thinking I could wait him out, that eventually he'd at least agree to see me, but I too was being shunned. I'd even gone so far as to make an appointment at his office, but his secretary had called an hour later to tell me it was cancelled.
It wasn't fair, but it was my life. And Flor was worth it. Just being with him made me happy.
Please come to the house tonight around five.
That's all I had from my dad, no explanation. Truth be told, the words terrified me. This is it. He's cutting me off. No more apartment, no more tuition money, no more car.
No more Dad.
Flor's text confirmed my fears.
Mom says we need to talk. 6 tonite. Meet @ the shop after schl?
I told him I'd be there and put the phone back in my pocket.
I'd be there, but first I needed to survive another hour with my lab partner.
On Bent Wings was busy, as usual, crowded with girls lounging on the couches and flipping through the artists' portfolios like they were actually considering getting something. From past experience, I knew most of them were just there to flirt or find someone to fuck, but I didn't care anymore. As soon as I walked in that door, Flor only had eyes for me. That, and he was tattooing a very large, very hairy older man. Pretty sure there was no chance of that going anywhere.
The buzz of needles greeted me as I moved up to the counter and let Flor's warm smile wash over me. The black latex of his gloves clashed beautifully with the brightness of the tattoos on his arms, making me feel all lightheaded and giddy. He'd worn those gloves once, touched me with them in places low. Crap, I think I just flooded my basement, as Theo might say.
“You got a text, too, didn't you?” he asked, barely looking up from the unicorn tattoo he was inking on the man's thigh. It was certainly … an odd piece, even though Flor's art style did it justice.
“Yep,” I said, feeling the eyes of the other girls crawling all over me. As soon as Max walked in though, their attention shifted. I smiled at him and he smiled back. It was still a little tight between us, but Flor was (mostly) staying at his own place (oftentimes with me) and Max was still dating Rhonda. We'd even managed to have dinner together at Plank Town, the four of us with Addi and Patrick. Things were looking up in that department at least. It takes strong freaking friendships to withstand shit like this.
“Dinner at the family abode,” Max said with a shake of his head as paused next to Flor and leaned in to assess his work. “I don't envy you that.”
“As long as Art doesn't hit me again, I think I can deal,” Flor said, trying to keep his voice light. But there was, somewhere deep down in there, an undercurrent of hope and desperation. He wanted his mom back; I wanted my dad back. I prayed to whatever gods would listen that tonight was the night. Couldn't quite imagine my dad smiling over the dinner table at me and Flor, but I prayed anyway.
“Do you think this is … do you think they're going to forgive us?”
Flor shrugged slightly but kept his attention focused on his work, wiping at the tattoo and starting in on the unicorn's horn.
“There's nothing to forgive, Abi,” he said, but he didn't entirely sound like he believed that.
I sighed and turned around, leaning against the counter and trying not to daydream about Flor and me doing it right here, in this shop. Not the best time for dirty thoughts, not with family stuff clogging up the radar. At least Gram Gram was cool with our being together. She'd actually sent us both a check for thirty-nine bucks, the sum of our ages. Oh, and the memo line had read great grandchild please.
My lips quirked a little, but the expression died quickly. If this conversation went south, like the other one had, then I was potentially homeless. And so were Addi and Patrick. And I wouldn't have enough money to stay in school. Flor could support us okay, but I wanted an education. I wanted to stay in my apartment.
I wanted our family back.
When Flor and I arrived at our parents' house, the front door was unlocked and my stepmom's appetizers were overflowing the kitchen counter and spilling onto the table in the dining room. On the entryway table was a photo album, filled with pictures of me and Flor. It was open to one of us in high school, sitting on the edge of the dock at the lake, staring at each other. Looking at that picture now, I couldn't help but be embarrassed. The expression on my face was … I don't know how anyone could've missed my affection for Florian, even then.
He let his fingers graze the page and reached out to take my hand, leading me into the kitchen where my father and my stepmother waited.
When we walked in, her eyes flicked to our joined hands, but at least she smiled at us. My dad kept a neutral expression.
“Hi,” I said. It was the only word I could come up with. I wanted to say sorry or something, let her know how bad I felt about the baby, but I didn't know how to bring it up.
“Sit down,” my dad said, his eyes following Flor like a hawk. He didn't seem particularly happy to have him here, but he wasn't throwing punches either.
I settled myself on a stool while Florian stood behind me.
“What are we doing here?” he asked, cutting right through the bullshit and straight to the point. Typical Flor behavior, as usual. His mom's eyes clouded with tears for a minute, but she wiped them away with the corner of her apron and put yet another culinary masterpiece on the counter in front of me.
“Your father – ” River paused and rephrased her words, ever the psychologist. “Art and I wanted to talk to the two of you. I know it's been a while, too long, since we had a moment together.”
“You mean since you shunned us,” Flor snapped and she cringed. My dad rose to his feet, but she held out a hand to stop him from saying anything, focusing her green eyes on her son's. Maybe she could sense as well as I could that if Flor and my father got into another fistfight, their relationship would never recover.
“Losing that baby was one of the most difficult things that I've ever been through,” she said, her voice weakening for a moment. But then she inhaled like she was drawing strength from the situation. “The only thing worse than that, Flor, was losing you.”
Florian glanced away like he didn't care, but I knew he did.
“Losing one child made us realize how stupid we were to risk losing two more.”
My chest felt tight, but I didn't know what to say to that. Flor, however, was never one to suffer from a loss for words.
“Pretty words, Mom, but what does that mean really? Are you saying you'll take us as we are? Or as you wish we were?”
“I'm saying I don't understand yet, but I'm trying to. As long as this is more than just a sexual fling,” River paused as my father snorted and then continued, “we'd like to give
you two the chance to work things out.”
Flor slid an arm around my waist, sending hot thrills through my blood, and my dad bristled like he'd been shot. His blue eyes focused first on my face and then on Flor's.
“Don't feel up my daughter in front of me,” he said and Flor stiffened, but I wouldn't let them fight this time. I reached up and touched my fingers to the tattoos on Flor's forearm.
“Dad, he's not feeling me up. He loves me, and I love him. I thought those would be the most difficult words I'd ever say to you, but they're not. They're the easiest. Maybe you and River getting together was fate? Maybe Flor and I were supposed to meet?”
“And then when you're done playing together, when he breaks up with you or cheats on you, then what?” my dad asked, and at the very least, I could tell he'd put some thought into it. And he was right. If we did break up (not gonna happen), then it could cause a rift in the family. Still, the possibility of future failure was not enough to deter me. I leaned into Florian.
“Dad, first you're telling me how horrible it would be if we got married or had kids and now you're telling me how horrible it would be if we broke up?” He didn't respond and pulled his glasses from his face, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Flor and I aren't just screwing around and we're not trying to hurt you. I know how unconventional this is, but just because something has never been done or isn't often done doesn't make it bad. All I'm asking is for you to accept us as we are now so we can keep this family together.”
My father turned away and I felt my heart start to break in two. If I was right, if he still blamed me for the loss of his baby, then we'd never get through this.
“I feel like you lied to me, Abigail,” my dad said, still not looking at me, staring at the cabinet where I thought the fridge might be (though I wasn't sure). “Girls get crushes on their older brothers all the time. It's normal to look up to people in your family, but nobody acts on it. It isn't right.” He finally turned around, a frown creasing up his face. I glanced at River who had eyes only for her son and I wondered. Did she love him more than my father loved me? I didn't want to believe that. “If you'd come to me, if you'd told me, we could've worked through this.”