Boycotting Blue

25/Lou

Lou

 

Juan was pissed at me, Blue wouldn’t talk to me, and I was upset at my own self.

    I threw down my plate at our mandatory once a month family dinner, glaring at my parents. “Daisy died today,” I announced, arms crossed.

   Mom paused, her lips just resting on the edge of her wine glass. I could see the red lipstick stain where she had already placed her lips to take a few sips. Her hair was pulled up in a tight bun, exposing her harsh cheekbones and vivid eyes. The same eyes that widened in surprise. She lifted her hand, almost to stop my words from coming to her, and the light shined on her diamond ring, momentarily distracting me.

   While Mom looked shocked, Dad looked bored. He took another sip of his beer calmly, leaning back in his chair. “It’s about damn time,” he said, a smirk playing across his face. Which was also my face. I looked exactly like my dad—younger, sweet, the kind of face people trusted it. We had the same bright, wide eyes and full lips. The same round faces with matching dimple in the corner of our mouths. The same shade of brown. “Vivian, stop acting so shocked.”

   I was angry, angry enough I didn’t sit or question my father. Instead, I trained my hard gaze on both of them, desperate to release my bad feelings. “You two don’t even care! You lost a daughter. A child—“

   “We have two more,” Mom said, cutting me off.

   “Oh, so what, we’re Daisy’s replacements?” I snapped. Mario placed his hand on my back, trying to calm me down, but I pulled away from him, crossing my arms over my chest. My hard gaze went directly on my mom, accusing her of everything I had been holding in for the past three years.

   “Of course not,” Mom said. “No one can ever replace a child of mine.”

   “Oh, okay. Which is why you don’t care? What, was Daisy not a daughter of yours?”

   “Lou, I don’t—“

   “Answer me!” My voice rose about a shout.

   She set the wine glass down, pushing back her chair as she tried to leave the room. “You will not talk to me like that in my house, little girl.”

    I followed behind her into the living room. “Well we can take it outside!” I heard my brother and father following close behind us. Dad radiated eagerness like he wanted us to fight. Mario seemed to be weary—and scared. And just a little sad. “To the mall—anywhere! But we will have this conversation, Mom!”

   Honestly, I wasn’t pissed at her. Not totally anyway. It was the same thing every year since Daisy had died—we went on about life like nothing had happened. They hadn’t even seemed to mourn her death or even seemed bothered by it. Neither one of them had cried, in public or private. They had scooped up Daisy’s memory and scattered in the wind—somewhere I couldn’t find it. And it had bothered me for the past three years, but today was different… today I couldn’t voice my other angers at the people who created them, so I could only deal with the problem at hand.

    Toppled with the kids at school earlier, and the fact that even Dylan hadn’t wanted to speak to me after school, and I felt like throwing myself into my room and crying.

     “There is no conversation to have,” Mom said simply, turning to face me. She looked a bit calmer, her eyes now a dull shine instead of the surprised spark. “Your sister is dead, and nothing will bring her back.”