Page 53 of War Games

There was a cold note to the breeze, and the trees had some red and yellow leaves left on the branches as I approached home.

“I hate being home for the holidays,” I muttered. “It always ends like this. They’re going to be pissed I left for the night. I don’t know why I keep doing this to myself.”

I saw the cars parked outside, along with my ride. My one note of rebellion, something to piss them off, but they couldn’t do anything about it. I bought the motorcycle at nineteen, deciding I didn’t want just some bicycle to get to class. I still had the car they got me at sixteen, which was fine when I needed to get groceries, but I didn’t want to put unnecessary miles on it if I didn’t have to. It wasn’t brand new like Gwen’s, who had better grades, so they gave her a better car.

So, at nineteen, I got the motorcycle. Mom hated it, and the thought of that made me smile because it was at least reasonable for her to hate, unlike everything she hated about me.

I didn’t knock, going straight through the front door, wondering why my hand was stinging. I looked down to see the road rash on my hands. I could feel it on my elbow as well.

“Jacky, there you are! We’ve been waiting on you,” my mother said, already exasperated. She was suddenly in front of me and grabbed my hand. “Did you wreck that awful thing? This is what happens. Look at what you did to yourself.”

“No,” I snapped, pulling my hand back, hating how she could just grab me like that.

“Why can’t you sell that thing? We got you a perfectly good car.”

“It broke down three times since I started school. I needed something to commute to classes, and it was the cheapest option,” I said, trying to walk around her. “We have this conversation every time. I only drive that car when I need the space. I can’t let it break down again. I can’t afford to replace it or keep repairing it.”

“Well—”

“Enough, Mom. Let me wash my hands and clean this out,” I said, trying to get away from her by going into the half bathroom under the stairs. I tried to close the door, but a foot blocked it.

“Take a deep breath,” Gwen said, pushing in further. “You know that motorcycle is dangerous.”

“Yup,” I said, letting the water get warm before putting my raw hands underneath it, trying to clean out any potential debris. “Where’s Dad?”

“He was called into the office,” she answered, rolling her eyes. “On Thanksgiving of all days.”

Sure, called into work on Thanksgiving. Like anyone really believes that. He’s just hanging out with the “boys” so they can all avoid their families.

“I’ve been helping Mom in the kitchen since he left. You should join us, though… wear some gloves.”

“Mom never lets me help in the kitchen,” I reminded her.

“That’s not true.” Gwen reached out and pushed my shoulder lightly. “Come on.”

“I don’t know what weird timeline you live in, but in reality, Mom never lets me help with holiday meals. I’ll go in there, gloves or not, and she’ll say I’m doing everything wrong. Then I’ll get kicked out. After we eat, she’ll lament how you two had to work so hard to prepare everything, and my ungrateful ass couldn’t be bothered to help.”

“She doesn’t do that,” Gwen said softly.

I could smell something odd in the air, and that something made me look at her.

Liar.

“Then Dad will yell at me for being such a terrible daughter and how he raised me better and wonder why I just can’t be more like you,” I continued, ignoring her interruption and my insane thought that Gwen was lying. Gwen didn’t lie to me. She lived a different life than me and refused to recognize it.

“If it’s so bad, why do you even come home?” Gwen asked, crossing her arms as her gentle expression turned into a glare.

I wondered how other twins did, being so close and happy. Sometimes, I just wanted to strangle mine for asking questions like that.

“Because all of you will call me crying and getting angry if I don’t,” I answered, shaking my head. “So, I come home, hoping I finally have something good enough for them to praise me for instead of nitpicking every wrong.”

“Must be hard being you, Jacky, with all your friends and being popular enough to go to all the parties?—”

“I would trade all of that if my parents didn’t hate me for getting a B in biology.”

“Well, biology is really important in pre-med.”

“Stop. It was a B, not a failing grade. I was sick for two weeks and missed labs. Did they care? No.”

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