Page 29 of Amethyst Flame
Double shit. That one was definitely my fault. “Half-sister.” I jutted my chin. “Whom I do not even know. And don’t need to know. And don’t want to know.”
She gave me one of those patented mom looks that had more devastating power than any Molecular Tactical Hive. “That’s family you’re talking about. Your father—”
I widened my stance. “Also don’t even, need, or want to know.” My voice rose with each word. “He ditched me when I was a zygote. I owe him, like, negative filial piety.” I glared at her. “Why are you even doing this? You never pressured me about him.”
“He never reached out before.” She turned toward her dresser, aimlessly rearranging the knickknacks on top. “When he found out I was pregnant, he wasn’t ready yet to grow up.” In the mirror, she gave me a meaningful look. “Back then, he didn’t have what it took to be a father. He couldn’t give us what we needed.”
“He gave half the genetic material,” I pointed out. “And he’sbeena father. For fifteen years. To someone else.”
And since that crack about not being ready hit maybe a little too close to home, I spun on my heel and stalked across the hallway toward my room.
“Imogen,” Mom called after me.
“He’s not my dad,” I yelled.
Dammit, I wasn’t in the sexy-strong superhero fantasy of my dreams; I was in the worst afterschool special ever. I couldn’t even slam my bedroom door because ever since my moths had blown a hole in the drywall, the jamb of the cheap prefab construction seemed a little off-kilter.
Story of my life.
With cinematic drama, I threw myself at my bed, realized at the last second that Gwumpki the cat was already there, twisted frantically to avoid the swipe of his claws, and hit the wall with a thud.
With a yowl, Gwump launched over my head, claws digging deep into my shoulder through the crappy fast-food napkin-thin fabric of my Freezie tee. I winced, ducked, swore, and buried my head in the pillow. Since the moths wouldn’t let me smother myself and I couldn’t smother the polydactyl feline fiend without this turning into a slasher film, I rolled onto my back, sliding the phone from my pocket as a text came through.
Your mom’s upset, Swann typed.
I replied with the shit emoji. But then I added,Whose side are you on
It’s not about sides. Lil sis is in trouble. Sometimes helping isn’t all cool explosions
I grimaced.Hardly any explosions, I typed back.
Here’s your dad’s number. The string appeared after the text.Call him. I’ll come over after. My brother is being a brozilla
Easy for her to say call him; her family stuck together. I replied with a bunch of emojis I wasn’t even looking at because my gaze kept straying to that phone number. It was a local area code. He’d beenthis closethis whole time…
I wanted to cling to my pouting, but now my mom and Swann seemed to know more than I did and had been chatting without me WTH, and I’d always been too nosy for my own good. Grumbling swearwords under my breath about as sensible as the emojis had been, I tapped the number.
The phone barely rang once before he said, “Mimi?”
My throat seized with a Gwumpki-sized lump. That voice… Not sure what a deadbeat doctor dad should sound like, but he had a deep voice with an emotional hitch that got me somehow. Damn him.
“What do you want?”
“I know my daughter—your sister—called you—”
“Half-sister by blood,” I snapped. “Zero sister in practice. You’re a doctor and researcher, so you should be able to do that math.” Shit, why had I said that? Now he would know I knew at least that much about him, as if I cared.
“Mimi,” he started again, and I could hear him switching his tone as he tried a new angle.
“That’s not my name. Hasn’t been since I was a kid. Which you would know if…” I gave a harsh laugh. “Oh, wait, that’s right. You have no clue.”
Silence echoed down the line for a long moment. “I’m sorry, Imogen. I know I wasn’t there for you. Your mother and I… We were both trying to finish school, which was very time-consuming and stressful, and—”
“And she finished school with me!” I couldn’t believe his nerve. “She got her first job with me. She got promoted, she got hurt, she…” I swallowed. “And where were you? Oh yeah, across town with your second try. But apparently you didn’t get that one right either, did you?” Acid dripped from my tone.
Maybe it stunned him—I was kinda surprised myself.
But then he asked quietly, “What do you mean by that?”
