Bad Apple

“So, Georgia,” my mother said, settling down in one of her wooden chairs. I knew she was trying to make some awkward small talk, but I was never one for chitchat, not to mention I was in a bitchy mood, so I only looked at her expectantly.

She shifted uncomfortably as I studied her subtly, taking in her frizzy, graying hair. It made me want to make sure my own hair was still perfectly coiffed.

“How have you been these past seven years?” I ignored the slight bitterness in the words, and put a sickly sweet coating on my own.

“Wonderful, I’m the head of a very successful company and doing just fine on my own in California.” My mother flinched, and I wanted to feel sorry for the words I’d let out, but I didn’t. I knew that if I was still sixteen and I had said something like that to my dad, I would’ve been backhanded so fast my head would’ve spun. Then he’d tell me, “Georgia, you better not sass me like that again, you hear?” And then I’d nod and run off, waiting for my mom to go up to my room like always and tell me it was alright, he was just mad.

It was a routine, and by the time I graduated from high school, I was done and sick of it. What angered me until I shook was that he never did that to my sisters, Louise and Beth, no. Of course not. They could say worse things and get away with it. He only seemed to hate me. He hated how my hair was blonde while Beth and Louise were brunettes. He hated how I got B’s in school while Beth and Louise received A’s. He hated how my eyes were brown while Beth and Louise’s were blue. He hated me in general, and how I didn’t look a thing like the rest of the family. I was the ugly duckling, the black sheep.

I was the youngest, the accident kid that came later in life. I was the kid that Daddy was ashamed of, like an old childhood toy you shove underneath your bed in hopes your friend won’t see.

“Some of your Southern twang has left, I see.” My mother commented, and I wasn’t sure if she meant for it to strike a chord or if it was only an observation.

“That’s what being in another state for years does to you, I suppose.” My words were dry, and my mother smiled at me wistfully as if she knew something that I didn’t. I heard the door open then, and a loud, extravagant laugh followed by, “We’re here!” The voices were two that I recognized immediately—Beth and Louise. Oh, God, save me please. I know I have my doubts about you, but maybe you can settle those right now?

“Oh, Georgia! Hey!” It was like they were excited about everything, screaming and squealing as if they were a five year old on their birthday.

“Hello,” I said to Beth as she entered the kitchen.

“I haven’t talked to you in ages, sis!” Maybe there’s a reason for that, I thought sourly. My mother watched for my response with a wary eye, but Beth didn’t notice anything, of course.

“I know,” I deadpanned. She sat down in the chair beside me, putting her elbows on the table and cupping her face in her hands. The smell of her watermelon gum was irritating me, as was the sound it made, since she was chewing it like a cow.

“How’s the big time?” I raised an eyebrow; it wasn’t like I was a celebrity. I worked with them every once in a while, but I wasn’t one myself.

“Fine.” I thought I was making my annoyance obvious enough, but Beth didn’t see it. Neither did Louise, apparently—she ran into the room, screamed a “Georgia!” and then embraced me in an awkward hug. It didn’t help that I was sitting and she was standing. Momma chuckled; I had forgotten she was even there. Louise released me, and I let my features contort in disgust as she said, “Hi!”

“Oh, look how beautiful you are, Georgia. I always knew you’d grow up and make something of yourself.” My features softened, but only for a fleeting moment. I regained control of myself, and put my nose up haughtily. Daddy may have never seen it, but I was beautiful. Everyone tells me so. With a new false confidence around my skin, I felt a little bit better. The confidence was hollow and like a skeleton, but I felt good nevertheless.

“Well, Ma, where’s the bathroom?” I asked, getting up and smoothing out my skirt. She looked around before her eyes settled upon my face. Louise took a seat while Momma said, “Down the hall right there, it’s the second door on the left.” I walked away, going deeper into my old house.

I could’ve sworn I heard my mom murmur something like, “I can’t believe you don’t remember, you lived in this house for years.”

--

It was sometime late at night, that much I knew. I had been staring at the ornaments on the Christmas tree for a long time now, every once in a while a car would go by the window and an ornament would catch the light and sparkle.

There was an ornament shaped like a ship, for that time we went on a cruise. We had to drive all the way to the West Coast to get the actual ship, God, I remember that. My sisters and I were bickering the whole way there while Daddy tried to figure out that damn map. We got lost quite a few times, but Daddy drove like a bat out of Hell, so we made up for the lost time easily.

Another ornament was a rabbit in a rocking chair, holding a baby bunny. That was one my mom got from Aunt Catherine right after I was born.

One from the first grade, we made little trees and put some string at the top. I remember, after the teacher put my picture in it, I ruined the whole thing by squirting glue on it and topping it all off with gold glitter.

Smiling slightly, I reached out to touch it, getting the obnoxious sparkles on my hand. I looked at another one that was just a picture of Momma and I, laughing and wearing the same pair of sunglasses.

God, what was wrong with me? These people love me, and I’m being a horrible bitch to them. I’m holding a grudge for something that wasn’t ever their fault.

Momma once told me, “Unique doesn’t mean bad.” I didn’t believe her; I threw my book at her. I’m rotten, a bad apple.

I stood up, closing the open window. The humid air that had wrapped around my skin left, and I shivered from the change. Walking back to the guest bedroom, I decided that I knew exactly what I was going to do tomorrow.

I’d apologize like I should’ve done years and years ago.