New Step Brother, New Family, New Life? Thanks for Nothing, Dad

McCartney's P.O.V

“Life is like broken glass. Everybody can see the rough edges of it, but only a special few care enough to pick up the pieces and see the beautiful rainbows of light the shine from it. Always remember that, McCartney. I love you. Remember that too,” she said in a raspy, strained voice with a weak smile that didn’t reach her eyes. She was fragile, laying there in the flimsy hospital bed within her painfully white hospital room. The steady beeping of the heart monitor slowed a bit, and then flat-lined. I couldn’t stop the tears from sliding down my cheeks. Suddenly, she was sliding away from me as if the room was stretching wider and wider. I screamed, “Mom!” and sprinted after her. The floor fell from under my feet, and I slowly slid into a strangling black abyss.

I sat up quickly in my bed, sweat beads sliding down my body and tears streaming from my eyes. I gasped loudly, my eyes staring blankly into the dark of my bedroom. Out of instinct, I pulled my knees to my chest and buried my forehead against them. It was that dream again. The dream of the day my mother died.

I have had that dream off and on since the day she died. It has been two months since I last had it, and I thought I was doing okay. I must have been wrong. Anyways, I had woke up to the darkness of my room with only the light of the early dawn coming through the glass of my balcony doors.

Yep, I had the cliché balcony where I go to sit and think. It helped a lot to look out over the pastures I call my backyard and think. That’s right, pastures. I live on a 160-acre ranch with my Dad and my best friend, Smokey. It was nice to go for a ride on the horses whenever I need to blow off some steam.

I glanced over at the flashing red numbers of my alarm clock. 6:00 AM. Why the heck was I up at 6 o’clock in the morning?! On the first day of summer vacation, I was up at the crack of dawn?! That was just great. There was no way I would have been able to go back to sleep, so I rolled out of bed. Literally.

I hit the floor with a loud “Oomph” and lay there for a few minutes in a tangle of blankets and sheets. “Not cool!” I groaned as I twisted away from the bedding and dragged myself to the bathroom where I took a slow warm shower. I let the water massage the tense muscles in my back. It was heaven.

Once out of the shower, I finished the normal morning routine and dressed in black skinny jeans and a v-neck band tee. My dark hair fell to frame my face in a thin layered fashion. It dried quickly as I pranced around my room to get ready. Yes, I really pranced. I’m just that cool.

By the time I was done, it was about 6:45 in the morning. I shrugged and walked out of my room as quietly as possible. The floorboards of the old large farmhouse creaked quietly under my feet. I slid downstairs and grabbed my old dirtied Converse, slipping them on. And then I snuck outside.

My house, I must admit, is absolutely amazing. My father was some CEO of some company and could afford a place like this. However, I never felt spoiled or better than anyone else. Our large white ranch house sat on a large hill overlooking the city. Sitting out here at night with the city lights was great.

Anyways, I looked down at the still-asleep city. No one seemed to be out. I shrugged and turned around to head back to the stables. It was a large red barn with white trim and doors.

I walked straight inside as silent as possible and grabbed my favorite saddle. It was light brown, smooth leather with a pretty floral pattern. It had been my mother’s. I also took the matching harness and reins, and then walked down the aisle of now neighing horses.

“Hey Dalila,” I spoke softly to my horse. I pulled her out of the pen and brushed her gently. After saddling my horse, I jumped on her and broke out of the barn, sprinting out into the beautiful sunrise overlooking the hills of the pastures. This was my way of blowing off steam. The powerful AraAppaloosa bred horse I rode made me feel strong and incredible. The opposite of what I would feel later that day.

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The horse-ride lasted a few hours and I had finally calmed down enough to make it back to the house. I was making a big hearty first-day-of-summer-celebration breakfast when both Dad and Smokey came down the stairs with an assortment of yawns.

My dad was a tall, well-built and muscled man. He was in his early 40’s and was tan, green-eyed and had dark-brown hair. I have to say, I look a lot more like my mom than Dad. But anyways, he really was a handsome man, and I loved my Daddy dearly. After Mom died, he had stayed single, not even deciding to date. I guess he loved her too much.

Smokey on the other hand, was bright, fun and all around incredible. She was my best friend, living with us, but not related to my dad and me in any way. More on that story later.

Anyways, she had blonde hair with a rainbow assortment of highlights. She loved to be random and I couldn’t stop laughing when she was around. Her eyes were a bright blue that pierced you.

“Don’t yawn like that!” I whined, stifling a yawn myself. “You’re going to make me yawn too!”

“You already did!” Smokey chimed in, her voice a bit groggy and rough from sleep. I smirked and rolled my eyes at her.

“What are you doing up so early, darling?” my Dad said in his signature country accent. I chuckled lightly and shook my head faintly.

“Oh, I woke up early and decided to take Dalila out for a bit of a run. Then I decided to make a celebration breakfast!” I cheered with a brightened smile.

“OMG!” Smokey exclaimed, finally waking up, “It’s SUMMER!” She began dancing around the kitchen in little jumping circles. I laughed and plated all of the food before moving over to Smokey and dancing randomly with her. We were laughing loudly as the old wood floor groaned with our constantly changing weight. 

I heard my Dad chuckle and shake his head. He sat down at the table and began eating quietly as if he were thinking about something.

“Listen girls, there is something I have to tell you,” he said, gruffly. Dad looked up at us with a hesitant smile and chuckled awkwardly. Smokey and I stopped dancing, frozen in place by his uncomfortableness. Yeah, I know it isn’t a word. But it described his tense nature at the time.

“It’s really important,” he continued as though we were supposed to respond in some way. Sighing and looking at his empty plate, I barely heard my Dad say:

“I’m getting married.”