Jenna Black - The Devil You Know

No doubt about it, there were parts of me that would have loved to disown my parents completely. Those holiday dinners were about as much fun as a yeast infection, and we’d probably all have a better time if I didn’t show up. But like it or not, this was the only family I had, and I did reluctantly love them—the man who wasn’t really my father, and my mother the Stepford wife.

“Are you going to invite me in, or are you going to keep catching flies?” I asked when my mom just stood there.

Her jaw snapped shut, and her lips pursed into her usual disapproving frown. “You could try giving me a hint of respect every once in a while.”

I refrained from reminding her that respect had to be earned. I again had to fight against my urge to flee, but now I was getting annoyed at myself, too. All the terrible things that had happened to me recently, and I was turning into a total wuss over a conversation? I mentally recited the “sticks and stones” adage and forced myself to soldier on.

“I need to talk to you about something,” I said. “I’ll try my best to be civil, and I hope you’ll do the same, but we both know we can’t talk to each other without a little sniping, so let’s just agree to ignore it.”

She sighed dramatically, but opened the door and let me in.

My mother is the last of a dying breed, the honest-to-God fifties housewife. She’d married my dad right out of college, and hadn’t worked a paying job her entire life. Her life revolved around cooking, cleaning, and being beautiful. Her children came in a distant fourth, though I knew she loved us in her own way. There wasn’t an aspect of her life I didn’t rebel against, which might explain why I was a single, work-obsessed, fiercely independent tomboy.

The house I grew up in is beautiful, always freshly cleaned, and decorated with impeccable taste. And it has the warm, homey atmosphere of a walk-in freezer. It was impossible to step inside and not become instantly conscious of my ungainliness as I joined my mother in the formal living room. The house has a den, too, but it’s not any more relaxed than the living room. I found myself demurely crossing my legs at the ankles when I sat. Of course, as soon as I noticed I practically slapped myself on the forehead and forced myself to relax.

“Shall I make us some tea?” my mother asked.

I was proud of myself for not rolling my eyes. “Thanks, but I’ll skip it.” I squirmed a bit as I tried to figure out how to get started. I mean, really, how do you ask your mom about a rape she’d never even hinted she’d suffered? Not that I’d have expected Mrs. Perfection to discuss such a distasteful topic with anyone, much less her daughter.

Prim and proper as a headmistress, she sat on the edge of a chair, her back arrow-straight. When she did the ladylike ankle-cross, she stayed that way. “What is it we need to talk about?” she asked. “Might I hope that you’ve persuaded Andrew to come home?”

You can hope all you want, I thought but didn’t say. See, I am capable of editing myself for content every once in a while. “He’s going to stay with me for the time being. You and Dad didn’t exactly make him feel welcome when you were in such a rush to have him host again.”

My mother’s spine lost a little of its starch, and she looked away. Of course, the push to have Andy host again wasn’t the reason he was staying with me, but if I could shovel a heap of guilt onto her shoulders, I was more than happy to do so.

“We made a mistake,” she admitted. That might have been a first. “We were so excited to have him back—”

“So excited to have him back you tried to get rid of him immediately?” I interrupted, my voice going up an octave or two.

She sat up even straighter. I wouldn’t have thought that was possible. “We just wanted things to go back to normal. And I guess we didn’t want to know that he’d been unhappy to host a Higher Power. It was what he’d always wanted, and we’d always wanted for him. We thought he was living his dream…”

“Your dream, you mean.” My dad wasn’t attractive or well-built enough to meet the Society’s standards for a demon host, and when my mom had been young enough to volunteer, the Society had still been too sexist to consider women worthy hosts. Three cheers for progress!

Mom winced at the accusation, but didn’t contradict me.

It occurred to me that I knew where I’d inherited my talent for denial. The epiphany tasted sour in my mouth, and I made what I felt sure was an ugly face. “Remind me not to nominate you for Mother of the Year.”

Her cheeks reddened—whether from anger, or guilt, or a combination of the two, I couldn’t tell. “If the only reason you’ve come is to talk about my inadequacies as a mother, then I have nothing more to say to you.”

If I were there to talk about her inadequacies, she’d die of old age before I was finished, but I refrained from voicing that opinion. “I’m here to ask you about my real father.”

She jumped like she’d just stuck her finger in an outlet, and even through her perfect makeup, I could see the color drain from her face. “What are you talking about?” she gasped.

“You know perfectly well what I’m talking about. It’s written all over your face.”

Her face went from white to red, but, not surprisingly, she continued to stonewall. “Believe what you want, but you’ve known your real father from the day you were born.”

Usually, my mom isn’t much of a liar, which is why she’s so bad at it. She sounded more confident now, but I caught on to the lie she was telling herself. “All right, then. Tell me about my biological father.”

Realizing her tactics weren’t working, she went for slamming the metaphorical door in my face. “I think it’s time you leave.”

I sat back on the couch and crossed my arms over my chest. “I don’t think so. I think you owe me an explanation.”

Her gaze frosted over. “I don’t owe you anything! Certainly I have no reason to feed this ridiculous fantasy of yours.”

Maybe if I shoved some more information in her face, she’d realize how pointless it was to deny the truth. “Twenty-eight years ago, you filed a rape report with the police. You never pursued it, and as far as I can tell the case died before it took its first breath, but you did a paternity test on me. And Dad is not my biological father.” He wasn’t much of a real father, either, but that was beside the point.

Her eyes glistened like she was on the verge of tears, and lines of strain were etched into her face. I almost felt sorry for her, though I carried too much anger to let the pity take charge.

“Why did you never tell me?” I asked, and was pleasantly surprised when my voice sounded gentle, rather than accusatory.

She sighed and shook her head. “What good would it have done? It was better for all of us if we just…pretended it never happened.”

Yes, pretending was one of my mom’s greatest skills. “Do you think it was better for the other women he might have raped after you?” I couldn’t keep the sharp edge out of my voice, though intellectually, I knew how hard a rape charge can be for the victim, especially that long ago.

My mom’s lips pressed together in a thin, hard line. “We…I did what was best for my own family. I don’t expect you to agree. It’s not like you understand the meaning of the word ‘caution.’”

“But you did file a charge, at least initially.”

“I didn’t have a choice at the time. The police found me after…” Her hands fisted in her lap, perfect nails digging into her palms.

I forced myself to gentle my voice. “Tell me what happened.”

I didn’t really expect her to answer, so I was startled when she started talking.