A snippet of my new short story. I could turn it into a book, but I've set it aside for now. Enjoy. (note: this has not been edited and errors are sure to be present).
There was a knock at the door. I muted the television and set my popcorn down on the table. When I opened the door, I’m sure my jaw dropped, but I don’t really remember. All I know is that when my eyes adjusted to the brightness of the sun, I saw my mother standing in the doorway, smiling like she’d never left. Like her presence now could somehow make up for the past nine years.
“Mom,” I said as curtly as I could, “you’re not supposed to be here until tonight.” I leaned against the open door, blocking the entrance with my body.
“Brianna, darling, I’ve missed you,” Cynthia said. Dad said I wasn’t allowed to call her Cynthia to her face, but that didn’t stop me from thinking it.
“It’s Bree now, actually,” I said, “but you wouldn’t know that.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Bree.” She smiled like she’d told a joke. That just put more fuel on the fire. “Can I come in?”
Not after what you’ve put this family through, no. Do you think you can just waltz back into our lives like you never left? “Sure,” I said. I didn’t want her in the house. I didn’t want her to poison it like she did the last one. I wouldn’t forget what she did to me when she left me crying in my bedroom floor when I was seven. I moved aside, just enough for her to slide past me into the living room.
“This is nice,” she said.
I didn’t say anything back. Instead I plopped back onto the couch and turned up the volume on the television.
“Where’s your father?” Cynthia asked.
“Dunno.” I stared blankly at the screen like a zombie, thinking maybe if I tried hard enough, she’d go away.
“Where’s your brother?” she asked after an uncomfortable minute of silence.
“Which one?” I tossed a popcorn kernel in the air and caught it in my mouth.
She was quiet for a second as she thought that over. “Brayden, of course,” she finally said.
“What? Didn’t you know I had two bothers now?”
“Your father neglected to mention it,” she said. That pleased me. If Dad was keeping her out of the loop, she might not even know he’s married again.
“Did he tell you about Mom?” I don’t ever call my stepmother “Mom” but I did it just to see her reaction. She didn’t even blink which disappointed me.
“Yes, I’ve heard about Kristen. Is she...” she searched for words, “nice?”
“She’s the greatest. We do everything together.” That was a lie too. Kristen and I get a long just fine, but we don’t hang out. Not the way my real mother and I used to.
“I see,” she said.
I cocked my head to the side and looked her in the eyes. “Is there something you wanted?”
Her eyebrows knitted together. “Brianna Fletcher, do not talk to your mother that way.”
I lost it.
“Who do you think you are? You just show up on our doorstep like some stray cat and expect us to invite you in? You left us. You left me.” My voice broke on the last word and I kicked myself internally. “You are no mother of mine.” I stared back at the TV like nothing had happened.
Cynthia stood from the couch. “I see your father’s temper has rubbed off on you,” she muttered.
“Better than yours.”
“Maybe I’ll come back when he gets home, then, hmm?”
“Does it look like I care what you do?” I snapped. She stood by the door for a minute with her fingers around on the handle, like she couldn’t decide what to do.
“I guess--”
“Cynthia?” Dad’s voice wafted in from the kitchen. Oh, great.
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