I need evidence. Evidence that she lied about him. But how am I supposed to get that?
Suddenly, a light bulb bursts in my mind.
Out of nowhere, like a blessing from the universe, an idea pops into existence.
Slowly, a smile creeps over my face. It just might work, and if it does, Daddy will be so proud of me.
All of our problems will be gone in one fell swoop, and I’ll be his forever.
A deep, deep feeling swells within me. A feeling so intense I don’t even want to acknowledge it lest it slip away like a drop of rain on the window glass.
Now, with a burning flame of determination inside me, I shut off the shower and quickly dry off. Wiping away the haze on the mirror, I stare at myself for a long time as I summon all my determination and will power and squeeze it into a tiny, dense ball of passion.
“You can do this, Pixie,” I tell myself with a deep breath. “You can. You can.”
I take my time drying off and getting dressed. I even moisturize my skin and put a dab of perfume on each wrist as though I’m on my way to a job interview or something. Then, I slowly make my way downstairs. I pass my mom on the way; she’s all but passed out on the couch, so I leave her there for the time being and continue down into the basement.
I make my way past Baron’s sports cars to the utility closet. Thankfully, it’s not locked, so I tug the door open and look inside. I’m not that great with computers, but I’m able to make out what I was looking for. An even broader smile on my face, I head back upstairs.
“Hey!” I blurt out, kicking the couch as hard as I can. My mom wakes with a start and tips the champagne bottle all over her chest.
“Jesus Christ, Pixie! What the hell?”
“Don’t use the Lord’s name in vain, Mom,” I say, just to piss her off. It works. She frowns at me as she uses one of the couch pillows to dry off her boobs.
“What do you want?”
“I was just wondering, Mom. Why did you do it?”
“Do what?” she asks.
“Don’t play dumb, Mom. You know what I mean.”
“You mean why did I call the police on your stepfather?” she asks, obviously gloating. It’s like she’s proud of her own brilliance or something. Like it takes a lot of intelligence to call the cops and make a false allegation against your husband.
“Why did you lie?”
“Why did you fuck him, you little slut!?”
The words rip out of her mouth with such venom that I actually take a step back. She may be a terrible mother, but she’s never hit me. Maybe today will be the day she does.
“Is that why? You’re mad at me so you take it out on him? Or is this just your way of ruining my life?”
My mom sighs and takes a sip of whatever is left in the champagne bottle. She and Harry would actually be good for each other. She’d probably fit in around his dorm next year, partying with hockey boys and sorority girls.
“You’re going to thank me one day,” she snaps in that know-it-all voice I so despise. “You think he loves you, but he’s just using you for that young little body of yours.”
I get it now. She isn’t jealous; she resents me. I have something she doesn’t have anymore. Youth.
Despite my hatred for her, I can’t help but feel pained by this realization. She is still my mother after all.
“Using people,” I muse. “That’s something you’re good at, isn’t it, Mom? You used him for his money and now you’re using society to get back at him by falsely accusing him of rape.”
“He deserves it!” My mom’s face distorts into a twisted mask of rage. She vaults to her feet and whips the champagne bottle across the room. It shatters against the counter, sending shards of glass everywhere. “Walking around like he owns the world. Thinking he can have whatever he wants! So I played him, I used him, and now he’s going to jail because of me. Not because he did anything to me, but because I said he did. Who has the power now?”
I told myself I wasn’t going to cry, but I just can’t help it. The last tears I will ever shed for her fall from my eyes. I focus, cement this moment in my mind, then turn away.
It’s time to go see Daddy.