The Revenge Games Duet

I lean across the countertop, my hands moving toward the cake with delight. It’s just how I remember it—four colorful layers with cream filling in between. When you slice the middle open, the M&M’s pour out displaying its yummy goodness.

***

I’ve showered and changed into a casual sundress with no plans to

go anywhere tonight. And just like Mom asked, I stopped by my sister Tayla’s room but was ignored. As usual. Apparently, she’s going through that teen attitude stage.

At sixteen, she’s the baby of the family. Mom admitted to me one day, she was the result of a weekend away in Vegas with a bottle of Moscato.

Now that’s something I didn’t need to know.

The cake is calling my name, so I dig in, chatting with Mom as she stands opposite me. I may be biased, but Mom is insanely beautiful. She wears her long, black hair down as usual—her reading glasses perched on her head which pull the hair away from her face. Wearing minimal makeup, her skin is flawless and naturally bright. At family parties, my aunties all moan about the amount of Botox Mom’s apparently had injected, which amounts to—zero. They’re jealous women looking for any reason to pull down their little sister. I’ll never understand how jealousy can become such an unhealthy obsession that was until I started to mingle with the Hollywood crowd.

“So, what’s happening, and what was that text last night about Wes being a moron?”

Sliding my fork sideways, I scoop another piece of heaven and bring it to my mouth. “It’s not George’s fault. He’s bored, and we haven’t been paying as much attention to him as we should.”

“Still, that dog of yours has expensive tastes,” Mom casually adds, sliding a glass of homemade lemonade over to me. She knows the way to my stomach.

“I think he’s gay.”

“You think your dog is gay?”

“He only chews on Versace shoes. Plus, one time at the dog park, he totally just sat there and watched another male dog hump the streetlamp.”

Mom laughs, almost spitting out her drink. “Hollywood dog parks seem more controversial than here.”

“You’re telling me. Plenty of bitches.” I laugh with her. “And about Wes...” I pause with a sigh, “… I’m over his immature behavior. He wants to party and hang out with his so-called friends like he’s eighteen again. Haven’t we outgrown this phase? I’m all for a drink now and then, but grow up already.” I air out my frustrations, not realizing how heavy it’s being weighing on my shoulders. It feels good to chat to Mom in person because if anyone can understand me, she will.

“Maybe you’re taking life too seriously?”

Her eyes scan mine with curiosity as my words remain trapped in my throat. I’ve never considered myself as a serious person—I like to have fun, too. But lately I’m forever being the adult for the both of us, and that may be due to the pressure I’m feeling to be the next big thing. Pressure that stems from management, and myself.

“I do know how to have fun, Mom,” I respond flatly.

“Last Friday night you were pairing socks, adamant that there’s a secret place in the universe where socks migrate, leaving you forever pair-less.”

I smile, relaxing my shoulders. “There is, right? You’re a mom, surely you should be letting me in on the secret of where this place is?”

Mom strokes my cheek with her hand, calming my agitated mood. “Kid, it’ll forever remain a mystery, but if you ever find out promise me you’ll tell me first?”

“Pinky swear.”

There’s a commotion coming from the hall. Doors slamming and a gust of wind flutters down the hallway and into the kitchen. Seconds later, my brother steps in with his usual shit-eating grin, dumping his bag onto the floor.

Mom is quick to wipe her hands on her apron, bringing him in for a hug. Ash towers over her, but still looks like a little momma’s boy when she fixes his dirty-blond hair and parts it to the side. It’s hard to believe we’re twins considering we look nothing alike, aside from our blue eyes and the few freckles which are scattered over the bridge of our noses.

Throughout my childhood, I swore it was a ploy to bring us closer together and that we weren’t twins. Instead, in my mind, Ash was adopted from some alien being, who spawned around the time I was born. It explained to me why he had the IQ of a peanut.

“Missed ya, Ma.” He grins, his eyes wandering to the plate parked in front of me. It doesn’t take him long to acknowledge my presence. “Well, well, well… if it isn’t my long-lost famous sister.”

“Well, well, well…” I mimic, “… if it isn’t my annoying brother with some sort of foot fungal disease.”

Ash moves around the counter letting go of Mom and wrapping his arms around me from behind.

Yeah, I kind of missed the fucker, despite how much he annoys me. He hasn’t changed much since I saw him last year, he’s still sporting some weird crew-cut and seems to be growing a mustache to hide his baby face. I don’t know how he became this man-whore with that god-awful mustache. And of course, he still wears the same clothes—Adidas everything. It’s like the brand threw up all over his shirt, shorts, shoes, even socks. He’s a damn walking billboard.

Just when I think I actually missed him and it’s good to have him around again, his giant man hands swipe the last bite of cake on my plate, throwing it in his mouth.