Dead King's Sword (Old Draft)

21. Why Did Mother Leave?

Zeren

***

I finally had the room to myself. Mr. Caterpillar fed on leaves near my knee—I was sitting cross-legged on the comforter. He had grown a few centimetres and seemed healthy, but I kept him in his basket in case he had to poop or pee. I tapped his head and smiled, imagining him returning the smile. Then, relaxing with my back against the wall, I called my father. He picked up on the third ring.

"Hello, Father, it's your daughter."

"Hello, Daughter, it's your father."

"Nice to hear your voice, Father. So, I went to all my classes, and I have kept up with homework."

"Good."

"There's a fall dance coming up, and I wanted you to know your beautiful daughter has a date."

"Ah, you and Erin have finally decided to bury the hatchet?"

"Erin? No. How do you even come up with something like that?"

"Well, you pay a lot of attention to her, honey. You either love her or hate her."

"I hate her obviously; her existence naturally opposes mine."

"Why?"

"I don't know. You don't need a reason to hate someone. You can just hate them."

"Huh-uh."

"Is that sarcasm I hear? Aren't you a little too old to be sarcastic?"

"One can never be too old for sarcasm, my dear. And I can't help but wonder if you really hate Erin or if it's something else that you're ignoring."

"I hate her."

"What do you hate about her?" This question, though ordinary and plainly spoken, silenced me.

Why do I hate Erin?

No matter how much I dug into my brain, all I found were superficial reasons. Nothing substantial.

One thing descendants of Shovek and Africans shared was that we both knew what it was like to be the lesser man. Shovek's descendants might not have been taken from their homes, stripped of their religions, and enslaved like we were. But they had been outcasted, hunted, persecuted, and massacred. They had suffered too. So, yes, initially, I hadn't liked her because she was a gross, blood-sucking vampire, but she had grown, and I had watched as she blossomed into a beautiful rose.

Strange, unnatural feelings started to ripple through me after my father's questioning, and now I wasn't sure if I still hated Erin. But what else could it be?

I knew how superficial it was to judge someone because of the colour of their skin or the curse they bore, so I changed the topic to something that had been bothering me for a while. "Dad... why did Mom leave?" It had been six years since I had seen my mother last, and though I tried not to think about it, every now and then when I was alone, I felt her absence as a dull ache in my chest.

"Honey," my father said, tiredness settling in his voice.

I clenched my shirt near my chest. "I know we said we wouldn't talk about it, but I just want to know why. Was it me?"

"It wasn't you; it was everything surrounding us. Your mother thought I wasn't good enough for her. And compared to your cousins, your cores had been rather weak then, so she had always been disappointed in you and your sisters. I told her that magical ability wasn't everything, but she simply wasn't satisfied with us or the life we had, so she left. I'm sorry."

My eyes stung, and I knew tears weren't far behind. I told my father, "I know I let you down from time to time, but I really, really love you, and to show you how much I appreciate you, I'm going to do my best to take care of you when you're old and hunched over."

He chuckled softly. "I don't need you to take care of me for another fifty years, brat."

I laughed. "We'll see." I paused, then said, "It's been six years; she's not coming back, is she?"

I pictured myself ten years old, standing by the front door with a box of chocolates I had bought with my savings from my paper route, waiting, hoping she would come back. Warm tears flooded my cheeks though I tried to hold them back because the last thing I wanted was for Erin to walk in on me crying. How humiliating that would be.

"I'm sorry, Zeren. I know you loved her; I loved her too. But you and I, we've been through a lot together, and we're going to get through whatever else the world has to throw at us."

I glanced at the bandage Erin had given me with a picture of a puppy on it and ran my hand along the smooth surface. "You promise?"

"I promise."

"I love you; even when I say I hate you, I really don't hate you."

He chuckled. "I know and I love you too. I've got work in the morning, so goodnight, Zizzy."

"Good night, Dad."

***