Opposites

The end of my first week living in my new home wasn't entirely awful. Melody and I disregarded one another, that is if we happened to be caught in the same room together. Everything had been smooth sailing during my time here. Considering my lack of energy for a fight, I stay to myself.

It wasn't until one morning, I spot a woman with blonde hair in the kitchen. My predictions were correct about Aaron having a wife–Trisha is her name.

Her love-struck eyes were stuck on his moving lips. They're absorbed in a serious discussion before they erupt in laughter as if they'd just heard the funniest joke. The moment ends just as I enter the room. Discomfort brims from their piercing eyes. It has me questioning whether or not to turn around and lock myself back in my room. I won't allow them to intimidate me into hiding. It isn't in my nature to surrender that easily.

My expression's placid as I get closer to the table. Trisha glances at my father, then back at me as if she can't believe I'm here.

Trisha's the kind of woman obsessed with the idea of staying young. She appears in her late thirties, and I can already tell she loves to flaunt her body.

Just as I insert my body into a seat, the same two pairs of eyes watch me cautiously. After my stepmother's initial shock settles, the greeting I receive from her is less than welcoming. It's evident my stepmother wasn't very fond of me. She wasn't used to seeing someone who looked like me. Bell bottom jeans and the abstract painting on my shirt's front were probably considered poor girl clothes in her eyes. Rested on the designer outfit presently glued to her body, I could hear the judgment practically pouring from her facial expression. Now it all made sense where Melody got her charming personality. They seemed like the kind of people who believed that everything was supposed to be to them on a silver platter.

Breakfast that morning is awkward. Their conversation halts the moment I join the table. The four of us eat in silence. The clanking noise of our utensils is the only sound that permitted the air. My stomach starts to feel tight from eating too fast—the things you do to escape from an uncomfortable situation.

After swallowing my last bite, I waste no time standing from the table. I pretend like I can't hear the whispering behind my back. As much as I want to go back and give them a piece of my mind, they weren't worth it. I was here to put in my time, but I'm leaving the first chance I get. I wasn't about to stress over whether these people liked me or not.

Trisha is in and out after that. For a couple of days, she doesn't appear during breakfast or dinner. I wasn't complaining. It was more peaceful when she wasn't around. When I did see her again, we were never in the same room for long to speak to each other. Most of the time, I found her walking through the house wearing outfits that revealed too much. She wore clothes I would never wear. Wrinkles marred areas of her skin. Discoloration from too much sun appeared as dark patches on her body. Like my uncanny resemblance to my mother, Melody was like an old photo of high school Trisha.

My stepmother didn't want me here, and I couldn't fault her for it. Imagine being told one day by your husband that he had a child. That would make anyone feel like they were betrayed. To an extent, I completely understood her automatic distaste for me. It's not like I was jumping up and down to be here either. Their family dynamic is different from what I'm accustomed to seeing. Their relationship bordered more on the lines of friendship than a parent(s) and daughter relationship. Whenever Melody was in the same room as her parents, her eyes were stuck on her phone. Occasionally, she would divulge in a conversation with them.

Under my Grandma's roof, you got a slap on the hand if you were caught red-handed with your phone out during dinner. The older I got, the more it became a habit to hide my phone under the dinner table. I couldn't imagine the consequences I would have got using the same language Melody did with her parents. Unlike her, manners existed in my vocabulary. My Grandma made sure I knew how to speak to my elders from an early age. Melody missed that lesson. She wouldn't have survived a day living with my Grandmother.