Page 15 of The Ugly Stepsister Strikes Back

"Not Mrs. Putnam." His satisfied expression indicated that it was indeed Mrs. Putnam. "Dad! She's married!"

"Was," he corrected as he handed me his salad. I passed it on to Ella. I couldn't think about rabbit food right now. "Her divorce was finalized three months ago."

"So you're her rebound guy?" Rebound I could handle. That meant it wouldn't last long and she might not end up hating me too much when she started hating my dad.

"We'll see."

"But Dad, I like her."

He gave me a wolfish grin. "I like her too." My dad was pretty good looking as far as fathers go. He had the same mouse brown hair that I did (I mean, I thought it was still that color. I'd been dying it for so long I didn't really remember). We both had the same green eyes, the same fair skin, and were both tall. But for some reason it looked good on him and it made me look like a troll.

"Speaking of women I've dated, you have a Skype appointment with your mother tonight."

Now I really couldn't eat. "What?"

"She was upset that you didn't call her on your birthday."

"Um, it wasmybirthday. Shouldn't she have called me?" My dad just shrugged and I knew exactly how Pearl would have felt about it. She would have thought that because she gave me life, I should call her on that day and praise her for it. "I don't even want to talk to her."

"At least you have your mom to talk to," Ella said in a small voice that made me feel like total crap. What could I say to that? Technically, she was correct. My mother was alive, hers wasn't. But at least she hadhada mom. Someone who had loved her and taken care of her and raised her. Bill might not be the best dad in the world, but he' was there every day. Pearl had never even been there.

"You're supposed to be on the computer with her in," Dad looked at his watch, "five minutes. Afterwards, there's a Dodgers game on. You want to watch it with me?"

Dodgers baseball was one of the few things that got my dad out of his studio. I grew up watching games with him. It was our daddy-daughter time. But I didn't know if I'd be up for it after having to talk to my mother. "We'll see," I told him.

I knew better than to be late, especially when I'd been told she was already mad. I got up and went to my room to get my laptop and make sure the web camera worked.

I thought I had lucked out when she missed my birthday, but apparently this was my penance. I hated that I had to talk to her at all, but I was pretty sure my dad had threatened to stop alimony if she didn't contact me several times a year. Unfortunately, all of our conversations basically consisted of what a disappointment I was and how much I sucked in general.

My parents met at some artist retreat/hippie commune. I didn't know the details, because I had a don't ask, don't tell policy when it came to Dad and his ex-wives. I did know that they got married two weeks after meeting each other. Dad's excuse about their quickie marriage was, "What can I say? I'm a romantic." I'm pretty sure that's code for "I'm an idiot."

They divorced ten months later (surprise, surprise) and she left me with him because she needed to find herself in New York. Personally, I thought she should go back and check again and see if she could find a nicer version of herself there.

Most of my dad's divorces came down to one thing—the time he spent in his art studio. No one could handle it. They all wanted more attention, time and love. None of them could accept him as he was. He'd even married other artists like my mother, who you would think would understand, but then he had to deal with the competition angle. It wasn't his fault he was so successful, but my mother in particular couldn't deal.

A request came in from my mother and I let out a deep sigh before I clicked the accept button. An image of Pearl Li Mitani appeared on screen. My mother is one-half Japanese. She has smooth creamy skin, long black hair, and cat eyes that tilt slightly upwards at the end. Like I mentioned, I look exactly like my dad. I apparently didn't inherit anything physical from her. Dad once said that if I hadn't looked so much like him he definitely would have had a paternity test done. The day you found out your mother was a skank was a very sad one.

She was also the opposite of every stereotype you might have of Asian women. Instead of being sweet, polite, or submissive, she's loud, rude, judgmental, and in-your-face. I blamed her for all of my negative personality traits. Plus, she was a really crappy mother. She made those Tiger Mothers look like kittens.

"Your hair is ridiculous."

No hi, how are you, I miss you. Nope. We started with the insults.

I dealt with her the only way I knew how. "Why, thank you Pearl. Your hair looks lovely as well. It's always nice to get a compliment from your mother."

It frustrated her, as it always did when I ignored her attempts to get a rise out of me. You basically had to ignore ninety-nine percent of what my mother said or else you'd get so mad you'd come up with increasingly creative and inappropriate ways to make her be quiet. Do not ask me how I knew this.

"Are you padding your bra?"

"Oh my Buddha, Pearl. No, I'm not." I folded my arms across my chest. That lets you know how long it had been since she last saw me. And I enjoyed sneaking in an "oh my Buddha" reference. She found it offensive. Hence, my use of it.

"How are your grades?"

"My grades are fine. It's only the second day of school."

Ella crept in my room behind me and I could see her from my camera. Which meant my mother could see her too. "Forgot my laptop, sorry," she whispered as she hurried out.

"Ella's still there, I see." Pearl never liked Ella. It reminded me of how sunlight repelled darkness. The two couldn't coexist.

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