Page 67 of Princess of Pride
Pippa: If it is, go to your husband.
God. She and Mom are just the same.
Me: I need to talk to you. About Mom. Please.
That’s never gone well in the past. The umbilical cord is still attached between those two. But I’m hopeful Pippa will tell me the truth, if she knows about it, and even if she tells me just to hurt me. Mom isn’t going to tell me anything. Hiring a private investigator wouldn’t work either. If there is truth to this story, Dad would have had it buried so deep, an FBI agent couldn’t dig it up.
Pippa:I’m in the middle of planning my baby shower and the nursery. I’ll call you when I get a free moment.
If this was Mom, she would have made the time.
Me: Thank you.
Until I get the answers I seek, I need to play nice and pray she makes good on her word, although I won’t hold my breath.
I sit there lost in memories of my childhood, trying to remember another woman. There were many people in and out of our lives. Staff, nannies, etiquette tutors, ballet teachers, riding instructors. Then I snuck out to see Raphael and was sent away to boarding school. My life became my friends, and Iwas happier there than at home, where I was always in Pippa’s shadow. The beautiful daughter. The favored daughter. The better daughter.
Could this be the reason for all that? Dad favors Pippa too, yet he’s the reason I possibly have a different Mom. The thought hollows out my chest. How do you come to terms with something like this?
It would explain why my figure and coloring are different from Mom and Pippa’s. But Mom loved me, in her warped way and despite loving me less than Pippa. I felt like I was hers. Why would she raise me as her own? I can see why Dad would conceal a child with a… mistress? Work colleague? That would be bad for his image, but why keep me?
My stomach sours at the thought of being disposable.
The phone rings.
It’s Pippa.
“Hello?”
“Why do you sound like you’re about to vomit?”
“Because I am.”
“What’s the emergency?” she asks as if I’m being dramatic.
“Mom told me.”
The line goes silent, confirming my suspicion. She knows.
“Who’s my real mom?”
She sighs. It’s heavy and filled with indecision.
“You have to tell me the truth. I deserve to know.”
She doesn’t speak, but she doesn’t hang up.
“Please, Pippa. You’d want to know if it were you.”
“I can’t talk about this.”
“Wait! Don’t hang up. Please.Please, just tell me.”
She stays silent, but still, she doesn’t end the call.
“Pippa, please.”
She lets out a heavy breath that’s tinged with frustration. “Fine. But you asked for it so don’t get mad at me if you don’tlike what you hear. You can’t tell Dad you know either. He’ll destroy Mom for this getting out. You can’t tell anyone. Ever. And never bring it up to Mom. Do you hear me? I’ll deny everything if you do.”
