My Life Closed Twice
Chapter 25: What Little Girls Are Made Of
Disclaimer: General Hospital and all its characters belong to ABC, Disney, etc.
Author's Notes: Thanks to my faithful beta reader. Please read and review!
The temperature in the room must have dropped twenty degrees. I don't want to say if looks could kill . strike that. If looks could kill I would be hiring the ex-DA shyster (Darn, now I'm thinking in Mr. Spencer speak) to represent my mother. Probably the insanity plea could still work.
"Carly," Mom said.
"Alexis," Mrs. Corinthos returned.
Nice Mexican standoff we had going here. Time to see if Jax could stop the bloodshed, "Mom, where are Jax and Skye? I thought they were going to take me to dinner?" I asked.
"They had some errands to run. They should be back soon. You better run upstairs and get changed," Mom told me.
Mom hadn't looked at me since Mrs. Corinthos came into the room. I didn't necessarily think leaving the two of them alone was the best idea in the world. Still, I knew a command when I heard it.
So I went upstairs and changed my clothes in three minutes flat.
I was only half done buttoning up my blouse and was carrying my shoes when I got back to the top of the stairs.
"There is nothing to discuss Carly," Mom was saying.
"Nothing to discuss? You can't be serious," Mrs. Corinthos said.
"We finished any and all discussion we were ever going to have on this subject years ago," Mom said.
What subject? I crept down two stairs in hopes of hearing more.
"I told you then it wasn't right. Not for Sonny and not for her," Mrs. Corinthos argued.
"That is were you are wrong. It is right for her. It always has been," Mom responded.
Her who? What did this have to do with Mr. Corinthos?
"No it's not," Mrs. Corinthos insisted.
"How can you say that? How can you stand there with your son lying in a hospital bed and say that to me?" Mom asked.
I heard heels heading for the entrance to the living room. I retreated up a step.
"I can say that because I know how wonderful a father Sonny is," Mrs. Corinthos threw back.
"Yes, he is always concerned," Mom spat back. "After the bullets stop flying."
"She deserves to know her father," Mrs. Corinthos insisted.
The footsteps retreated back into the living room.
"She did know her father," Mom stated.
"Ned is dead," Mrs. Corinthos said. "She deserves better."
How did Dad fit into this? I slipped back down a single step again.
"How can stealing the only father she has ever known be better?" Mom inquired.
"Because she will get a live one," Mrs. Corinthos answered.
"No," Mom said.
"Alexis, Sonny deserves to know his daughter," Mrs. Corinthos stated.
I heard steps once again moving deeper into the living room.
"I told you once before. She is my child. Ned was her father," Mom said.
No way. They are not having this conversation.
"Kristina is Sonny's daughter," Mrs. Corinthos said. "You stole her from her father."
I wasn't hearing this. This was not happening.
"I would watch what you say about stealing children from their fathers Carly," Mom was saying.
"You better not dare compare Sonny to AJ," Mrs. Corinthos fumed.
"Why not? You hid Michael from AJ because AJ was a danger to Michael. Sonny is as great a danger to Kristina," Mom argued.
I couldn't listen anymore. I couldn't hear them argue the merits of Junior and Mr. Corinthos as fathers. I snuck back upstairs to our apartment.
I couldn't believe this. It wasn't true. Dad was Dad. I was a Quartermaine. That was the way things had always been. The Quartermaines may not be the most restful family to belong to, but they were mine. They were loud, devious, controlling, aggravating, constant, and loving. They were mine and I was theirs.
Except maybe I wasn't. I always knew I didn't exactly take after Dad in a lot of ways. I was my mother's daughter. Except that it was more than that. I was not my father's daughter.
A thousand of memories of Dad and me went running through my mind. Fun ones like dancing around in his studio while he recorded. Quiet ones like when he would sing me to sleep. Secret ones like when we would plot some surprise for Mom. Loving ones like when he would give me those big bear hugs. Dad was Dad. I was his baby girl.
I heard the front door slam downstairs. For a minute I listened, hoping not to hear footsteps on the stairs. I didn't want to see Mom. There was only silence.
What about Mom? Mom kept secrets; she is a Cassadine so that is a given. Still, to do something like this? To end up in a situation where she needed to hide a baby from its father? It didn't match the mother I knew. It was too impulsive, too unplanned. Also, I just couldn't picture her in a relationship with someone other than my dad. I was not even going to think about the one-night stand scenario.
Except Mom hadn't denied any of it. Argued that she had made the right decision, yes. Denied that the basic facts were wrong, no.
So where did that leave me. Who was I now? I looked at my reflection in the window. I didn't look any different. I had my mother's face, her hair caught up in a ponytail, and her general build. The only thing I hadn't gotten from my mother was my eyes. I had never thought much about why they didn't match either of my parents. Not even when we studied genetics in school. I worried about becoming alcoholic like a lot of the Qs were. I wondered if my analytical skills were purely Cassadine. I just figured my eyes were some recessive genes. I missed the boat on that one.
Well, so much for being made from sugar and spice and everything nice.
Chapter 25: What Little Girls Are Made Of
Disclaimer: General Hospital and all its characters belong to ABC, Disney, etc.
Author's Notes: Thanks to my faithful beta reader. Please read and review!
The temperature in the room must have dropped twenty degrees. I don't want to say if looks could kill . strike that. If looks could kill I would be hiring the ex-DA shyster (Darn, now I'm thinking in Mr. Spencer speak) to represent my mother. Probably the insanity plea could still work.
"Carly," Mom said.
"Alexis," Mrs. Corinthos returned.
Nice Mexican standoff we had going here. Time to see if Jax could stop the bloodshed, "Mom, where are Jax and Skye? I thought they were going to take me to dinner?" I asked.
"They had some errands to run. They should be back soon. You better run upstairs and get changed," Mom told me.
Mom hadn't looked at me since Mrs. Corinthos came into the room. I didn't necessarily think leaving the two of them alone was the best idea in the world. Still, I knew a command when I heard it.
So I went upstairs and changed my clothes in three minutes flat.
I was only half done buttoning up my blouse and was carrying my shoes when I got back to the top of the stairs.
"There is nothing to discuss Carly," Mom was saying.
"Nothing to discuss? You can't be serious," Mrs. Corinthos said.
"We finished any and all discussion we were ever going to have on this subject years ago," Mom said.
What subject? I crept down two stairs in hopes of hearing more.
"I told you then it wasn't right. Not for Sonny and not for her," Mrs. Corinthos argued.
"That is were you are wrong. It is right for her. It always has been," Mom responded.
Her who? What did this have to do with Mr. Corinthos?
"No it's not," Mrs. Corinthos insisted.
"How can you say that? How can you stand there with your son lying in a hospital bed and say that to me?" Mom asked.
I heard heels heading for the entrance to the living room. I retreated up a step.
"I can say that because I know how wonderful a father Sonny is," Mrs. Corinthos threw back.
"Yes, he is always concerned," Mom spat back. "After the bullets stop flying."
"She deserves to know her father," Mrs. Corinthos insisted.
The footsteps retreated back into the living room.
"She did know her father," Mom stated.
"Ned is dead," Mrs. Corinthos said. "She deserves better."
How did Dad fit into this? I slipped back down a single step again.
"How can stealing the only father she has ever known be better?" Mom inquired.
"Because she will get a live one," Mrs. Corinthos answered.
"No," Mom said.
"Alexis, Sonny deserves to know his daughter," Mrs. Corinthos stated.
I heard steps once again moving deeper into the living room.
"I told you once before. She is my child. Ned was her father," Mom said.
No way. They are not having this conversation.
"Kristina is Sonny's daughter," Mrs. Corinthos said. "You stole her from her father."
I wasn't hearing this. This was not happening.
"I would watch what you say about stealing children from their fathers Carly," Mom was saying.
"You better not dare compare Sonny to AJ," Mrs. Corinthos fumed.
"Why not? You hid Michael from AJ because AJ was a danger to Michael. Sonny is as great a danger to Kristina," Mom argued.
I couldn't listen anymore. I couldn't hear them argue the merits of Junior and Mr. Corinthos as fathers. I snuck back upstairs to our apartment.
I couldn't believe this. It wasn't true. Dad was Dad. I was a Quartermaine. That was the way things had always been. The Quartermaines may not be the most restful family to belong to, but they were mine. They were loud, devious, controlling, aggravating, constant, and loving. They were mine and I was theirs.
Except maybe I wasn't. I always knew I didn't exactly take after Dad in a lot of ways. I was my mother's daughter. Except that it was more than that. I was not my father's daughter.
A thousand of memories of Dad and me went running through my mind. Fun ones like dancing around in his studio while he recorded. Quiet ones like when he would sing me to sleep. Secret ones like when we would plot some surprise for Mom. Loving ones like when he would give me those big bear hugs. Dad was Dad. I was his baby girl.
I heard the front door slam downstairs. For a minute I listened, hoping not to hear footsteps on the stairs. I didn't want to see Mom. There was only silence.
What about Mom? Mom kept secrets; she is a Cassadine so that is a given. Still, to do something like this? To end up in a situation where she needed to hide a baby from its father? It didn't match the mother I knew. It was too impulsive, too unplanned. Also, I just couldn't picture her in a relationship with someone other than my dad. I was not even going to think about the one-night stand scenario.
Except Mom hadn't denied any of it. Argued that she had made the right decision, yes. Denied that the basic facts were wrong, no.
So where did that leave me. Who was I now? I looked at my reflection in the window. I didn't look any different. I had my mother's face, her hair caught up in a ponytail, and her general build. The only thing I hadn't gotten from my mother was my eyes. I had never thought much about why they didn't match either of my parents. Not even when we studied genetics in school. I worried about becoming alcoholic like a lot of the Qs were. I wondered if my analytical skills were purely Cassadine. I just figured my eyes were some recessive genes. I missed the boat on that one.
Well, so much for being made from sugar and spice and everything nice.