Marie's Clinic was in the same small building I lived in.
The two-story brick building was our home and also Marie's workplace. The ground floor had been split into a small pet store at the back of the building, and Marie's Veterinary Clinic at the front, taking most of the ground level's space. A narrow L-shaped staircase was carved into the pavement, starting from the side of the front building, and going down to the entrance of the basement.
Marie lived on the first floor, where I also used to live, until last year when she let me move into the basement. All the junk that was stashed in the basement was now crammed up in my old room on the first floor, and my things had been all moved downstairs.
I bought the paint, a couple of new furniture, and decorations for the basement with my own money. That basement was now my pride and joy, half of every paycheck I received from work had been spent decorating it.
It had fairy lights hung on the wall next to the bed with art and drawings of cats scattered all around the room. I placed a few vintage decorations around as well, the results of many months of scavenge-hunting in garage sales and old stores around town.
I even had a bathroom for myself down in the basement, and a small little kitchen area by the corner with an old microwave, a small cabinet, a countertop table, and a mini-bar – all presents from Marie.
Eventually, I had to crawl back upstairs to ransack Marie's kitchen so I could refill my food storage in the basement. Or when I wanted to eat something else that wasn't ramen noodles or frozen lasagna.
So, half of my money went to the basement, and the other half I gave to Marie. But where did all this money come from, you may ask?
Well, basically from the Pet store. It had been my idea to open the store. I kept bringing injured animals to Marie's Clinic all the time and she kept complaining that I was going to get her bankrupt soon if I didn't stop, so I suggested putting the store in a small portion of ground level at the back of the building while the front was left for her Clinic. The store had only a few products for sale for the people who came to treat their pets.
I offered to work there during the afternoons after I got back from school, so I could help with the bills. It was a small Pet store, but there was enough space to sell biscuits and treats, some rubber toys, a few trendy leashes, grooming tools, and cute bows matching some little outfits. And for the owners, we had animal keychains, bowls, pins, and mugs with a picture of dogs, birds, and cats printed on them.
Whatever profit I could make from the sales in the store was my payment, which I gave to Marie to help pay for the treatment of all the stray animals that I used to bring home. What was left was mine to use as I pleased.
Before you judge Marie and say she was cold-hearted to take my hard-working money, you have to understand it wasn't just the work hours that she had to give away whenever I arrived with a hurt stray animal in my arms. There was also the cost of medication, antibiotics, and a place in the clinic for the animal to rest and recover. There was also food, electric bills, the cleaning up… You add all that up, you end up with a giant bill by the end of the month.
Plus, Marie already gave up her Saturdays working for free at the Municipal Animal Shelter, so, you see, she was far from being cold-hearted.
She loved animals as much as I did.
Well, not as much, since I couldn't stop finding every injured animal in town and bringing them over to her Clinic. But it had been a reasonable deal, to make me help pay for those bills, I have to admit.
Besides working during the afternoons in the Pet Store, I also tried to help her in whatever I could around the Clinic. The store didn't sell much, so I helped by organizing the cages, feeding, and cleaning, and Marie did her part by saving the animals' lives. We were a good team.
I had gone a bit out of control last month though, and there was almost nothing left of my payment now. My credit line with Marie was going to be bleeding red, pardon the bad pun, with this one more injury.
"Emilia! Not again!" It was the first thing Marie said when she saw me running into the waiting room with something bundled up in my arms. "You can't keep picking up every animal in the county and bringing them here! This is not a charity organization!"
"I'm sorry, Marie! This is the last time, I promise!"
She sighed. "You say that every time, Mia."
"I know b-but... this was my fault! I couldn't leave him to die! You have to help him!" I begged and tried one last attempt to manipulate her. "Please, Mom?"
She frowned, not pleased with my low maneuver.
"You have made it very clear that I've been revoked of the title. You can't be throwing it back in whenever it suits you. I'm Aunt Marie now, remember?"
Yeah. I knew it was a low blow. But I was desperate!
I stared down at the bleeding bundle in my arms. "I know. I'm sorry." I apologized, full of guilt. "But I'm begging you. Please." I looked up at her, not bothering to hide the tears that were blurring my view. "I called him from across the street and he came to me. I'm the reason he got hit. If he dies, it'll be my fault."
Her eyes softened. "You realize your paycheck will go fully to the clinic this month, right? You've brought in all the animals you could. We can't afford more."
"I know. Just... please, tell me he's going to be okay?"
"Let me take him to the operation room and see what I can do. Hello there, Miss Venturini." She waved at Frankie. "Keep my niece company here while I try to salvage what's left of this poor thing, will you?"
Frankie had stopped by the doorframe and was listening to our conversation.
"No problem, Miss Atkins. I'll stay with her," she said while Marie carried the cat inside. "This fight of yours is so stupid, honestly, I can't even..." She grumbled, rolling her eyes at me after Marie had closed the door.
"I am her niece, Frankie. There's nothing I can do about that." I snapped.
"So what if she lied to you, Mia? She's been taking care of you since you were a baby and raised you like you were her daughter. Stop treating her like she isn't your mother."
A few months ago, I had the most surprising discovery of my life. After going to the Hospital because of a nasty cut on my leg, I caught a glimpse of the discharge papers and saw Marie's name under the 'Parents or Responsible' slot and 'Aunt' scribbled right next to it. I thought it had been a wrong form-filling issue until I spotted a copy of my birth certificate at the end of the health insurance paperwork.
There it was, for all the world to see: Melissa Atkins. Mother. Melissa, not Marie.
After a long serious talk with my newfound Aunt, Marie confirmed that she really wasn't my mother. My real mother abandoned me after I was born and left me to be raised by her sister instead. She handed me over to Marie and disappeared into the world, to never be seen again.
I knew Marie had a sister, but she and Nana never talked about her. It had always been a touchy subject – Nana's youngest daughter, the wild rebel who left the family after graduation and never returned.
I avoided asking questions because I knew how upset everybody got when her name was mentioned, but now I knew the story behind her disappearance. The real reason why they fidgeted so much around the subject. I was the reason. They didn't want me digging too much and finding out their dirty little secret.
I was so mad at Marie for lying to me for all those years. I was angry because I had been abandoned as if I was worth nothing. But I guess I was angry the most because now I knew. I knew that my real mother didn't want to keep me.
It was around that time that I moved to the basement. I couldn't even see Aunt Marie's face. I started calling her aunt to punish her for never telling me the truth. She looked so hurt every time she heard me calling her that, but I was too hurt myself to care. I needed to lash out my anger at someone, and Marie had been the closest and easiest target.
To try to placate my anger, she handed me a box she had hidden, filled with things that belonged to my mother, mostly personal objects that she had left behind. It was mostly junk in there, beauty pageant trophies, old pictures from when she was around my age, and cheerleader practice gear, but at the bottom of the box, I found her diary.
In her journal entries, she wrote about the moment she discovered she was pregnant, how heartbroken she felt, and how she didn't know who the father was. She had many boyfriends back then and hadn't been careful at all. There were a few names of boys mentioned here and there, but none that I thought seemed significant to her.
I read about how much she wanted to leave. She felt trapped in this town and she couldn't wait for high school to be over, so she could finally leave home and travel around the world.
I read that she didn't want to have me and that she felt cheated from a life full of adventures and freedom, all because of one stupid mistake. I read about how her older sister had convinced her to have the baby and how relieved she felt when her sister promised to raise me as if it was her own.
Marie was five years older and she was finishing studying Veterinary when my mother had me. I found through that old diary that I owed my life to Marie. She had convinced my mother to have me. And she gave me a good childhood, a decent life and she raised me the best she could too. I owe so much to Marie.
That's when I realized how poorly I had handled things and how I had acted like a complete and utter jerk to her. In my defense, it was a lot of groundbreaking revelations for me to deal with, all in one go. I messed up, okay, what can I say?
So I stopped calling her aunt because I could see how much it hurt her. But calling her mom felt weird too, now that I knew the truth. So I settled by calling her by her name. Marie.
You could say it was a reasonable conclusion for this problem and that we could consider things patched up after that, but ever since this secret had been exposed, there was still this bitterness inside of me as if I couldn't take this sour taste out of my mouth, no matter how much I tried.
"I know she raised me, Frankie. But she still lied to me all these years. It's hard to just forgive and forget…" I said, slumping into one of the chairs in the waiting room.
"Come on, Mia. She's your mom through and through and you know it. You two have the biggest hearts and the same undying love for animals. You even have her face. Look at it! You two look exactly the same!" Frankie countered, waving at my face. "You even have the same peppering freckles on the nose and the cheeks too."
"We are related, Frankie." I pointed out with an eye roll.
But I had to admit, by the pictures I saw in that dusty box full of old memorabilia, I looked more like Marie than my mother. The only thing none of the people in my family had was my hair. Frankie always said that I had a lion's mane. It was curly, wild, bouncy, and red, and couldn't be tamed for nothing in this world.
"I still have no idea where this hair comes from though," I mused, pulling at my red curls. "My biological mom doesn't have curly red hair and neither has Marie."
"Really? Where did you get this mane of yours then?" Frankie asked. "Mystery Daddy-o?"
"I guess so. Since no one in the family has it, it can only come from my father, whoever he is."
At least Marie had been honest about my father's story. She told me while I was growing up that she didn't know who my father was because there had been a lot of boyfriends back in the day.
I always thought there was something off about that story because I never saw Marie dating anyone, ever, in all my seventeen years living with her. I used to think it could be because she got traumatized by the unexpected pregnancy and had sworn off boys from then on, but now I realized that she was talking about her sister's past, and not her own.
"And are you really buying this story about Marie never hearing from your mother again? I mean, in all these years, she never tried to contact you or even called?"
"Marie says she never heard from her again after she had me. Same story with Nana." I bit my lips while I mulled over this. "She does get this mysterious phone call once a year... I thought maybe it was a secret boyfriend, perhaps the guy that could be my father even. But who knows... maybe it's from my mother?"
"Have you asked her about it?"
"Yeah. She says it's just an old friend and changes the subject."
"That's suspicious." Frankie agreed.
"Yeah..." I mumbled. "Hey, let's talk about something else. Thinking about this is giving me a headache."
"Okay. How about we go to your bachelor pad and change your clothes then?" Frankie suggested. "You look like you've been in a horror movie, you know."
I glanced down and saw my blood-soaked shirt. "Do you think he's going to be okay, Frankie?" I asked in a small voice.
She gave me an uncertain look and lied through her teeth. "Sure. He's going to be just fine. It's like you said, superstition is for fools. Maybe he's a lucky cat."
"Yeah. Maybe he is."
...