Bastards and Scapegoats

drinker. I don’t smoke weed either.”
“Perfect. Hamilton has an addictive personality, so you have to be careful. Women’s rights?”
“Well, duh. I’m a woman. Of course I want women’s rights.”
“I love a strong woman. Hamilton needs someone that doesn’t accept less than what she deserves.” Jess rubbed her hands together before continuing. “If you had to choose between good sex with a bad partner or bad sex with a good partner, what would you choose?”
I swallowed. My first instinct was to say good sex, but then I thought of roses with plucked petals and said something else. “Neither. I don’t settle.”
“Pro-choice? I volunteer at a woman’s center, so I like to make sure the people I surround myself with aren’t going to shame me for that.”
The answer spilled out of me before I could stop myself. No one had ever really asked me that before. “That’s tricky. My mother was fifteen when she had me. I’m thankful she kept me, because I kind of like being alive, but she shouldn’t have had to. I’m not sure if it was guilt that made her go through with the pregnancy or if she just didn’t have access to the services to terminate. I know she didn’t want to be a mother, but she didn’t want to give me up for adoption either. I think she was just too young to make those decisions and didn’t have someone in her life to help her through the process. She just did what she thought she was supposed to, and we both struggled needlessly.” I slammed my lips closed. I’d never admitted that before. Time seemed to stop, and I pressed the pads of my fingers to my mouth. Was that truly how I felt? Did I wish my mother would have gotten an abortion? She was so young. So vulnerable. “Why are you asking me all of this?”
“Because it’s fun.” Jess shrugged before pressing on. “Who do you love most in the world?”
“My mom.”
“Why?”
I opened my mouth, trying to come up with a list of reasons I knew were appropriate. Because she was family. Because she always took care of me. Because loving her was this instinctual thing children were hardwired to do. “I just do. I don’t have to explain why I love someone to you.”
“Amen to that. Trying to explain to my conservative parents why I loved women was obnoxious. Fuck them.” Jess yelped before fist pumping the air. I noticed a tattoo of Ruth Bader Ginsburg on her arm. “If you could eat anything for the rest of your life, what meal would it be?”
“I lived on cheap mac ’n’ cheese for a majority of my childhood, so I’d probably pick that.”
“When was the first day of your last menstrual period?”
“Excuse me?”
“I like to know if we are in sync.”
“I’m not answering that,” I snapped.
“Fine. Is it more important to be a good person or be a liked person?”
I scowled. “Good people are generally liked,” I replied.
“You’re so naïve. It’s cute,” Jess replied while cocking her head to the side. “Are you religious?”
“I think there’s a god up there. I’m not really a churchgoer.”
“My dad is a pastor and kind of an asshole,” Jess explained. “Are you attracted to Hamilton?”
“He’s my uncle,” I stammered.
“That isn’t what I asked.”
I straightened my spine. It was my turn. Ignoring her question, I then spoke. “If you found someone’s wallet on the ground, would you return it to them?” I asked.
Jess tilted her chin. “Of course.”
“If you had to give your kidney to one person in the world, who would it be?”
“Hamilton,” she replied, squirming. “Definitely Hamilton. But he’d be stupid and not accept my kidney, then make me plan his fucking funeral.”
“Would you rather be rich and miserable or poor and happy?”
“I’ve been both, and I like myself more when I’m poor,” she admitted. “Maybe you’re not so terrible. You seem like the type of person I could potentially not hate. Down to earth. You aren’t chronically privileged like the rest of the Beauregards, too. I volunteer with a few nonprofits. You should check out my blog, Activist Bitch.”
I eyed Jess. “That’s great,” I began dryly. “I’ve benefitted from quite a few nonprofits over the years. Most of the volunteers liked to take photos with my mom and me when we were at our most vulnerable. Then, they’d plaster it all over Facebook so they could brag to their friends about how generous they are.” She stared at me with her brow arched. “For the record, I prefer to get to know people organically and not through some really invasive rapid-fire interrogation, but I’m glad we could get the major topics out of the way. Since you want to know all about me, I’ll tell you some more.”
Jess laughed, but I wasn’t trying to be funny. Teen moms were constantly scrutinized, but even more so, people liked to pity their children and judge their successes and failures based on the shortcomings of their parents. I spent my entire life trying to prove that my mother was worthy and good. I couldn’t slip up once, because I was a direct representation of her. People already had a lot to say about a fifteen-year-old girl raising a child. I never wanted to add to her problems.
I continued. “I was born in Atlanta and lived on food stamps most of my life. I always lived in the bad part of town until we moved here five years ago. I graduated top of my class because until now, my only hopes of attending college were dependent on whether or not I could get a full scholarship. I’ve got a teen mom who loves me but also kind of resents me.” Jess’s smile faded a bit, and I continued. “Despite this, I had a really good life. I’m out of my depth here. I feel like everyone is judging my mother and me, which we’re both used to. I’m not looking for anyone’s approval, least of all some bitch I