Bastards and Scapegoats

liner and matte lipstick. I had red paint on my nails. My tan skin was buffed and shined to perfection. My brown eyes lined with smoky makeup.
I didn’t want to be here. Not really. The makeup caked onto my skin had all but sweat off in the September humidity, and the lashes expertly glued to my eyelids earlier this afternoon by Connecticut’s finest makeup artist, were now hanging by a thread.
But my mother wanted an outdoor wedding.
She wanted the fairy tale.
She wanted everything her unplanned teen pregnancy had been denying her all these years.
The only thing that could make her special day more perfect was if I weren’t here.
No. That was an intrusive thought orchestrated by my deep-rooted insecurities. My mom loved me. She wouldn’t have worked so hard to give us a good life otherwise.
The happy couple walked around the room, shaking hands with their guests and greeting attendees with wide, practiced smiles. When they got to me, Joseph awkwardly patted me on the shoulder, his lips pressed into a thin line as he stared at me.
“I love you,” Mom whispered before kissing me on the cheek. Her glossy lips left a sticky residue on my skin.
“Love you too, Mom. Congrats, Joseph.”
Ignoring me, my new stepfather cleared his throat, pressed his hand to the small of Mom’s back, and whispered, “There are more people to see. The Vice President is here.”
With a gracious nod and a pleased grin, Mom squeezed my hand and followed her husband off to a group of guests to my right.
She looked happy, with her vintage dress and petite body gliding across the ground. The setting looked straight out of a fairy tale. Twinkle lights woven like thread and strung from poles towered above us and made the sweat on her face glow. Her breasts were spilling from her dress, giving onlookers a tease of what was underneath the sixteen-thousand-dollar gown she wore.
She wanted to feel like a princess today.
Don’t get me wrong, Lilah Beauregard deserved to feel like a princess. We hadn’t had an easy life. The day she realized she was pregnant with me, was the start of her misery, and she had earned the right to a happily ever after. The tenacious woman paid in blood, sweat, and tears. Lilah worked three grueling jobs while getting her GED. She also made sure I had food on the table, and I never really felt unsafe. Her creepy boyfriends never slept over. There were times we feared not making rent, but she didn’t purposefully go out of her way to make me feel like a burden. My mother loved me. She wasn’t abusive or cruel. She was just human, a fact that I had slowly realized over time.
Growing up meant accepting the vulnerabilities of your parents. I learned to normalize their flaws because expecting more from her led to disappointment. I couldn’t put my finger on the exact moment I realized that she silently resented me. Perhaps it was two years ago, on my sixteenth birthday. She got me a purse I’d been eyeing at the local thrift store and a prescription for birth control. She made me swear not to ruin my life like she did.
Or maybe it was the night of homecoming when she uncharacteristically sobbed at the sight of me in a dress. It hadn’t occurred to me until later that she missed her own homecoming because of me.
Or maybe it was tonight, as I watched her clink her glass of champagne for a toast. The words fresh start escaped her lips.
She loved me. Hell, she devoted her young life to raising me. But everything was about to change. I could feel it in my bones. Up until now, life was nothing more than a long, slow dance with survival.
“You don’t have to smile the entire time, Vera,” my new grandfather said while settling at my side. I wasn’t expecting him to chat with me. There were much more important people here than I. And didn’t he know? I had to smile. The alternative was crying. There was no in-between. I let out a light chuckle while continuing to watch my mother. She was grinning broadly at something Joseph had whispered in her ear.
“I’m afraid if I stop, someone will take a photo and I’ll end up in tomorrow’s headlines,” I murmured with a slight wince. I was forced to swiftly get used to the publicity of our new family. My new grandfather, Governor Jack Beauregard, looked around the room, frowning slightly at the various clicking cameras zoomed in on the happily married couple, pausing when he noticed a few of them trained on us. Like the skilled politician he was, Jack wrapped his arm around me for a comforting side hug.
“I know it’s a lot to learn. There is a spotlight on my family not many can handle. You’ve adapted well.” I resisted the urge to snort. If adapting well meant crying into my pillow every night, then yes, I was adjusting accordingly.
The Beauregards weren’t just politically inclined. They shoved their hands into every money-making industry until they were up to their elbows in privilege and wealth. My mother would never admit it in polite company, but she chiseled at her rocky foundation with nothing more than a pin needle and somehow managed to strike gold. “Your love and support for your mother has been commendable. You moved across the state. Helped plan this monster of a wedding and are wearing a dress that looks tremendously uncomfortable. Honestly, you should look for a job in politics, because you haven’t cracked once.”
“At least not publicly,” I whispered, making him chuckle. Jack liked to point out how mature I was for my age. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I was forced to grow up the day I was born. I was eighteen going on seventy. Smiling, I twisted to face him. Jack had salt-and-pepper hair and deep wrinkles carved into his pale skin. The tux he wore was