For as long as I can remember we’ve been pretending. I’ve had friends come up to me, even people I barely know, saying, “Charlotte, you are SOOO LUCKY to have your family. Your parents are still together and soooo in love, your mom is famous, AND you have a beautiful house? You’re really living the dream.” They have no idea what it’s really like to live my life.

My mother is Arabella Farmiga. Well, that’s her stage name anyway. She was born Oksana Farmiga in Ukraine, but her parents, my grandparents, moved to the great state of New York shortly after my mother was born. She got a name for herself by starring in a few independent films back in the day (think the likes of Woody Allen) before totally selling out and starring on the great disaster that is My Brother’s Brother and Me, daytime drama’s number one soap opera since 1992. My mom’s a total babe, that much is true, but the problem is that she certainly knows it, and uses it to her advantage. Dad was the producer of another, not as well-loved soap called You’re Having My Baby… and You Are, and You Are, but good old Mom came in and swept him off his feet, got herself pregnant (they worked it into the show’s storyline, don’t worry), and got him to settle down and quit his job so he could be a stay at home dad while she worked hard for the money. My dad was the third rival producer she seduced, but the first to knock her up, and she won’t let him forget it. While they appear like a (nauseatingly) loving couple in front of others, I’ve heard plenty of screaming fights at night about how Mom purposely ruined Dad’s career. Which is true, but it’s not like Dad’s career was really going anywhere, anyway.

My mother’s career hasn’t exactly gone anywhere either, but since she’s raking in $6000 per episode (a salary nearly unheard of in the soap world), she’s the successful one of my parents. My dad now spends much of his time writing horrible soap scripts that never get bought and quietly drinking himself to death while dear Arabella and I pretend not to notice. Well, I can’t speak for my mother. She’s so self-centered that it might be true that she doesn’t notice my dad drinking upwards of five strong gimlets on a good night, since it never ends in more violence than our home usually sees.

“Charlie, dear? Can you please come down here?” My mother’s voice rings up our unnecessarily ornate spiral staircase into my room, which doesn’t have a door because my mother doesn’t believe in privacy. She says that if she can change multiple times in front of numerous (gay, but still) men every day, then I can certainly handle my mother seeing me in various states of undress. Dad doesn’t leave his office enough during daytime hours for it to matter.

“You know I hate it when you call me Charlie,” I mutter, but I get up and go down anyway, because if I don’t, it’ll mean my head.

My mother is wearing a cape. She looks stunning, but come on, a cape? “Charlie darling, get dressed please. We’ve got to put in an appearance at the premiere of that new show, what’s it called, My Lover’s a Unicorn and I Couldn’t Care Less? It will look strange if you don’t come dear, you are my daughter.”

“It’s centaur, not unicorn, and you told me last week I wouldn’t have to go to that! I hate premieres, mom, you know that. I can’t stand being in the spotlight.”

“Of course you can, Charlotte, dear, you’re related to me.” She says this like that settles it. I know I’m not wrong in remembering her telling me that I wouldn’t have to go, but arguing will only get me in trouble. Unless…

“But Mom, I told Louis I’d come over tonight. We made plans to watch the sci-fi marathon tonight.” If there are two things my mother loves almost as much as herself, they are my best friend Louis, who she staunchly believes I will one day marry despite many arguments to the contrary from both of us, and sci-fi television (not that she’d ever admit it to anyone else). We hadn’t really made plans, but it certainly wasn’t out of the question.

Sure enough, she hesitates for a moment before saying, “I already made reservations at Chez Paolo’s for three, and this is very important to me, darling. You know Antoinette Bouillard is starring in that horrible unicorn show and I would really like if you would be there to support me.” Antoinette is my mother’s biggest rival in the industry. If it’s possible for a woman to be more horribly self-centered than my mother, she’s the one to accomplish it. “Now please, go upstairs and put on that pretty blue frock I bought you for the last premiere you didn’t come to.”

“Fine,” I grumble before heading upstairs to put on the dress. I wouldn’t call it pretty and I wouldn’t call it blue; it is outrageously short as well as being a violent shade of bright turquoise. My mother likes to stand out, but when she makes crazy fashion choices, her natural beauty backs her up and makes her look good. I look like a clown, but “mother knows best”. I’ll do what she wants so she’ll leave me alone. I slap on some makeup, run a comb through my hair, and pull on the dress, trying not to look in the mirror as I do so. When I do catch a glimpse of my reflection, I grimace. Oh well, it doesn’t really matter what I look like. Everyone will be paying attention to my mother and her cape.


The premiere itself is horrible, which surprises no one (least of all me), but everyone who’s anyone in the television world makes an appearance. But it’s what happened after the premiere that’s really worth noting. I had noticed my father drinking fairly heavily during dinner. Although he doesn’t usually hit the bottle so hard in public, I can’t say I was very surprised. He and I both knew that this premiere was going to be excruciating, and since he’d been drinking more at home recently, it made sense to me that he would need a little pick-me-up to get through the night. Hell, I was feeling like I could use a drink at that point. But he must have found some way to continue his own personal party during the premiere itself. A flask maybe? I can’t be sure. All I know is that after the premiere was over, when we were walking back down the red carpet towards the limousine my mother had rented for the night, he and my mother started arguing. Quietly at first, because my mother was obviously hoping that no one would notice, but their whispered quarrel soon became quite audible for everyone to hear.

“I am just SO SICK of doing this, Bella. I hate seeing what I could have been a part of, what I’ve missed out on because of what you did to me.”

“If I remember correctly, David, it takes two to tango. Charlotte is your responsibility as well, and if I remember correctly, David, you enjoyed making her quite as much as I did. You just didn’t want to deal with the consequences.” By this point, I’ve heard quite enough. I always knew my dad blamed my mom for the end of his career, but to hear that he also blamed it on me? Or that my mother was trying to place some of the blame on me? I ran down the rest of the red carpet to the limo and slid in, fully aware of everyone’s eyes on my parents. The soap tabloids were going to eat this up. They’ve been portraying my parents as some sort of weird, soap opera power couple for years; to hear that not is all so well in the family will probably rip some readers’ hearts out.

After several agonizing minutes sat in the limo, waiting for my parents to get over themselves and climb in so we can go home, my mother finally climbed in.

“Just drive, Jean-Paul. He’s not coming tonight.” Jean-Paul started the limo and began the drive home. I thought I could see a trace of amusement in his eyes.

“What? Mom, what do you mean he’s not coming tonight? Where’s he going?”

“Your father has chosen to-,” Mother cut off, tears falling down her perfect nose. “He has chosen to go home with Antoinette. It seems that they have been orchestrating an affair behind my back for several years now. It is only right that the truth come out on the biggest night of Antoinette’s life. I could almost be happy for her if I didn’t- if I didn’t still love your father.”

I am shocked by this revelation. I knew Dad was a little bit unhinged but I never thought he would go running off, especially to someone else in the business. Antoinette is so vain that she’s had her earlobes surgically altered. At least Mom hasn’t had any plastic surgery beyond the occasional Botox injection to ensure that she always looks good on camera. “I’m sorry, Mom,” I say after a few moments of silence.

“This only happened because of you, you know.” She is quiet after this, tasting the words in her mouth before saying it again. “This never would have happened if it weren’t for you.”

I am quiet, because I know that saying something now will only get me into trouble later. But I’m thinking, “Mom, he never would have married you if it weren’t for me. You would have seduced him, ruined him, and moved on. He might’ve picked himself up or he might’ve turned out exactly the way he is now. But you really can’t blame your problems on me when I certainly didn’t choose to be born to you two whackos.” I can’t say it, but I know it’s all true, and that it’s not fair for my mother to be saying this to me.

When I get home, I do what I need to do. I pack my overnight bag, buy a train ticket online, and head out the door. It’s time for me to leave.