hairdo again. “The short look doesn’t do a thing for
you with your face that full. I don’t understand why
you can’t Pretty Up—like they say on the Beautify!
Network—”
“Stupid makeover shows,” Audra grumbled.
“Not as stupid as your classic movie fantasyland,”
her mother shot back, a tinge of anger in her voice.
“From where I’m standing, it seems like you’re go-
ing out of your way to look fat and ugly—and both
of those things are completely within your control!”
Fat and ugly . . . fat and ugly . . . fat, black and ugly . . .
20
Karyn Langhorne
The words chimed in her ears, chanted by in-
mates and now uttered by her own mother.
Fat, black . . . black . . . black . . .
Something angry slithered and squirmed deep in
Audra’s soul, and before she could stop herself she
snapped, “What about black, Ma. Is that under my
control, too?”
Her mother turned to her in surprise, hands paus-
ing over the sink. “Black?” she shrugged. “Of course
not. We’re all black, Audra—”
“No, Ma. You’re not black, you’re brown. Even tan.
You and Petra and Daddy—you’re all tan.” Audra
stretched out her own arm, rolling the sleeve up to
the elbow. “See this? This is black.”
Edith blinked at her, her mouth working silently,
then she pushed Audra’s outstretched arm away
from her. An instant later, she thrust her hands back
in the soapy water, fished up another plate, and be-
gan scrubbing as if her little sponge could clean up
this turn in their conversation.
“So what?” Edith told her sponge in a careful, low
voice. “I’m brown-skinned, Petra’s light-skinned.
But there are darker people in the family—”
“Name one,” Audra demanded.
Edith’s dishwashing hands paused, the plate slip-
ping out of them to splash audibly in the bubbly wa-
ter. Her whole body grew very still, as though some
kind of spell had been cast on her, making her as
motionless as Snow White after she ate the apple.
She did not look at Audra or speak.
“I’ve seen the pictures.” Audra pressed on. “I’ve
been with you back to North Carolina. Almost all of
us have the same eyes and same shape of face . . .”
DIARY OF AN UGLY DUCKLING
21
Audra hesitated, and then pushed the words out
with sudden determination. “Your people aren’t
this dark, Mama. Even Gran said she couldn’t figure
out where my coloring came from—”
When Edith finally faced her, her lips were folded
tight and there was a funny auburn flush creeping
up from the skin of her neck up to her ears.
“Really, Audra,” she said, in a voice that strug-
gled for light, bright and breezy, but ended up
sounding strangled and tight. “There’s some darker
kin on your father’s side—”
“No, Ma.” Audra interrupted, shaking her head.
“Remember that reunion we went to? All of his peo-
ple have fair skin. Next to them, you and Petra are
dark!” Audra stared hard at her mother. “No one ei-
ther side of the family is as dark as I am, Ma.” She
swallowed hard, forcing herself to continue. “Is—is
there something you want to tell me?”
Edith’s eyes slid from Audra back to the plate,
back to the sink. “Like what?” she asked the dish in
the same constricted voice.
Audra shrugged. “Like I’m adopted . . . or . . .
something else,” she murmured.
Now, Edith’s head snapped toward Audra in sur-
prise. For a long moment, mother and daughter
stared at each other in a game of visual chicken,
each daring the other to blink first. Audra’s heart
pounded in her chest, banging so hard against her
ribs she wondered if her mother could see it, won-
dering if it looked like the animated heart of an old-
time cartoon character. She put a hand to her chest,
pressing, hoping to still the frantic beat.
Just tell me the truth, just tell me the truth, she
22
Karyn Langhorne
thought over and over in her mind, knowing that
Edith could read the words in her eyes. For once,
just—
When her mother finally spoke, her voice was
hard as a slap.
“What’s this supposed to be? Some big dramatic
scene out of one of your old movies? The climactic
scene where all the secrets are revealed? Well,
I’m sorry, but you weren’t adopted . . . or anything
else,” she said brusquely. “I don’t know why you’d
want to say something like that,” she grumbled.
“You and Petra got the same father . . . and he’s been
dead two years now and you know it. Didn’t leave
anybody anything but bad debts and worse memo-
ries, so you’re better off without him. Not that you
ever needed a thing from him anyway.”
“No, not a thing,” Audra agreed, an ugly sarcasm
taking over her tone. “After all, we always had you.”
From her mother’s silence, Audra suspected the
woman understood fully the implications of that
comment, that she could feel Audra’s resentments,
longstanding and desperate, flowing toward her in
the silence between them.
“You need to lose some weight. Do something
with yourself,” her mother said in a nasty, hasty
voice, giving back as good as she was getting. “Then
you’ll stop focusing on this crazy mess.” She dried
the sparkling plate herself, pulled the plug and re-
leased the water from the sink with an air of rushed
finality. “Make yourself useful and go put your sis-
ter’s child to bed,” she told Audra abruptly. “We
promised to take care of my baby’s baby until she
comes home from the war, and I ain’t lettin’ this
DIARY OF AN UGLY DUCKLING
23
trash you’re talking keep you from doing your
part.” Then, with a swish of her new hairdo, she fled
the room and Audra heard her bedroom door slam,
locking Audra, and further conversation, out.
“This one.”
Six-year-old Kiana handed Audra a thin story-
book, its paper cover vividly illustrated, and then
climbed into Audra’s lap with a proprietary cer-
tainty that only a niece who’d enjoyed a young life-
time of considerable doting and spoiling could
manage. “Read it with the voices, Auntie A. Can
you do it with the voices?”
“You bet I can do it with the voices,” Audra told
her, letting the little girl snuggle tight against her
ample chest. Kiana didn’t seem to mind how tight
her sweatshirt was or how her thighs spread across
the surface of the old rocking chair. Audra breathed
deeply, letting the girl smell
