Chapter Four
Everly
It didn’t take long for my nightmare to come true. I stuffed a pillow over my head as tiny hands grabbed at my sheets and pulled them off. I groaned and flipped onto my stomach. That was my first mistake.
“Auntie!” Belle yelled as she climbed onto the bed and jumped on the very tiny space around me. Her knee landed on my ass, and she fell onto my back, but that didn’t stop her from picking herself back up and jumping toward my head. “Auntie! You’ve been sleeping forever!”
“No, I haven’t,” I moaned. There was no sleeping forever while living with the most annoying 3-year-old in the world. I’d asked her and her mother a million times not to barge in on me, but neither listened.
“But Mommy says you have,” she said, and I pushed her off of me, her small frame splaying across the bed as she giggled. I yawned big and slid out of bed.
“Oh, she did?” I pursed my lips, not entirely surprised. Lacey was always the judgmental sister. Belle began to climb off the bed, but I wrapped my blanket around her and rolled her up like a burrito. “Have fun getting out of that.” I joked and left my room as she giggled behind me. Hopefully that would buy some time before she came back for me.
A stack of pancakes and plate of bacon waited on the dining table as Lacey stood in the kitchen and prepared dinner using a crock pot and a pile of chicken breasts.
“Sending your spawn to wake me up? That’s low, Lacey,” I said and plopped down on the couch in the living room and pulled the small throw blanket across my lap.
“Getting your kids to do your dirty work is the best part of having them,” she called from the kitchen. “You’ll learn one day.”
“No, thank you.” I unlocked my phone and scrolled through my social media, barely reading the headlines of sensationalized news articles before flipping to the next one. “This world doesn’t need any more children,” I mumbled.
“What was that?” Lacey brought over a plate of freshly cooked pancakes and sat it on the table. Soft butter was slowly melting off the sides, and the fluffy cakes were bathed in a generous amount of sticky maple syrup. My stomach growled. “Are you nervous?”
“About what? My new job on Monday?” I cut into the pancakes and savored each delicious bite. “Not nervous. Excited. I’m just a lower cook, but it shouldn’t be too hard to move up the ladder. I’ll be head chef soon enough.” I’d already decided that the job was mine and my determination would pay off in the end.
“And then you’ll have time to find a man?” Lacey asked as Belle ran toward me. Her red curls bounced as she jumped on the couch and started pulling my arm.
“There’s toys in my room! Come play with me, please,” Belle yelled, and Lacey picked her up and sat her on the other side of the couch.
“Don’t crowd your auntie, and calm down. We’re having a conversation.” My sister’s tone told me I wasn’t the only one growing weary from Belle. She was full of energy, and I wondered if it was all the maple syrup. Lacey plopped down between us.
“I’ll have less time for men when I’m head chef,” I said. “Plus, I don’t want to find a man.” Just the idea made me roll my eyes. Why did it seem like finding a husband was more important than graduating?
“It doesn’t matter what you want.” Lacey struggled as Belle attempted to climb over her lap to get to me. “It just happens. Like I just so happened to run into this really good-looking guy while dropping Lacey off at daycare the other day. And he just so happened to ask for my number.” A sly smile spread across her lips.
“You know I hate bringing this up, Lace, but look at every woman in this family. What do they have in common?”
“Other than red hair and skin that burns too easily?” Lacey’s brow rose and then she giggled.
“Divorce.” I sighed. “I am literally the only woman in the family who isn’t divorced. You’re the only one who hasn’t been divorced twice. You might want to mention that to this new guy of yours.”
Lacey laughed. “I guess that’s something to be proud of.”
“It really isn’t,” I mumbled. “I don’t want that for myself. What’s the point in falling in love if it’s so easily broken?”
Our own father left Mom when Lacey was six. I barely remember him, just the faint memory of his cologne and how his dark hair stood up like a cockatoo in the early mornings. Mom was alone for barely a year before she met our stepfather, Greg, who ended up being an abusive asshole who cheated on her every weekend. He lasted a year. And then there was Mason, the last stepdad, who promised Mom the world and left her with herpes and debt. Our home was broken, and because of it, I too felt broken. I didn’t trust men not to ruin my life or leave me again.
“Because you’re left with something amazing.” Lacey smiled at Belle, who even I had to admit was being annoyingly cute as she snuck beneath our legs to steal the rest of my pancakes.
“Another kid growing up in a broken home,” I said, and immediately knew I had gone too far as Lacey tensed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. Belle is lucky; she has a family who loves her. And a mom who has time to raise her. But I don’t have that time; I have a career to focus on.”
“Is your career enough to make you happy?” Lacey asked. I considered that for a moment. Would years of running around a hot kitchen, blending ingredients and creating new recipes for people to try and critique, and yelling at the inexperienced cooks as they struggle to even boil the appropriate amount of water, make me happy? Yes, I realized. It would. Lacey shook her head and sighed.
“How about I make you some lunch?” I offered and set my plate in the sink.
“I did barely get a bite out of those pancakes.” Lacey admitted. I searched through the kitchen until I had all the ingredients for two chickpea sunflower sandwiches. I sliced through tomatoes, chopped up lettuce, and toasted sunflowers as Belle prepared the plates. She absolutely loved helping me cook, though it’d cost quite a few shattered dishes.
“Where are your chips?” I asked as I dug through a pantry.
“Damn it; I forgot to buy some.” Lacey’s phone began to ring.
“It’s okay; I can oven-roast some squash and make butternut chips.” I started prepping the oven, adjusting the racks and setting the temp and timers.
“Hey, Mom,” Lacey said, and I cursed. “Yeah. No. Sorry, I meant to call you back. Oh, you called her as well?” Lacey glanced at me. “No, she’s been up all morning.” I sighed and mouthed a ‘thanks.’ “Did you still want to talk to her?” Lacey asked Mom, and I shook my head and frantically waved my arms.
“No!” I whispered roughly, but Lacey smiled.
“Yeah, she’s right here. Here you go.”
I groaned and accepted the phone. Lacey, now free from the judgments of our mother, snickered at me as I turned toward the oven, wondering if my sister would fit if I took out the racks.
I covered the phone with a hand. “Don’t piss off the person making your food,” I said, and uncovered the phone. “Hello?” I answered as if I had no idea who was on the other line.
“I thought you started working already?” Mom asked. She clearly had no interest in small talk; going right for my jugular.
“I told you a million times, it starts Monday,” I said, while I sliced butternut squash.
“So what have you been doing this weekend?” she asked, and I glared at Lacey.
“I don’t know, Mom. Cooking? Getting ready for a job that starts in two days?” Lacey chuckled as she left the kitchen. “I had to get my uniform ready. I do have a life and things to do, Mother.”
“How much money are paying on your loans?” she asked, and I sat the knife down. I didn’t trust myself not to throw it. “If you’re only paying the minimum due, it won’t be paid off in your lifetime. You need to go to a financial adviser and see what they suggest. Maybe double or triple the amounts, whenever you get a real job.”
“This is a real job.” I raked my hand through my hair and let out a long breath of frustration. “Like, as in it’s an actual job that pays steadily.”
“You know what I meant,” Mom said. Her voice was so strained, I waited for a vocal cord to snap.
“Actually, I don’t,” I said, but she ignored me.
“Just because you’re not paying your sister rent doesn’t mean you can live there forever. You need a real job so you can pay your loans and get your own place. Poor Belle is going to think you’re her older sister.” I could hear another woman speaking in the background, asking Mom if she wanted a dark red or regular red. I wondered if she was getting her nails painted or her gray roots dyed.
“Are you getting a pedicure?” I asked. “And I’m pretty sure Belle knows I’m her aunt. She’s not that young, and she calls me Auntie.”
“Yes, I’m getting a pedicure. You won’t be able to afford one for a long time, though,” she said, and I smashed my forehead against the steel microwave. “But make sure you keep clipping your toenails anyway, and maybe try to find a brand of polish that won’t wash off with those awful shoes you insist on wearing.”
Lacey walked by the kitchen with a laundry hamper in her arms. I flipped her off as Mom continued her tirade against my entire wardrobe. Lacey smiled sweetly. She’d had her fair share of the same type of phone calls when she was my age, and I couldn’t imagine the calls the woman had given her during her divorce. I had no doubt that she hadn’t been as understanding as any other normal mother who’d gone through the same thing.
At least I’d never have a chance to be a horrible mother.