Unfinished Business

CHAPTER 12: WE CONSUME UNGODLY AMOUNTS OF BLUE BUTTERCREAM FROSTING

It was easy to get lost in the comfort of being here. Despite the impending doom that was threatening me like an overbearing math teacher, I found that I was genuinely enjoying myself. It was like a sleepover at the house of a girl I don't particularly like, but whose family was kind and accepting of my presence. It had only been one day, but I already could already see how someone could call this haunted house their home. I wished I could do the same. God, I wished I could. It was a bit too soon for that, though.

The cupcakes that Mrs. Lamartine made were neatly arranged on a plate in the middle of the table. A ceramic depiction of an Italian countryside (with a river, intricate trees, and architecture full of arches and columns) was rendered in blue glaze like one of those old Spode Blue Italian patterns. The cupcakes were vanilla, or maybe angel food cake, with thick blue cream cheese frosting and three different types of sprinkles. Cyan sugar, red quins, and striking rainbow jimmies mixed, mingled, glittered, and shone under the old-fashioned electric chandelier hanging over the kitchen table. The kitchen floor was carpeted, but I didn't even mind.

Mrs. Lamartine presented the baked treats with a smile that was so contagious that I couldn't help but smile. I wasn't the only one. It was like the room was full of sunshine.

Even so, I was on edge. This was a kind of home life I wasn't used to. I wanted to observe, to know what was socially acceptable. I waited until someone else took a cupcake to take mine; I watched Rosie hand one to sweet little Piper before taking one for herself.

It became increasingly obvious that Piper was the star of the show, here. She was the darling daughter and younger sister of this mismatched, cobbled-together family. Watching her lick frosting from the cupcake in a way that made everyone laugh made me feel homesick for the people I left behind in a way I knew was slightly irrational. Mom never looked at Naomi the way that Mrs. Lamartine was looking at Piper. Mom never looked at any of us with love and adoration in her eyes.

It was Naomi that occupied my mind, though. She used to be so sloppy when she was eating. We had a running joke about her getting spaghetti sauce behind her ear and chunks of brownie on her eyebrow. My stomach turned as I thought about her and I held my cupcake in my hands, fully intending to save it for later, but knowing I should eat it now. Was this it? Was I never going to see my sister again? Even worse, was she going to have to live with the fact that I was as gone as I could be from her life? Was I never going to get to say goodbye to her?

Cash could deal. I knew he could. He didn't cry when Grandpa died, and he didn't flinch when someone he knew from the wrestling team succumbed to a dual dose of an undiagnosed eating disorder and untreated mental illness and killed himself. Cash was strong. He could take it. But what about Naomi? And, hell-- could Cash take it? Maybe I didn't miss my parents, and they didn't miss because they didn't really know me, but--

No, shit, I knew them, too. Weren't there good times? Couldn't I remember laughter? Couldn't I remember good times, between all the horrific things burned into my memory? What happened in the days between my father hitting me with a chair and my mother making me lock myself in my room while she left the house? Surely there had been board games or movie nights. It hadn't all been doom and gloom.

At the very least, I would miss my siblings. And I didn't know what I was supposed to do about that.

I started looking for something to take my mind off of what (and who) I had left behind. I focused on the wallpaper first, on its vibrant panorama view of a stylized version of the Wasatch Front, only with more lemons and black-and-white designs. What caught my eye, though, and drew me over from the corner of my vision, was Rosie's dress. The fabric was clearly cotton or linen or something like that. The pattern was throwing me for a loop, though. I shook my head and looked again. The loudest florals and biggest black circles I had ever seen were screaming at me like a neon sign on the freeway. That definitely wasn't what she was wearing yesterday.