"if you ever wondered what it was like to grow up as the kids to a real life final girl, we'll tell you now. it sucks."
in which jennifer roberts' kids learn what it really means to be a part of the family. it means you'll never know true safety, es...
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SEPTEMBER should be a good month. It's the time of year when the weather's perfect (no thanks to global warming), and the excitement of back to school begins.
It's a month of new beginnings. That is unless you are a part of the Roberts-Hoss family. Then it's just a sick reminder of your dead mom or wife, and the damning legacy she left to you.
Grief is a weird thing, the kids realized. One second, you're crying at your mom's funeral wishing she'd just come back, the next you're practically a machine, trying to keep every last detail of your life in perfect order.
Or maybe you become the opposite, finding comfort in the chaos, in the most dangerous things life has to offer.
Or maybe you just become numb to any and all feelings, even the good ones. Especially the good ones.
Some days felt like walking through life with a missing limb, others felt like maybe things might just be okay again.
And none of the good days ever fell in September.
"Morning," Jamie yawns, walking in the kitchen groggily.
Her feet drag on the ground, making that noise that drove her sister insane. So much so, that she didn't even have to say a word before Jamie rolls her eyes, apologizing.
"Long night?" Alex turns to her, the loose bun on her head moving as she does, dropping a few curls into her face.
"English paper," she nods, filling up a comically big mug of coffee. "Jane Eyre."
"Coffee doesn't replace sleep," Alex teases, flipping another pancake onto a plate of bacon. "Here."
Hazel eyes flicker down to the breakfast Alex was holding out, a small smile crossing Jamie's face. "Banana pancakes with a side of bacon."
"Mom's favorite," Alex quirks an eyebrow, quickly returning to the batter.
She carefully ladles it into a pan, making sure not to spill it on the counters as she does.
"Yup, which reminds me, Eli is picking up the flowers for the dining table, so I told him to grab that poster board you needed for class."
"I can pick up my own poster board," she snorts, taking a bite, and humming at the taste.
"Well, last time you said you were picking up school supplies, we got a call from the hospital," she remarks, passive-aggressively flipping the pancake.
"It was one time."
"Two times, actually," she scoffs.
"You do this all the time, I mean, like, do you think you're some holier than thou-" she prepares to argue, interrupted by Eli opening the front door.
