Queen of Nothing

22. I don't feel sorry for you

I avoided Milo as best as I could, despite his efforts to reach out to me. He sent exactly two texts, 

M: How are you doing? 

M: Do you want to talk? 

And soon after, he abandoned the cause entirely, which also gripped me with panic. Had Cole spoken to him about...the other night? About how I was only too willing to hook up with my ex-boyfriend, who coincidentally happened to be Milo's stepbrother? 

I had beat myself up over the action constantly, and had only found pause in the moments I'd spent with Gia. A shaky sense of peace settled over the pair of us, as we found ways to coexist as best as we could. 

I had kept telling myself that she wasn't here to stay, that she would leave me again to fend for myself, and yet the part of me that needed my big sister almost sobbed in relief each time I laid eyes on her. 

I bounded downstairs, about to make a morning cup of coffee to see Gia seated at the table already, with two plates of eggs and coffee. The empty place setting beckoned at me, but I knew not to trust it. 

"What is this?" I inquired, scrambling to get my shoes on. 

"Breakfast," she offered, with a small shake of her shoulders. The look in her eyes seemed so small and timid as if she were worried that I would use the opportunity to last out at her. The truth, however, was much simpler. I was just running late for school. 

"I can't eat," I lamented, before tying the last lace tightly, "I have to run. Student council meeting in fifteen minutes, and frankly I can't fly through traffic." 

Her eyes turned big and sad, pulling at my heartstrings. 

"You can't sit for five minutes?" 

An irrational fear gripped at me, that if I left without eating with her it would be the last time I'd see her again. I no longer knew what made her sensitive, what made her happy and what would make her flee. It all felt like a graveyard of eggshells, placed as disguises for bombs. One wrong step and I was worried she would leave and never look back. 

That part of me huffed, "Fine. But only five minutes." 

I took a seat next to her and wolfed down the eggs with a renewed sense of appreciation. I was never a big cook, having found ways to get by with meals at Casa Nova's or bagged salads most of the time. If I needed a homecooked meal, I would trot over to Katie's house whose mother would serve up all kinds of big dinners. From pho to Korean tacos to chicken tikka masala, Mrs. Turner was a chef extraordinaire, and I was all too eager to be her taster. 

But the eggs in front of me were soft and fluffy, with some time of really fragrant butter that put the store bought kind to shame. The bacon was crispy, the coffee was perfect. I gave her a suspicious look as I sipped it, "When did you learn how to cook?"

"This restaurant in New Orleans. I can also make a mean seafood boil if you're up for it." 

I shrugged, "We'll see," before chugging the rest of the coffee and grabbing my backpack again. "Was that all?"

She looked hopeful, "Well, I was thinking we could maybe go shopping later this week? I can buy you some new pants, or something." 

"I have plenty of pants," I snapped, surprised at how harsh I sounded. If she thought that a pair of pants and some breakfast could make up for bailing on our family, then she had another thing coming. But then, her shoulders turned downwards in tandem with her face. The sight softened something in me, until I relented. "But I could always use some new makeup." 

She brightened almost immediately, before nodding, "It's a date. Saturday?" 

Will you even be here till then?