Where We Stand

2 | Lost in You

Chapter 2

Sunday. One day before I go back to school. I sat atop a round stool, propping my elbows on the tabletop. I’d managed to avoid Aiden for four days, going as far as ignoring his calls. It was for the best. At least, on my part.

I watched Sarah lather Nutella on a slice of bread with a spoon, splotches of brown cream spattering on the plate. That stuff was addictive and very very delicious.

“That’s enough,” I said to her.

“I want more!” She frowned, her adorable six-year-old face failing to look intimidating.

“Listen to your sister,” Ma said.

Sarah closed the jar.

Ma was washing the dishes, the steady trickle of running water muffling the voice of the radio presenter. Reaching for the miniature stereo, I pushed down a red button, shutting it off. I opened the box I'd been trying to ignore, stuffing it with Sarah’s discarded toys. I rolled out a rope, measured it and took a knife to severe it.

“Where’s Daddy? You said he’d come for Christmas and New Year, Mommy.”

The knife slipped from my grip, cutting my thumb. I let the rope drop to the table. Droplets of blood squeezed out of the small cut on my finger but I paid no attention to it.

“I want Daddy!”

Drawing in a sharp breath, I reached for a piece of tissue paper from the holder. I pressed it on my thumb, watching the blood seep into the material. Ma stood frozen, shoulders held straight, knuckles white on the sink top. Water gushed from the tap, spraying on the dishes.

Sarah looked at my mother, her blonde pigtails swinging. “Mommy?”

I wanted to say something, anything to divert Sarah's attention. Biting my lower lip, I took a scoop of the hazelnut chocolate spread and smudged it on her nose. Blue eyes glared at me, the same color as my own. The same as Dad’s.

“Meanie!” Sarah said.

I stuck out my tongue, pulled my earlobes and made funny faces at her. She giggled, the gentle sound of her laughter easing the heavy weight off my shoulders. I reached for her bread, intent on stealing it but she slapped my hand away.

Ma awoke from her stupor. She wiped her hands with a towel, knelt down before Sarah and said, “Daddy will come home, sweetie.”

Sarah’s face lit up. “Promise?”

“I promise.”

Abandoning the box, I strode out of the kitchen, shutting the door with a slam. I sat on the porch swing. I could feel the sting of tears blurring my vision. I held them back, refusing to give in. The soft tread of my mother brought my head up.

“Megan, we need to —”

“I don’t want to talk about this, Ma.”

I went back inside, rushing past the stairs and stomping into my room. The trace of a flowery fragrance wafted to my nose. Jasmine. Ma had placed the little flowers on my nightstand as she often did in the mornings.

I let out a sigh. Guilt nagged at my mind, biting and clawing like a lion feasting on its prey. Ma was taking the worst of it—the full brunt of the blade. I should have been nicer. Slumping on my bed, I picked up a jasmine. I twirled it between my fingers. One delicate petal swooped down the quilt. It looked so fragile. So alone.

Raucous laughter filled the room. That was Aiden’s doing. He liked to change my message tone whenever I left my phone unguarded. He’d once put a farting tone during lunch break. I had gone to the library that afternoon and when a friend had texted me, it had rung so loudly that everyone in the library had heard it. I hadn't just faced public embarrassment on that day. I'd also been kicked out of the library all thanks to him. This one reminded me of a laughing rat that had been too clever to get fooled by a cheese trap.