Autumn Henningsen lives and breathes music. Just like her father, and his father before him, she has dreams to be a star.
But those dreams won't happen if she stays in Gullwitch Cove, LA, a small town with a population of about 1000. Nothing ever h...
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Autumn
"Hey, Em?" I call from the living room couch. The sound of sizzling onions fills the small room, and my stomach growls.
"Autumn?" Emery replies, yelling over the loud grinding noise of the blender. I get up off the couch and join her in the kitchen, grabbing a peeler and a bag of potatoes. Cooking was always therapeutic to me. I would have a horrible day and I would walk into the kitchen, nose alight with the smell of spices and something cooking. I would grab vegetables to cut or spices to measure out and I would get to work.
It got to the point where I would start to cook obsessive amounts of food for us. I became good at cooking quickly, but music was still my passion.
After all, I am a Henningsen. Music is in my blood.
"We might need a new blender," Emery sighs, unplugging our old blender and putting it back up in our weathered cabinet, "This one is getting old."
I nod, not taking my eyes off the potatoes. I place them down and grab some salt from the counter. "Can I ask you something?" I say, putting down the peeler and massaging my sore hands.
"Of course you can." she replies, pulling her hands away from the oven, wincing as the heat touches her soft fingertips.
"Why haven't Mom or Dad reached out to us in the three years since we've been alone?" Emery freezes, fingers hovering just upon the oven knobs. Her eyes widen and she takes a deep breath.
"I don't know, Autumn," she sighs, tying her red hair back into a ponytail, "Mom tried at first, but Dad didn't even reach out."
"Why not?" I finish peeling and begin to dice the potatoes, dropping them into a bowl.
"They're both selfish people. Mom left for a Russian sabbatical as soon as she abandoned us and Dad has been having sex with every woman in the Tri-State area. They don't care about us." Emery sits down at the seat across from me, taking my hand. "You shouldn't hope for anything from him. From either of them."
"I know," I say.
"I know you know. And I know that you deserve real parents, not your older sister acting as a substitute for your real mother." She takes my hand. "I also know that you've been looking at that article."
I roll my eyes, smiling "How'd you know?"
"I'm your older sister. It's my job to know," She smiles sadly and moves over to the oven, stirring the pot with a large wooden spoon, "I wouldn't look at that article again if I were you. All it'll bring you is pain."
"That's pain that I'm willing to experience. I miss them, Em, even though they were terrible parents," I say, looking at my phone just as a text comes in.
