Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 136743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
It’s the first thing I’ve heard from her all day. She’s been quiet in her room. Lottie climbed into bed with me in the middle of the night, like when she was younger and had a bad dream. Last night was a nightmare, and even as she tossed in her sleep, she was obviously shaken. Inez still hasn’t emerged. My tentative knock was met with a grunt and a sniffle, even though when I cracked the door open, she feigned sleep, huddling deeper under the covers. I get that. I want to hide, too, but that’s a luxury I don’t have.
I scribble milk on the pink pad in front of me on the dining room table, the practical task of making a grocery list temporarily distracting me from the disaster of our life. I know there are digital notes, apps and things for lists now, but there’s something grounding about pen to paper, seeing my handwriting that looks so much like my mother’s on the page. She used to pin a scrap of paper—electric bill, junk mail, whatever—to the fridge, and my sisters and I would add grocery items we needed as we walked by.
Lola always wanted junk food. Twizzlers, Little Debbie Fudge Rounds, Doritos.
Nayeli was all about the health even then. Grapes, cucumbers, plantains.
Me, I loved to bake. Vanilla extract, semisweet chocolate chips, a tub of Duncan Hines icing.
The urge to bake, to make something tickles my brain. Warms my heart. I know my girls’ favorite ooey-gooey brownies won’t make all this shit with Edward disappear, but they’re something they love. Something familiar that will give us, even if only for the few moments the taste touches our tongues, something to enjoy. I add cocoa, eggs, and vanilla to my list and start my Instacart order.
I woke up to a few news trucks parked outside. I cannot believe this is happening, but CalPot, despite its small pans and sometimes-flaky nonstick coating, is one of the premier cookware brands in the nation. One of its top executives embezzling six million dollars? Definitely newsworthy. With those buzzards circling overhead outside, I’m not leaving this house. Like Edward, we’re prisoners.
Still no word from him. All I know is that the arraignment isn’t today, and that was courtesy of Brunson. Is Edward okay? Being treated well? Chief among my questions: What the hell is going on, and what has he done to put us in this situation? Anger at him, worry for him slosh anxiety in my belly, and I pace over to inspect the contents of the refrigerator.
I don’t usually let supplies get so low, but post-Christmas, things have been really hectic for the girls, and I’ve gotten pulled into committees at Harrington for several things, including a book drive to raise money for the charitable causes the school supports.
As the daughter of two librarians, I’ve always found books a solace. With each child, each new responsibility, each new level of adulting, my reading seems to have suffered a little more. For birthdays and holidays we received whatever we’d asked for, but my parents also included a book, prettily tied with ribbon.
A familiar ache nicks my heart. I miss my folks. My dad, a ginger with freckles and a gangly frame, couldn’t have been more different from Mami’s first love, Lola’s father, Brayden, but he was what she needed, and I know she loved him. Lola now lives in the South Carolina house where we grew up, but when we cleaned out Mami’s room after the funeral, I found a few scraps of timeworn, faded paper tucked into a shoebox at the back of my mother’s closet. Poetry she’d written for Bray. About him.
Your skin is summer night and your kiss is all I want.
That line is burned into my brain. At the time, I tried to imagine Edward writing something like that to me, or even me writing something like that about him.
I couldn’t.
Edward.
Shit.
This walk through memories makes me miss Mami, which happens all the time even though she has been gone for years. I still pick up the phone to call her when something good happens. And for the bad things too. I started dialing our old home number last night, only to remember Mami’s gone.
But my sisters are still here.
I fire off a group text so I can catch them up.
Me: Hey! I need to tell you both something. It’s important. Can we FaceTime?
Lola: Is it bad? What happened?
Nayeli: Lemme put the babies down.
My little sister, Nayeli, had six kids in eleven years. She went through a heavily Catholic phase and decided to “trust the Lord” to give them His will. Needless to say, she now has an IUD. Lola says she may have kids one day, but maybe not the traditional way. Since her “bi awakening,” she’s not sure when or if she’ll want the dick again.