Total pages in book: 157
Estimated words: 150968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 755(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 150968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 755(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
Naomi hands her the scoop and motions for the woman to start digging, which she does gladly. She doesn’t refuse my sister. In fact, they are both so in tune with each other that they appear to be the perfect image of a mother and her daughter.
Her husband is just three feet away from them, his phone in his hand as he takes their pictures. He’s smiling, and there’s warmth in his eyes. I can see that he cares.
It fucking guts me.
This resemblance of a perfect family.
That’s my sister. And I’m forced to watch from here — the outsider in Naomi’s story.
“She is loved,” Diane finally says, after a while. “And she’s happy.”
But it’s not right. This can’t be right.
It’s not fair that they took her away from me. It’s not fair that my sister is happy with someone else, and I’m watching from afar. It’s not right that we can’t be together anymore.
It’s not right that she has a new family…
Because I am her family. Her only family.
It’s not fucking fair.
I have the bag of sliced white bread under my arm and a carton of milk in my hand as I push past the door. I couldn’t afford any eggs for this week. I guess we’ll just have to make do with bread and whatever butter we have left for now. I just have to make sure Naomi has food, and her belly is full before she goes to bed. That’s all that matters — even if it means that I have to starve so that she has enough.
“Naomi, I’m home,” I announce quietly, so as to let her know who’s entering the trailer. The place is dark, and I squint, trying to see where my sister is. Who turned off the lights?
I set the bread and mild on the table, and reach for the light switch. “Naomi?” I call out again.
The moment the lights are on, I hear a tiny hiccup. A mewling, muffled cry. A sound I’m familiar with. Swiveling toward the noise that’s coming from the mattress, I stalk closer.
My mother is there, on her side. Facing the wall. Her dark curly hair is a mess on her head, and I know she hasn’t brushed it for days. I’m not sure the last time she even got out of bed or took a shower. She eats in bed, barely speaks to Naomi or me, and just sleeps. If she’s not sleeping…She's drinking. If she’s not drinking, she’s yelling.
And if she’s not yelling at us…she’s fucking around somewhere.
My mother is asleep and I find Naomi cuddled close, right up against her body. She has her tiny arms around our mother’s waist and she clings to her. The tiny cries I heard before, came from Naomi.
I squat down next to the mattress. “Hey, princess.” She doesn’t lift her head like she usually does at the sound of my voice. It’s strange, but I don’t hang onto this little detail.
“I got us dinner,” I tell her softly. “How about a warm glass of milk before bed and we let Mommy sleep? I’ll read to you before we go to sleep. Come here, sweetheart.”
I go to grab Naomi and my arm brushes against my mother’s cold face. It’s late spring and the trailer is hot and humid. Sweat is dripping down my back, and my dampened shirt is plastered against my skin. Alarm bells ring in my ears at the feel of my mother’s cool flesh.
Anxiously, I pat her face, but she doesn’t even twitch.
“Mom?” My voice shakes. I don’t remember the last time I talked to her directly.
No…
I don’t remember the last time I called her, ‘mom.’
She hasn’t been my ‘mom’ for years. And I think she even stopped trying or caring at some point.
My fingers grip her shoulders, and I shake her. “Mom? Wake up.”
Naomi’s sniffling grows louder and she hiccups back another cry.
I shake my mom harder. But her flesh is so cold to the touch, this can’t be normal. She has no more warmth left in her body.
This…can’t…be happening.
“Mom!” I speak louder, my voice desperate. Chill runs down my spine and desperation courses through my veins. Fear locks itself inside me, clawing right under the surface.
But I can't’ lose my shit right now. I can’t. I have Naomi; I need to focus on her.
With shaky breaths, I reach forward and place my finger right under her nose. Waiting for any sign of life.
Hopelessly, I check her pulse. Even though I know it’s no use.
The only thing that’s left here is my mother’s cold, dead body.
I wait for the anguish or misery that I’m supposed to feel — but I feel nothing.
Grabbing Naomi, I try to detangle her from our mother. She clings harder, refusing to let go. “Naomi, let go.” My voice sounds unusually harsh, not like me at all. The world is spinning, but I still feel…nothing.