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“Um…” He thought, placing a small finger against his lips. “The Lion King!”
I grabbed the Disney book and climbed into his bed, leaving room for Ivy on my other side.
She came into the room a few minutes later.
“Ivy,” I groaned at the wet stringy pieces of hair framing her face. “You didn’t brush your hair!”
“But it hurts!” She argued.
I sighed, slipping out of the bed even though it felt so good to rest my tired body. I grabbed the detangler and a comb from the bathroom.
Sitting down on the floor of the bedroom, I motioned with my hand for Ivy to sit in front of me.
After a moment of hesitation, she reluctantly took the spot.
“You have to brush your hair or it will only get more knotted,” I told her, spraying her damp hair with the detangling solution. “I hate brushing my hair too,” I worked the comb through the ends.
“You do?” She sounded surprised. “But your hair is so pretty and long, Row.”
“I like it long,” I shrugged, trying not to pull her hair, “but brushing it is a pain.”
“Ow!” She grabbed her head when I brushed through a knotted strand.
“Sorry,” I told her, kissing the spot in apology. “Better now?”
“A little.”
“There,” I patted her back when I was done. “See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”
“No,” she admitted reluctantly.
I returned the comb and detangler to their spots in the bathroom, before climbing back into the bed to read their story.
When I finished reading the story, Tristan looked up at me with wide eyes and Ivy snuggled closer to my side.
“Row,” Tristan started, “I wish you were my mommy.”
His words turned my stomach inside out. Both he and Ivy deserved better than my deadbeat mom, but they also deserved more than me.
“Why?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Because,” he shrugged his small shoulders, “you do everything for me.”
Even at five years old, Tristan was aware that our mother did nothing. It broke my heart that he and Ivy had to grow up with this. But I had too, and I didn’t have anyone to look after me. That’s why I did what I could for them.
“I love you, Tristan,” I kissed his forehead. “Love you, Ivy,” I kissed hers as well. “Goodnight.”
“Night, Row,” Ivy scurried over to her bed on the other side of the room.
I hugged Tristan and I slipped out of the bed. I hugged Ivy too and closed their bedroom door behind me.
I leaned my head against the closed door. I was so exhausted, but I needed to shower and I had homework to finish since I hadn’t done it at the library. Trent had ruined my whole evening. Why couldn’t he leave me alone?
Choosing not to waste my energy dwelling on it, I pushed myself forward and into my room. It wasn’t much of a room to be honest. It was more like a closet. My full size bed took up most of the space and the closet door was always open because it was impossible to close it. The walls were painted a bright aqua blue and the bedspread was purple. It was nothing special, but it was mine and that’s what mattered to me. I grabbed a pair of loose sweatpants and a sleep shirt.
I showered as quickly as I could, but took more time than I meant to because the hot water felt so good on my tense muscles. I never seemed to relax.
Before I headed into my room for the night I checked on my mom. She was still passed out on the couch. I hated her so much, but she was my mom, and nothing could change that. I watched her for a few minutes, noticing the steady rise and fall of her chest. I wondered how someone that drank so much was able to breathe like a normal person. It seemed like her breaths should falter or something. I wanted to yell and scream at her to get off her lazy ass and be a mom. But I knew that was pointless. I’d yelled and screamed at her more times than I could count and it never did any good. It usually resulted in me getting slapped in the face.
