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Chapter Ten
Sage
There had been no thoughts, just feelings, when I asked Noah to do something after work. I hadn't even had an idea of what she liked to do besides art. Hell, I didn't even know what I liked to do. So, when she started asking questions, the idea of us outside of Harpy's four walls was too blurry to make out.
Besides, my company was better in doses. If Noah thought she hated me now, she would enter a whole other realm of loathing after we spent more time together. And yet, something in me wanted more of her, to see her sitting across from me at a diner or feel her behind me on my bike. No matter how much I tried to push those images away, they continued to resurface. Each time they came back, it was with vengeance. My imaginings of her became so fleshed out, I could smell her perfume. I could feel her cheek against my hand, her lips pressed against mine.
I needed something to ground me, bring me back to Earth and remind me of who I was. The perfect thing to do that would always be family.
Ash still hadn't deposited the money back into our account, and Mom had a physical therapy appointment earlier today. There would be plenty of discussion points to talk about outside of my absence.
Our current family home was a one-story building with a patch of grass the size of a Barbie Jeep out front. The rest of the yard was soft dirt, dug out by a neighborhood dog Mom liked to feed every morning. The house was surrounded by a rusting chain link fence, most of which was falling apart due to a hurricane a few years back. As per usual, the driveway was full, Dad's old Mazda under the carport. The thing hadn't worked in years, but no one stopped being lazy long enough to get it towed. TJ and Mom's cars were squeezed onto the gravel, back-to-back, bumpers kissing.
I pushed my bike next to the side door, too familiar with this neighborhood to trust it'd be safe on the side of the road. The kitchen smelt like collard greens and ham when I walked in, a group of men yelling at the TV in the living room. I nearly walked out—college football night was enough to sober anyone up.
"Sage," Mom's whispery voice greeted. She'd spotted me from the end of the hall, and one of her hands gripped her cane while the other one held a stack of shoe boxes.
"Hey." I dropped my bag on the floor, hurrying over to relieve her of the boxes. "What are you doing? Are you allowed to carry these kinds of things? Where's TJ?"
She laughed. "Girl, you've been here all of two seconds and already trying to micromanage?"
I shrugged. Though she was teasing, there was a clear relaxation of her shoulders. Her grip on her cane readjusted, knuckles no longer strained from clutching.
"Are you going to answer my questions?" I asked.
"Nope." She gestured her cane toward her room. "Go on, put those down in there. I need to keep moving before I lose my energy."
"What are you doing?" I followed her instructions, placing the boxes at the bottom of her bed with dozens of others. "Aren't these Ash and TJ's shoes?"
"I'm tired of looking at the mess." Her voice faded as she disappeared back into my brothers' room. I followed, eyes going wide when I entered.
I hadn't been home in months, hadn't been in their room for close to a year. There was crap everywhere—boxes of clothes, shoes, old games. Most were shoved into the walk-in closet, since the two had somehow convinced our parents to let them have the master, a feat I would never even dream of trying to conquer being the eldest and having it drilled into me that everyone had their place. That was the weird thing about younger siblings: they always seem so much braver. Plus, the mom and dad I knew growing up didn't match the one they got.
My stomach buzzed with anxiety as I tried to figure out how to solve Mom's problem. It shouldn't be her job at all to clean up after her grown sons, but here we were.
"Mom," I complained when she made a stack of boxes almost as tall as herself. I'd gotten all my height from Dad; Mom was barely five feet on a good day. "You can't do that."
"I have been doing it for hours," she argued with a smile. She looked so pleased with herself, my heart squeezed.
Mom's car accident should have been fatal, according to the doctors. I remember holding Ash and TJ’s hands as the doctor explained it to me. It'd been storming, like some melodramatic, evening soap opera. Dad was nowhere to be found, lost in some bottle in some bar that hadn’t banned him downtown. I was the oldest, the only next of kin available to receive and process updates. I'd been eleven. The doctor raised a brow at that, but I’d asked him to be honest with me about the details. He explained everything, even the hard bits, like her crushed foot and ripped earlobes.
Something familiar and cold started to build in me. "Did you ask Dad to help you with this?"
Mom shook her head. "He and TJ have been waiting on me hand and foot since…"
She paused. Her smile was still intact, but I could tell from the slight change in her eyes she felt she might have made a misstep.
Since I left and wasn't there to do it is what she'd been about to say. Since I fell off the face of the Earth for a month, lost in my own thoughts and Noah's comic. Once I reappeared, I had a newfound determination to keep my distance—I couldn't breathe before, and that struggle was slowly returning. My chest felt tight as I tried to suck in oxygen that didn't feel like it was there.
"I wanted to do something on my own," she repeated softly. "At least for a little bit."
I nodded, only half grateful she avoided what we both were thinking. "So, the thing you choose to do on your own isn't something fun, like watching a trashy drama? It's cleaning your twenty-something sons' bedroom? Or, let's not forget, cooking dinner."
Mom's eyes widened. "Oh, my God! I did forget. I have pie and cornbread in the oven."
She hobbled past me with a tiny yelp. I followed her, after picking up the boxes she'd been stacking. Mom buzzed around the kitchen as much as she physically could.
"Tell me what to do," I said when she scrambled to turn off three burners and unload two pie pans from the oven.
