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As if I didn’t know. Eighteen years without a single date. It’s hard to fathom.
“You could,” I say.
I didn’t think it was possible, but her expression tightens.
“I have to get to work. Thanks for stopping by,” she says. She stands up and walks out of the room without a second glance.
Since my father left, every time I bring up a topic that isn’t to her liking, she simply turns away, physically and emotionally. I ought to be used to it and it definitely shouldn’t still hurt, but I’m not and it does.
I’m pretty sure that when she looks at me, she sees him. My father and I share the same pale grey eyes and thin physique. But it isn’t just our physical features that align, our personalities do, too. Our love of books. Our passion for learning. Our comfort in not being the center of attention.
She loves me because I’m her daughter, but she hates me because I’m his.
FIVE
SLATER
My sleep is disturbed by incessant knocking. I pull a pillow over my head to try to muffle the noise.
It’s no use. The sound is getting louder. I roll over and glare at the clock.
It takes me a moment to register the time. Ellie is supposed to be arriving at ten and it’s nine forty-five.
I groan. Our first encounter started in exactly this fashion. I roll out of bed, grab a pair of shorts from the floor and a clean shirt from a drawer.
At least I’m not answering the door in a dirty shirt. Been there. Done that.
I yank the door open and peer into Ellie’s smiling face. She looks the same as last time. Winter galoshes. Puffy jacket. Pom-pom hat. The only thing different is her hair. Instead of a low ponytail, it’s hanging in two loose braids. It’s the exact hairstyle my twin sister, Celeste, wore on picture day when we were in kindergarten.
Her eyes narrow as she sweeps past me.
“You were asleep?” she asks as soon as I shut the door.
“You’re early.”
“Fifteen minutes isn’t early.”
She’d do well in the locker room. Coaches love players who show up early, eager to work. Most of the time I’m that kind of player, too, but this is my vacation, and I haven’t been sleeping well.
“If you’d gotten here ten minutes later, I would’ve already had a shower.” It’s a total lie, but she doesn’t call me on it.
“Don’t let me stop you.” I start to walk away and she adds, “I’ll make breakfast.”
Nine minutes later, I breeze into the main room feeling decidedly smug. It may be a small thing, but at least I proved I can shower and be ready in less than ten minutes.
With a quick glance, I notice my living room is once again spotless. I mean, it’s only been three days, and I’ve been trying to throw away my trash. I don’t know how she does it, because I don’t think I have a single cleaning supply in the whole place, and yet, it smells a bit lemony.
Three dirty shirts are sitting on the back of the couch, perfectly folded. Apparently, the urge to throw them in the laundry only beckons after she’s taken care of them. I try to ignore their folded glory as I turn toward the kitchen.
She managed to clean up and cook me breakfast while all I managed was a shower. Her efficiency is a bit annoying.
She grins at me as she dumps eggs on a plate. She’s already placed some perfectly toasted bread on a smaller plate. Next to that is a bowl of yogurt complete with mixed berries and granola.
Instead of sharing the meal with me, she leans against the counter. I try to ignore her piercing gaze as I start eating. The eggs taste like magic. I’m still not completely sure why she’s here, but between her cleaning skills and her food preparation, I wonder if I should be paying her.
“What do you want to do today?” she asks.
I almost choke on my food. When she told me she’d stop by on Monday, I agreed without considering anything other than the fact that I was happy she was going to come back.
