“Must be nice,” I mutter, plopping onto the ottoman facing Mom.
Mom clucks at me. “Now, now, Ginger. They’re trying to be helpful in the way they know how.”
I rudely speak through a mouthful of food as I house my sandwich before heading back to work. “They know how to work on the farm. They just don’t want to.”
“Maybe they don’t want to be told they’re doing everything wrong,” Mom says, with what’s left of her wispy eyebrows arched at me.
“Fair,” I say.
“Don’t talk with your mouth full, baby.”
“Sorry.”
What I don’t say is that I’m actually salty that May and Thomas still have friends in the area. What I don’t say is that Thomas and May have been talking about selling the farm. No way I’m delivering that news to Mom myself if they haven’t already broached the subject. Let them be the bearer of bad news. Better yet, I’ll do everything in my power to stop it from happening.
I kiss my mom on top of her bald head before finding her knit cap, and remind her I’ll be working late tonight.
Work is brisk, but not brisk enough, in my experience.
Dad and I sell a number of trees today after the reserved ones get picked up. But I can tell that a few people are put off by thequality of the free hot cocoa, by the fact that they have to wait for the horse-drawn wagon ride through the woods, and by the lack of personalized ornaments available to make at the craft shack.
I’m too proud to explain to the customers that we’ve had to cut back on things because of Mom’s medical bills, on top of everything else.
At the end of the day, our income is not enough to cover our monthly expenses. There was a time when the first day after Thanksgiving would cover everything for the season and turn enough of a profit that we could take a small family vacation to a cabin in the mountains. This year is not one of those years.
To the public, I maintain my smile. In private, I’m discouraged, and on top of that, I’m stewing about my siblings.
After closing the gate at 8 p.m., I trudge up to the house. There, I find Mom, Dad, May, and Thomas around the kitchen table, eating dessert and laughing about something.
I count my blessings when it becomes clear that the twins have already been put to bed.
“Oh hi, baby,” Mom says. “Come have some blueberry pie.”
I’m dirty, surly, and I don’t feel like looking at my brother and sister right now, but I give Mom and Dad a smile. “Save it for my breakfast, will you? I’m gonna shower and do a little gaming before bed.”
“You need to eat,” Dad calls after me as I trudge down the stairs to the basement apartment.
The siblings chatter about me, but I try to ignore it. The last thing I hear before I turn on the shower just off my room is May saying something about “her online boyfriend…probably a weirdo who lives in his mother’s basement.”
“If the shoe fits,” I think Thomas says.
“You two knock it off,” Mom scolds.
“She works hard,” Dad says, his gravelly voice carrying downstairs. “I don’t care what she does online. She’s a good girl.Besides, she’s the only one who will listen to my granddad’s stories about little green men…”
The rest of the family groans at yet another story about our great-grandfather supposedly having been abducted by aliens.
I smile.
Once I’m finished with my shower, I sit down and fire up my gaming computer, turn on my electric kettle to make some instant cider, and grab my favorite blanket.
I log into Deadsky: Survival and within minutes, I’m in my happy place, looking for Grak.
Chapter Four
Grak
Everyone leaves me alone after the Christmas parade, which is just as well.
