“I can’t eat that,” she says flatly, her tone so serious it’s almost funny.
I slam the box onto the wobbly kitchen table, the impact sending our plastic bowls and spoons clattering. The legs creak dangerously, and for a fleeting second, I wish the whole thing would collapse so that Gabriel would finally fix it permanently—or, better yet, so we could replace it with something that isn’t broken.
“Why not?” I say, exasperated.
Eden shrugs, brushing her soft, auburn hair over one shoulder.
“Red dye 40.”
Offuckingcourse. Another item to add to Eden’s ever-growing list of forbidden foods.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to keep my frustration in check and not say what I really want to, which is:this is all that we can afford right now!
Instead, I muster up my most soothing voice and say, “Eden, this is the only cereal we have until I go grocery shopping again next week. We don’t have anything else for you to eat for breakfast.”
She gives me a faint smile, like my irritation rolls off her without a care and she can’t sense how frustrated I am.
“That’s fine. I just won’t eat breakfast today.” She grabs her backpack and slings it over her shoulder before leaning down to give me a quick hug. “I love you, sis. I’ll see you after school. Oh, and I’m going to check the dormitory’s lost-and-found later. Maybe I can snag a table that we can fix up. This one’s totally busted.”
No shit.
Her nonchalance is almost admirable. Oh, to be young again without any worries.
I don’t say anything as I watch her head out the door, earbuds already in, backpack slung over one shoulder like she’s got the whole world figured out. I hope she does. At least one of the Carpenter’s should. The train ride from our small town inConnecticut to NYU will take nearly two hours, but she doesn’t seem to care that she’s doing it on an empty stomach.
Eden’s in her freshman year, studying interior design with big dreams of building her own furniture line one day. And even though she swears she’s happy—I’ve heard it enough times to believe she means it—I still can’t help second-guessing everything I do.
Every choice I make feels like it could be the one that tips the scale between success and failure for her. And today, my latest excuse for self-doubt in this wholebig-sister-slash-substitute-parentexperiment comes in the form of accidentally buying food on her forbidden list.
I pour myself a bowl of the cereal she refuses to eat, the bright colors swirling into the milk creating a muted rainbow of lost hope and wasted money. As I shovel a spoonful into my mouth, I laugh at the absurdity of what’s become my life and the things that I now care about.
There’s only a nine-year age gap between Eden and me, but most days, I feel more like her mother than her older sister. It’s been that way since our brother Gabriel, and I became her guardians immediately after our parents passed away unexpectedly seven years ago. And though it’s come with its challenges, I wouldn’t want anyone else stepping into that role for her but us.
I shovel another spoonful of cereal into my mouth and read the back of the off-brand cereal box. This company is so desperate for loyal buyers, it includes a fortune for you to read each day of the week. And if it takes you more than a week to eat it, you get the same fortune every Monday.
My eyes scan to Wednesday where I read what my poisonous cereal full of red dye 40 has in store for me today:
‘A new business opportunity will find its way to you soon,’is printed in bold lettering.
I shove the box aside with a sharp scoff. The absolute lastthing that I need right now is another job to add to my packed schedule.
I’m already juggling multiple part-time gigs just to keep the lights on in our childhood home, pay the mortgage, and cover most of Eden’s college tuition so that she can graduate debt free. Our older brother Gabriel’s recent uptick in construction work for the city has allowed me to scale back on my hours at the swanky Manhattan hotel I clean part time, but I’m still stretched impossibly thin most days.
Sure, I’ve always found a strange comfort in keeping my schedule full. It feels good to contribute, to know that Eden will graduate with no student loan debt, and a childhood full of memories, but even I have a limit. I barely have a sliver of time for myself, let alone any sort of social life.
The last time I let loose and did something fun was seven months ago when I met up with Leo in NYC for my birthday and had a wild, one night stand with a stranger.
Adding a fifth job to the chaos? Not happening.
Gabriel enters the kitchen while I’m rinsing out my bowl, watching with humor at the neon colors filling the sink drain.
“It looks like a troll threw up in there.”
I snort. “Red dye number 40, apparently.”
His brows raise like he has no idea what I’m talking about and to be fair, the guy eats frozen waffles and pop tarts for breakfast most mornings.
“Did Eden already leave for school?”
