Money.
But I can’t just ask a stranger for money. Least of all my own sister’s boyfriend, who I hardly know. Just this posh guy Sam fell in love with, all bright smiles and expensive jackets. Untouched by reality, or any of the things dragging us down. In other words, he’s clean. Comfortable.
I swallow, feeling the weight of the hunger in my bones. That gnawing emptiness inside me that never quite goes away anymore. Sometimes, I just gettired. Tired of living like this.
But I’ve become an expert at hiding it, concealing the depth of my exhaustion, and the extent of my hunger.
Ever since our father passed, it’s become almost natural.
I close my eyes, trying to block out Naomi’s stare, the almost empty fridge, and the overwhelming weight pressing down on my shoulders. Money. The word tastes bitter even as I say it in my head, like something I’ve bitten down on too hard. I can feel it with every breath, scraping against my ribs. And it’s not just money we need. It’s food. Heat. It’s survival.
“Okay,” I murmur, hating the way it sounds like defeat. “Fine. I’ll just call Sam. See how it goes.”
Naomi looks relieved, but her relief makes my stomach churn. This isn’t what I wanted to do. Not for me, not for her, and definitely not for Sam. But the ache is there, and it’s relentless, and it doesn’t care about pride. Doesn’t care about dignity. And as I pull out my phone, scrolling to Sam’s name, I remind myself of that hollow in my stomach.
This is what it’s come to, I think. Money. I guess you’ll do anything when you’re starving.
***
The phone rings for so long that I almost think she’s ignored me, and then finally, it clicks. “Hello?” It’s a voice I don’t recognize, deep and calm, with a smoothness I wouldn’t expect from my older sister. And the person I’m hearing now… well it’s a man. He sounds much older than Sam.
“Um, hi. Is Sam there?” I say, a bit thrown.
“Oh, sure. Hang on.” He doesn’t ask who I am, doesn’t pry. Just says, “Give me a sec.” He’s polite, almost gentle. I picture him with kind eyes and an easy smile—the sort of person who’s comfortable anywhere, who probably has a career, not just a job. Living not just surviving.
There’s a muffled exchange in the background, and then I hear a sharper, “Hello?” It’s Sam, with that faint edge in her voice, like I’m the last thing she expected on a Wednesday afternoon.
“Sam, hey,” I say, trying to sound as casual as possible. “It’s Adeline.”
“Oh. Addie! Hi.” There’s that brief pause before she recovers, like she’s adjusting to the fact that I’m actually calling her. Is it really so surprising that we want our sister? “Um, how are things?”
There’s no point pretending. She knows exactly how things are. “Not great,” I admit, trying to keep my tone steady. “Actually, that’s kind of why I’m calling. The boiler just broke,and we’re having trouble covering it…” The words hang there, heavy, and I let them sit, hoping they’ll sink in.
“Oh.” She sounds distracted, her voice softer now, but somewhere else entirely. “That sounds… yeah, that sounds rough.”
“I thought… I thought maybe, if you could help out, just this once…” I add, not feeling at all hopeful.
Sam’s silent for a moment, and I can hear Milo’s voice in the background. She lowers her voice, almost whispering, “It’s just… things are really tight for us right now, Addie. You know… we have things to do.”
“Yeah,” I say, even though I don’t know. I hesitate before asking, but the words slip out before I can stop them. “Are you… are you moving in with Milo?”
I didn’t want to ask. Didn’t want to have it come to this. But as much as I hate to admit it, we need her here. With us. Because without her… well frankly, I don’t think I can manage another job alongside college.
There’s a pause, and I can practically hear her gathering herself on the other end of the line. “Well… not exactly,” she says. “He’s just, you know, helping me out. I’m, um… looking for a job right now.”
I blink, confused. “But you already have a job, Sam.”
Another pause, longer this time. There’s a sharp inhalation on the other end of the line, and I wait, half-expecting her to brush it off, but she just says, “Yeah, well… I don’t work there anymore.”
She leaves it at that, and I conclude that I don’t even want to know. I know better than to push her. Yet there remains a small, insistent part of me that wonders what happened. With her job. Withher.
“Well… I guess I’ll see you soon?” I offer, forcing lightness into my voice that feels like it might crack, but I can’t affordfor that to happen. Because cracking means gathering the pieces again, and I’m too tired for that.
“Milo agreed to lend me some money in the meantime. I’ll be home soon,” she says before hanging up.
The line goes dead, leaving me standing there, holding the phone, feeling the quiet press in around me. I take a deep breath, my mind already stirring up more solutions. More ways to put food on the table. That seems to be my only thought these days. That, and finding a third job, because clearly two isn’t enough.
***
