“I think we could all use some coffee,” I said, lacing my words with the frustration brewing underneath.
In the kitchen, I punched the coffee grinder to life, then snatched an apple and a knife. I needed something in my stomach. So would Jen, presumably. I sliced the fruit with a bit more force than necessary.
Mom came into the kitchen, closing a long, fluffy robe around her nightgown. “What’s wrong, honey?”
I jabbed upward as if to stab through the ceiling. “There's acribin my bedroom.”
“You mean Jen’s?”
“No, mine.” I tapped the dull side of the blade to my chest. “I’m not pregnant. I’m not the mom-to-be. I need my sleep.”
Mom sighed and grabbed the kettle. “Yes, well, we all do. There must’ve been a misunderstanding about what and who was going where. We can talk about it later. After all, we’re all in this together. We’re family. That might mean some rough nights—and mornings, as it may be.”
My throat tightened, and tears pricked my eyes. “You know what that could do to me.”
I could fail again. I could lose everything.
“What do you mean?” Mom asked. “You’re not driving. You’re not in school. It’ll be a good time to bond with Jen and the baby.”
“I’m still working,” I said.
“So are the rest of us. You’re the only one on part-time, except Jen, when she takes her maternity leave. That might mean picking up some slack on other household things,” Mom said, vaguely gesturing to the dishes in the sink that someone else had dirtied.
Was she kidding?
“I’m trying to get my life back,” I emphasized. “I want a relationship. I want a career. I want to be able to go to the bathroom at night without someone screaming at me for it.”
“I wasn’t screaming, you drama queen,” Jen yelled down the stairs.
I flung out my arms in exasperation. “See what I mean?”
Mom patted my arm. “Put down the knife, sweetie. I know how Jen can be. But she’s still my baby. And so are you. I hate to see either of you hurting. We can try to move the crib or switch your rooms, though I doubt it’ll make much difference when it comes to hearing the crying.”
I wilted against the cabinets and let the knife fall to the counter.
There was no real escape, was there? No sanctuary of sleep.
“D-do you think noise-canceling headphones would do anything?” I asked.
Mom furrowed her brow. “Didn’t you say you’d help her with the baby?”
“Yeah, but I figured that meant babysitting a few hours a week. Not night shifts. If she didn’t want to be a parent, then she shouldn’t have gotten pregnant,” I snapped.
Mom gave me a long-suffering look. “Now, Tori…”
“No. Don’t ‘Tori’ me. It would’ve been one thing to ask to put something in my room. Or to switch, which Icoulddo. But she’s trying to force me to deal with her mistakes.”
“My baby is not a mistake,” Jen thundered across the living room.
Mom widened her eyes and gestured tightly across her neck to cut off the conversation.
I rolled my eyes. “I was talking about the crib. Did you even measure our rooms before you ordered it?”
“No. It was an unexpected gift. From someone who cares a whole lot more than you do.” Jen stomped into the kitchen, her hair mussed and eyes ablaze, wearing one of my missing hoodies.
I furrowed my brow. “Mom, you and Dad put the crib in my room?”
“No. My boyfriend,” Jen spat.
