Today, a ruffled apron is cinched tight around a yellow sundress. Designer, of course—same as the white stilettoes adorning her dainty feet.
Her red lipstick hasn’t smudged. Not a single hair out of place in her perfect bun.
Who cooks dressed like that?
She doesn’t have anywhere to be. Not this early. Unless “somewhere” means lunch at the country club or a shopping spree with the same women who kiss each other’s cheeks and roll their eyes the second backs are turned.
“Have you made a decision about me visiting Grandma for Thanksgiving?” I ask her.
My grandmother fell and broke her hip two years ago. She had surgery to repair the damage. I haven’t seen her since—traveling is just too exhausting for her now.
“I have and the answer is no.”
“Please,” I beg, clenching the fork in my hand. “I miss Grandma so much.”
And I want to get to know my aunt and cousins too.
Deja and I are the same age, and Terrence just turned three.
“Well, I don’t want Sheila and your cousins’ ghetto behavior rubbing off on you. If Momma had her own place, I’d let you go.”
“But—”
She slams the dishwasher shut. “This topic is closed. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I answer, sinking into my chair.
I blink back tears, my heart splintering into tiny pieces. It’s not fair. The feud between Momma and Sheila has nothing to do with me. Why should I suffer because they don’t get along?
“Argh!”
My head snaps up at Momma’s outraged cry to find her bristling near the open refrigerator, holding a medium-size storage container.
Oh no. I’m in big trouble now.
“Why is there only one chicken breast left? I cooked extra to use for stir fry tonight.”
“I didn’t eat them,” Nolan announces, saturating his pancakes in syrup.
“Wesley?” she growls at Daddy, planting a newly manicured hand on her hip.
“It wasn’t me either,” he responds.
Suddenly, three pairs of eyes land on me, and I fidget in my seat.
“I got hungry in the middle of the night,” I explain lamely. It was either that or “Oh, I took a plate of food to my secret friend last night.”
“No wonder you’re getting fat,” Nolan retorts.
Momma rushes forward and yanks me out of the chair. “Bathroom. Now.”
I know what this means.
Weight check.
My mother trails behind me, shoving me toward the digital scale when we reach the bathroom. “Move it!”
I step on the smooth metal surface, shaking in absolute terror.
