I'm trying to breathe, to maintain a semblance of control as the burden of choice weighs heavily on my shoulders. I can feel the enormity of it, a pressure building in my chest, a tightness that is both terrifying and sacred. I'm torn between beingAlis, the sister engrossed in books and dreams, and becoming this person,Aurora, this guardian, this light in the darkness, who could offer Sunny a life filled with love and unwavering support.
And yet, despite the whirlwind of doubts and fears spinning in my mind, Belle’s words resound with a clarity that pierces through the chaos. A plea from someone who knew me more than anyone else, who saw in me a potential that even I find hard to see sometimes.
I glance down at the paper again, tracing the words with my fingers, feeling the ridges of the ink as if trying to grasp onto Belle, to bring her here, to ask her a thousand questions, to tell her that she’s asking too much and not enough all at once.
Belle called me her northern light, her beacon in the darkness, the constant glow that could bring warmth and light to Sunny’s world. Was that really who I was to her? Could I be that for someone else as well?
And I feel it then, the gentle flicker of a flame deep within me, a blend of resolve and love, slowly growing, warming the cold corners of doubt and fear in my mind. It’s a fragile light, one that flickers uncertainly but holds promise, a potential to grow into a guiding force, a steady glow.
Because while Belle didn’t waste her words on negativity, she also wasn’t one to hand out direct praise lightly. She saw something in me, believed in it with her whole heart. And how could I turn my back on that belief, that unyielding faith she had in me?
Grandma named us Sunny and Alis, names woven with threads of light and warmth. Perhaps it’s time to embody the spirit of my name, to rise to the occasion, to be the light that guides Sunny, nourishing her with love, teaching her to chase her dreams just like Belle taught me.
Yeah, it’s terrifying, and there are a million ways this could go wrong, but there’s also a chance, a possibility of creating something beautiful, something radiant. And maybe, just maybe, with Belle’s blessing wrapping around us like a warm embrace, Sunny and I can find our way, lighting up each other’s paths as we venture into this new beginning, hand in tiny hand.
TWELVE
Alis
“Shoot,shoot, shoot, shoot, shoot, shoot — SUNNY!” I bolt up out of bed, grabbing my glasses and phone to see that it’s already 7:15 a.m. and we were supposed to be out the door ten minutes ago.
“SUNNY! ARE YOU AWAKE?!” I yell out into the hallway as I rip off my t-shirt and sweats, looking frantically around the room for a pair of pants, a skirt — anything clean, really.
Sunny’s bedroom door opens and she stands there, rubbing her eyes, bed head to the max and yawning. “I’m awake. Why are you yelling?”
As she’s talking, I find a pair of jeans balled up near my closet and start to wiggle them up my legs. “Because it’s 7:15 and we were supposed to leave by 7:10. We have to go. Throw something on and grab your bookbag. I’ll give you some mint gum in the ca— ah!”
I trip while trying to get my pants on and slam my hip into the dresser. Grunting and uttering useless expletives under my breath, I right myself and finish buttoning my jeans. When I look up Sunny is still standing in her doorway, in her pajamas, laughing at me.
“Seriously? Did you not hear a word I just said?! GET. DRESSED.NOW!” She turns and bolts into her room, hopefully dressing herself so we can get out of here.
Thank goodness I at least had the forethought to pick out a top for my first day of class, so I snatch it off the hanger in my closet and pull it over my head. Now for shoes. Shoes, shoes, shoes — where the hell are my yellow flats?! I could have sworn I put them in my closet. Maybe they’re by the front door. I decide they must be, and instead of checking to make sure I run into my bathroom to brush my teeth and throw on some deodorant. I look at my face in the mirror as I brush my teeth and see that, of course, I woke up with a serious case of chin acne. I guess I am due for my period any day now, but I don’t have time to put on makeup and I really don’t want to stroll into class sporting an uncovered puss volcano on my face. I rinse my toothbrush and mouth, set the toothbrush back in its holder, grab my makeup bag, and sprint back into the bedroom to find my messenger bag.
“Sunny?! Are you ready?!” I yell out into the apartment, hoping that my child is dressed and at least has her shoes on and backpack located.
“Yes, Monty. You’re the one taking forever. I thought we were late?” I can hear the eyeroll in her tone and today is not the day for sass. I also don’t have the time or energy to reprimand her, so I decide to leave it for now.
I grab my laptop and shove it into my bag, zipping it shut before slinging it over my shoulder and running out into the living room.
“Did you eat?” I ask, not looking at her because I’m now scouring the shoe pile by the door.
Sunny responds with a mouthful of food. “Yes, I’m eating a granola bar.” Though it sounds like, “yesh, I’m eeing a gwanohoh bah.”
“Have you seen my shoes? Where the hell are my flats?!” I’m now tossing shoes out of the basket near the door looking for a pair I’ve deemed professional but jeans appropriate.
“Which ones?” Sunny looks at me, confused.
“Seriously? The yellow slip-ons I just bought. The ones I bought for work.”
“Oohhhhh. Yeah. I have no idea where they are.” Thanks. Super helpful, kid.
I look at the clock on the microwave and see it’s now 7:27. Shit, we have to leave. I see my bright red Mary Janes, shove my feet into them, and turn back to Sunny. “Come on. We gotta go. Now.”
She tosses a granola bar my way. Mercifully, I catch it, shoving it into my purse on the entry table before I sling the crossbody bag over my head, grab my keys, and open the door. Sunny is thankfully right behind me and she locks the door as we run toward the parking lot. I’ve at least got one thing going for me this morning — yesterday I lucked out and landed the parking spot closest to our apartment. The only downside to this spot is that it’s not shaded, and my black leather seats are hot plates in the August heat. Beggars can’t be choosers when you’re running late.
I toss my bag and purse into the back, climb into the driver’s seat, and crank the vehicle. I back out of the spot and then we’re on our way — thirty minutes later than intended, but whatever.
“I didn’t have time to pack anything for lunch. I’ll need cash for food,” Sunny says as she buckles her seatbelt. I have no idea if my wallet holds any cash, but I tell Sunny to grab my purse off the back seat and check anyway. Glory hallelujah, she finds a twenty.
