Read Online Instructions for the End of the World by Jamie Kain - Free Book Online

then, nothing is normal about Annika since she came back. Maybe she really did instigate this.
    â€œWhy don’t you go for me?” I offer, and go back to my chopping.
    â€œShe wants you, not me.”
    â€œThen why isn’t she asking me herself?”
    â€œShe thought you might be more willing if I asked you. She thinks you’re mad at her for being gone so long.”
    I say nothing.
    â€œShe made me pray with her,” Laurel says, as if this is some kind of scandal.
    â€œWe live at a spiritual retreat center, in case you haven’t noticed.”
    â€œNo, this was like … praying to Jesus. ”
    I am trying to decide what to say to that when the subject of our conversation walks through the kitchen door, which jingles every time someone opens it.
    Beside me, Laurel goes deathly pale, probably worried my mother overheard her last comment.
    â€œMy two favorite people!” Annika says, seemingly oblivious. “Just the ones I was looking for.”
    I focus again on my chopping, as if it will deliver me from this place, but Annika sweeps in close and I can smell her beeswax scent.
    â€œDid you ask him already?” she says to Laurel.
    â€œYes. He’s being noncommittal.”
    â€œI was afraid of that. I realized it’s really my job to convince him, isn’t it?”
    Laurel stares daggers at me, but I have no idea why.
    â€œDarling,” Annika says. “It’s family night at my recovery group tonight at six. I need you there.”
    I drop the knife onto the counter, pick up the heavy oak cutting board, and brush the huge pile of onions into a bowl for the cooks who will be here shortly.
    But this kitchen is already way too crowded.
    I stalk to the back door without saying a word and leave, not taking the time to wash the onion scent off my hands, banking on the hope that my mother is too proud to follow after me, begging. That’s why she sent Laurel in the first place, probably. But I have misjudged her, and she does follow, running to catch up with me. At least she is alone now when she stops me in front of the yoga center entrance.
    â€œWolf, just hear me out.”
    â€œI’m busy,” I say. “What do you want?”
    She tilts her head to the side, squinting her eyes at me. “What are you up to these days that has you so busy?”
    I shrug, not willing to tell anyone here, and especially not her, about the new tree house.
    â€œYou are almost grown up,” she says. “I want to spend time with you before you’ve gone off living your own life.”
    Now she wants to spend time with me. I choose not to point out that, for most of the past seventeen years, spending time with her son has been the last thing on her mind.
    It’s a little late for that, is what I feel like saying, but I don’t. Silence is often the best strategy. It’s hard to argue with.
    â€œWhat? You think you can stonewall me?” she says.
    â€œNo,” I say, edging my way toward the barn, where my bike and its trailer full of roofing material is parked. I’ve managed to convince anyone who ever asks that I have been hauling discarded wood and stuff that I find on our property to a guy in town who builds chicken coops with recycled materials.
    But she reaches out and grabs my arm as I try to slip past.
    â€œWolfie, please.”
    â€œPlease what?”
    â€œI don’t ask you for many things. Go with me, just tonight, okay? I need you there.”
    The thing I hate most about myself is that I want to feel needed. I especially want to feel needed by my mother. I don’t want it with my brain, not with the part of myself that understands logic and reason. I want it with some primitive, lizard part of myself, deep down where logic and reason don’t count for shit.
    My chest gets this crushed-in feeling, and at the same time that I want to wrench my arm free and run, I stay there. I don’t say yes, but she knows