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Authors: Corey Ann Haydu
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questions, so that I donât have to. Maybe Iâm wrong and Mom has mentioned her sister before. Maybe we really are bad daughters who donât care about anything but ourselves, like Mom says when sheâs been drinking.
But Marla is too focused on Momâs face and the expressions passing across it, instead of what is causing those expressions to occur.
âMom? Will you come to my room?â I say, like Iâm supposed to. I step closer to her and ignore the way she smells. I want a better look at the pictures.
âWhy?â Mom says.
I hadnât thought about an answer to that question. Ithought sheâd follow me upstairs simply because Iâd asked, even though thatâs never happened before.
Silly, Silly, Silly . I call myself the name I hate, as punishment.
âI have a bunch of questions about your sister,â I say. Itâs not what I mean to say. But my mind gets too hyper and too hazy when Mom is sick, and I make terrible decisions. Itâs all queasy regret the moment the word sister comes out of my mouth.
âYou saw her?â Mom says. Her voice is far away, except that itâs right here. The strangeness of that gives me chills. New Hampshire gives me a chill in general. It is never hot here. Only ever warmish with a breeze. I want one hot day.
âYou mentioned her. Is that her in the pictures?â I say. Marla stands next to me with her mouth open and her arms loose at her sides, like my stupidity is making her stupid too. I think I can hear Eleanor and Astrid mumbling in the bathroom, and I wish I could tell them to be quiet.
Mom rubs her temples. She takes a sip from her glass of wine. Then another. Her teeth are already stained a scary purplish color.
I try to guess at how sheâs feeling and how sheâll respond. But there are a thousand options, and whichever one I think it will be is probably wrong. Thereâs always some new response, some strange hiccup that I hadnât expected.
âShe wonât let me in,â Mom says, her finger tracing the heart-shaped face of the girl in the pictures. âShe wonât come out. I canât get her.â I feel my forehead scrunching up so much that Iâm giving myself a headache. Or maybe Momâs giving me a headache.
âCan we talk about it in my room?â I try again, knowing full well itâs a lost cause. I got distracted and sloppy and ruined everything. Typical.
âYou donât have a sister,â Marla says. âMom doesnât have a sister.â She elbows me without moving her gaze from Momâs drooping face.
âYou think I didnât care enough about her?â Mom says, hearing something entirely different than what was said. âYou think it was my fault?â
âNo!â Marla says. âI donât know!â Mom gets off her stool and drains the rest of her wine. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. Itâs not very graceful. One of her feet hooks around the other, and she stumbles. âI didnât know,â Marla says. I want to cover her mouth. I should say something so that Marla stops speaking, but Iâm mute. âYouâve never mentioned her before.â
âYou think I forgot all about her,â Mom says. âYou think thatâs the kind of person I am!â
Momâs moving toward the cabinet that holds more bottles, and Marla steps in front of her, blocking her path.
It happens fast, while Iâm trying to think of more words to get Mom calmed down or talking about something else, something less upsetting.
Marla takes one step closer to Mom, and Mom grabs
Marlaâs wrists. One in each hand.
I look away.
I am the kind of sister who looks away.
Marla yelps, a surprised, animal sound, and I run up the stairs, straight into my closet.
Twelve
I lie in the warm pink light of my closet for a long time. Nothing else in the room changes, only me.
When I come out, I knock
But Marla is too focused on Momâs face and the expressions passing across it, instead of what is causing those expressions to occur.
âMom? Will you come to my room?â I say, like Iâm supposed to. I step closer to her and ignore the way she smells. I want a better look at the pictures.
âWhy?â Mom says.
I hadnât thought about an answer to that question. Ithought sheâd follow me upstairs simply because Iâd asked, even though thatâs never happened before.
Silly, Silly, Silly . I call myself the name I hate, as punishment.
âI have a bunch of questions about your sister,â I say. Itâs not what I mean to say. But my mind gets too hyper and too hazy when Mom is sick, and I make terrible decisions. Itâs all queasy regret the moment the word sister comes out of my mouth.
âYou saw her?â Mom says. Her voice is far away, except that itâs right here. The strangeness of that gives me chills. New Hampshire gives me a chill in general. It is never hot here. Only ever warmish with a breeze. I want one hot day.
âYou mentioned her. Is that her in the pictures?â I say. Marla stands next to me with her mouth open and her arms loose at her sides, like my stupidity is making her stupid too. I think I can hear Eleanor and Astrid mumbling in the bathroom, and I wish I could tell them to be quiet.
Mom rubs her temples. She takes a sip from her glass of wine. Then another. Her teeth are already stained a scary purplish color.
I try to guess at how sheâs feeling and how sheâll respond. But there are a thousand options, and whichever one I think it will be is probably wrong. Thereâs always some new response, some strange hiccup that I hadnât expected.
âShe wonât let me in,â Mom says, her finger tracing the heart-shaped face of the girl in the pictures. âShe wonât come out. I canât get her.â I feel my forehead scrunching up so much that Iâm giving myself a headache. Or maybe Momâs giving me a headache.
âCan we talk about it in my room?â I try again, knowing full well itâs a lost cause. I got distracted and sloppy and ruined everything. Typical.
âYou donât have a sister,â Marla says. âMom doesnât have a sister.â She elbows me without moving her gaze from Momâs drooping face.
âYou think I didnât care enough about her?â Mom says, hearing something entirely different than what was said. âYou think it was my fault?â
âNo!â Marla says. âI donât know!â Mom gets off her stool and drains the rest of her wine. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. Itâs not very graceful. One of her feet hooks around the other, and she stumbles. âI didnât know,â Marla says. I want to cover her mouth. I should say something so that Marla stops speaking, but Iâm mute. âYouâve never mentioned her before.â
âYou think I forgot all about her,â Mom says. âYou think thatâs the kind of person I am!â
Momâs moving toward the cabinet that holds more bottles, and Marla steps in front of her, blocking her path.
It happens fast, while Iâm trying to think of more words to get Mom calmed down or talking about something else, something less upsetting.
Marla takes one step closer to Mom, and Mom grabs
Marlaâs wrists. One in each hand.
I look away.
I am the kind of sister who looks away.
Marla yelps, a surprised, animal sound, and I run up the stairs, straight into my closet.
Twelve
I lie in the warm pink light of my closet for a long time. Nothing else in the room changes, only me.
When I come out, I knock
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