Life In Reverse(5)

“What are you two whispering about?” Mom shuffles into the kitchen carrying a new batch of fabrics. She drops them on the table and tilts her head with interest. “It looks very conspiratorial.”

“Here are my three favorite girls,” Dad calls out as he enters the room, holding a slab of wood and a piece of paper. He’s wearing his favorite jean overalls and his dirty blond hair sticks out in all directions. “Who wants to help me build a birdhouse?”

Avery and I burst into laughter and she reads my thoughts when she says, “Dad, you’ve already got three unfinished ones in the garage.”

“Ahhh,” he lifts a finger in the air, “but this one is very special. It looks like a Chinese pagoda. Lots of areas for the birds to feed. This is the winner right here.” He crinkles the paper and his thick sandy eyebrows rise with his smile. “Any takers?”

“Actually,” Avery pipes up, “we were just getting ready to make some of those Ghirardelli fudge brownies to take to our new neighbors down the street.” She nods her chin at Mom. “Upon Mom’s insistence, of course.”

Mom returns a knowing smirk and narrows her soft green eyes. “Of course.”

“Right. Okay,” he answers absentmindedly, reminding me of the nutty professor with his black-rimmed glasses and quirky smile. “Well, maybe I can double back when it’s time to paint it, huh Em?”

“Sure, Dad.” I give him a thumbs-up. “Hit us up then.”

“Whaddya say, Dolores?” He sets the wood down on the center island and plucks a stale doughnut from the box.

“I can’t,” she responds, distracted by colors and texture. “I have to get these fabrics in order for my client tomorrow.”

“All right.” Dad sighs dramatically around a cloud of sugar. “I’ll just go it alone.” He lets out a chuckle and rubs his small potbelly. “See you pretty ladies later.” He shoves the rest of the doughnut in his mouth, white powder sticking to his lips. “Oh, and save some brownies for me,” he calls over his shoulder on his way to the garage.

I walk to the counter and pour myself a cup of coffee from the Bonavita coffee maker Avery and I bought Mom for her birthday. She had been eyeing it during one of our trips to Williams-Sonoma. It was kind of a win-win for all of us. Both Avery and I are coffee fanatics, except she takes hers black while I like mine with cream, heavy on the sugar. Mom loves making iced coffee while Dad is the odd man out. He is fanatical about tea.

“Anyone for coffee?” I sing out, and Avery peeks over my shoulder as I’m spooning the sweetness into my favorite mug.

“Coffee, yes. I wouldn’t call what you’re drinking, coffee. Why don’t you just eat a pound of sugar and get it over with?” Even though she’s correct, it doesn’t stop me from flicking her shoulder and sticking my tongue out. I can’t be the mature one all the time.

She reaches over my head, pulling ingredients down from the cabinet. “Now let’s get started on those brownies. I’m hankering to get a better look at that…,” her chin subtly scrapes her shoulder to check for Mom, “ass.”





I’M IN A hole. I’m not sure whether I fell in or crawled in at this point. But it doesn’t f*cking matter. I’m being suffocated by my memory. However, as my lungs tighten and my breathing stalls, I welcome it. Because it terrifies me to forget.

The sound of Dad whistling from the living room makes my jaw stiffen. Of course he’s happy. He got a huge finance promotion and a transfer to the Portland office; a perfect location for a short commute and more distance between us and Mom. Then again, maybe that was the whole idea. The thought makes me clench my fists at my sides, gearing up for yet another standoff with my father.

“Hey, Vance, can you get the rest of the boxes from the lawn?” he calls up the stairs. “I have to run out for a bit.”

Not a good time to ask me since I’m seething with hatred for him. I’m not interested in lifting a f*cking hand to help. Why should I? I don’t understand how he can be so cheerful when Mom is wasting away in that place, her life no longer her own.

I know it doesn’t sound like I’m a good person. But when it comes to Mom, all bets are off. I won’t tolerate bullshit. Excuses. Tossing the word love around. It may not mean anything to him, but it means everything to me where she’s concerned.

“Can’t right now, Dad. I’m a bit busy.” I know he can hear the sarcasm dripping from my voice when I catch his frustrated sigh. Oh well. The door slams and I breathe out my relief as I continue to paint on the wall above my bed. Exhaustion sticks to my limbs when I scan the cardboard boxes filled with books that still need to be shelved. I’m tired as f*ck and want to collapse on my bed and sleep it off.

The doorbell rings and Julian yells out, “Hey, Vance. Get that, will ya?”

Paint splatters on my bed frame and I mutter a curse before shouting back. “I’m not living to serve today, get it yourself.”

“I like it better when your head is in those books of yours. At least you keep quiet,” he utters as he walks by, and I chuckle. As much as we rib each other, Julian is by far my favorite person in this world aside from our mother. Strange as it may seem, I’ve always looked out for him, though he’s a year older than me. He’s kind of an easy target. He’s just too—nice.