getting dressed for church so I could further my
charade. Mom and Dad rarely asked questions when I walked in step with them through motions of expectation.
Outside my bedroom door rattled the sounds of the shower, Abria screaming as Mom tried to coerce her into wearing
a dress—something she hated because her legs were left bare—and the soft music Mom played from the stereo on Sundays—
her effort at bringing some serenity into the house. I'd suggested we let Abria wear whatever she pleased to church, that would add a dose of serenity, but Mom held on to the fragile thread of hope that someday, Abria would finally submit to
wearing something appropriate.
Who cared what the kid wore? She was going. What more could we ask?
Hearing the shower brought my mind to Luke. Had he gotten stoned last night? I'd know soon enough. No red eye, dull,
listless look got past me.
With that, I checked my own hazy reflection. Thank heaven for makeup.
After I dressed, I headed downstairs, holding the banister tight. My head was still a little light, and swam every third
step.
The scent of waffles nearly made me wretch. I avoided the kitchen, plopped down on the couch in the living room and
closed my eyes. Why did I party when I hated myself the next day? I couldn't even remember what had happened last night
except for the crap: heaving, rejecting losers, being rejected and watching Britt and Weston take off. I groaned. You're the loser.
I heard soft breathing, felt the presence of someone and opened my eyes. Abria stood staring at me.
"Go away," I muttered, curling up on the couch. Sleep. I needed more. Her soft voice sang a nonsensical tune, up and down, all around. Jumbled words. Some made sense, others did not. I often wondered if she thought in such fragments. If she did, it was no wonder she behaved erratically.
"Leave me alone," I said, louder. I needed complete silence to disappear. "Everybody in the car." Dad. I could tell by the nearness of his voice, he was in the hall and no doubt watching me.
I stretched and stood. His discerning gaze held me as he finished tying the knot in his tie. "I didn't hear you come in
last night, Zoe." "I was super quiet." That look of yeah right crossed his face. I was dressed and ready to baaah-baaah my way to church. What more did he want?
"Abria?" Mom's tone was frantic as usual when my little sister was out of her eyesight. "Where's Abria?"
"In here," Dad and I spoke in unison and I grinned, hoping to break the ice I felt between us, but it didn't. Dad stood, hands on his hips, eyes still searching mine, no hint of humor in his gaze.
Mom appeared, dressed, though disheveled. Her perfect appearance had slowly unraveled. Hair like a skewed broom,
circles under her eyes no amount of concealer could cover and she'd dropped jewelry and accessories because Abria was
fascinated with all things glittery and off limits like earrings and necklaces and belts. She'd rip them off faster than a thief in a jewelry store.
Again, resentment scratched at me. I didn't look long at my mother. It hurt too much seeing her wither before my
eyes.
"Whereś Luke?" Mom glanced around.
"Here." Lukeś bass voice slid down the stairs. I moved in for a closer look at him. He, too, was thrown together, his sandy hair mussed, shirt wrinkled, pants baggy. Yep. The lazy look in his eyes told me he'd gotten high last night. When our
gazes met, I rolled my eyes at him. He gave me a heavy blink.
"Can I drive with you?" Luke asked me.
"Can't we all drive together?" Dad's tone was irritated but I knew why Luke wanted me to drive over: he didn't want Mom and Dad too close, they might get a real good look at him. And his car was still busted.
Dad threw his stare between Luke and me, but dropped the fight. I glanced at the coat tree by the front door, not sure
if I'd hung my purse there last night. When I saw my denim bag, I reached over and grabbed it, digging for my keys.
Abria started running upstairs, so
charade. Mom and Dad rarely asked questions when I walked in step with them through motions of expectation.
Outside my bedroom door rattled the sounds of the shower, Abria screaming as Mom tried to coerce her into wearing
a dress—something she hated because her legs were left bare—and the soft music Mom played from the stereo on Sundays—
her effort at bringing some serenity into the house. I'd suggested we let Abria wear whatever she pleased to church, that would add a dose of serenity, but Mom held on to the fragile thread of hope that someday, Abria would finally submit to
wearing something appropriate.
Who cared what the kid wore? She was going. What more could we ask?
Hearing the shower brought my mind to Luke. Had he gotten stoned last night? I'd know soon enough. No red eye, dull,
listless look got past me.
With that, I checked my own hazy reflection. Thank heaven for makeup.
After I dressed, I headed downstairs, holding the banister tight. My head was still a little light, and swam every third
step.
The scent of waffles nearly made me wretch. I avoided the kitchen, plopped down on the couch in the living room and
closed my eyes. Why did I party when I hated myself the next day? I couldn't even remember what had happened last night
except for the crap: heaving, rejecting losers, being rejected and watching Britt and Weston take off. I groaned. You're the loser.
I heard soft breathing, felt the presence of someone and opened my eyes. Abria stood staring at me.
"Go away," I muttered, curling up on the couch. Sleep. I needed more. Her soft voice sang a nonsensical tune, up and down, all around. Jumbled words. Some made sense, others did not. I often wondered if she thought in such fragments. If she did, it was no wonder she behaved erratically.
"Leave me alone," I said, louder. I needed complete silence to disappear. "Everybody in the car." Dad. I could tell by the nearness of his voice, he was in the hall and no doubt watching me.
I stretched and stood. His discerning gaze held me as he finished tying the knot in his tie. "I didn't hear you come in
last night, Zoe." "I was super quiet." That look of yeah right crossed his face. I was dressed and ready to baaah-baaah my way to church. What more did he want?
"Abria?" Mom's tone was frantic as usual when my little sister was out of her eyesight. "Where's Abria?"
"In here," Dad and I spoke in unison and I grinned, hoping to break the ice I felt between us, but it didn't. Dad stood, hands on his hips, eyes still searching mine, no hint of humor in his gaze.
Mom appeared, dressed, though disheveled. Her perfect appearance had slowly unraveled. Hair like a skewed broom,
circles under her eyes no amount of concealer could cover and she'd dropped jewelry and accessories because Abria was
fascinated with all things glittery and off limits like earrings and necklaces and belts. She'd rip them off faster than a thief in a jewelry store.
Again, resentment scratched at me. I didn't look long at my mother. It hurt too much seeing her wither before my
eyes.
"Whereś Luke?" Mom glanced around.
"Here." Lukeś bass voice slid down the stairs. I moved in for a closer look at him. He, too, was thrown together, his sandy hair mussed, shirt wrinkled, pants baggy. Yep. The lazy look in his eyes told me he'd gotten high last night. When our
gazes met, I rolled my eyes at him. He gave me a heavy blink.
"Can I drive with you?" Luke asked me.
"Can't we all drive together?" Dad's tone was irritated but I knew why Luke wanted me to drive over: he didn't want Mom and Dad too close, they might get a real good look at him. And his car was still busted.
Dad threw his stare between Luke and me, but dropped the fight. I glanced at the coat tree by the front door, not sure
if I'd hung my purse there last night. When I saw my denim bag, I reached over and grabbed it, digging for my keys.
Abria started running upstairs, so
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