The air suddenly felt cold around me, and my shoulders sagged. I got up and tried my best to smile at him.
Without warning, he wrapped his arms around my waist. I sucked in my breath, nuzzling my head against his chest. His thermal smelled sweet, like fabric softener.
“Have fun this weekend.” His lips brushed against my ear.
“You too.” I tightened my grip, not wanting to let go.
“See ya.” He pulled away and headed up the stairs—two steps at a time.
EVEN GRANDMA COULDN’T STOP ME from smiling Saturday morning. I devoured the grainy cereal she’d put in front of me and thought about Justin—how he made me feel.
Grandma looked at my empty bowl, her eyebrows pinched together. She pointed to the pink capsule she’d set next to my food: my SNRI. “You haven’t taken that yet.”
I put the pill in my mouth, choking it down with water.
She narrowed her hazel eyes at me. “That helping you any?”
“I don’t know. I just started taking it.” I took my bowl and put it in the sink.
“What’s it supposed to do?”
“Make me less anxious and depressed. But most of them just make me tired.”
“I’m going to start assigning you chores, Andrea. My back isn’t as good as it used to be. Maybe that’ll wake you up.”
I turned, facing her. “What?” Mom used to tell me stories about Grandma making her scrub the kitchen floor until every inch sparkled. One time she forced Mom to remake her bed ten times.
“You heard me.” She smiled. It looked wicked. “I saw your mother doing your laundry last night. Sixteen years old and you don’t know how to wash your own clothes?” She clucked her tongue.
I shrugged. The truth was Mom never trusted me with the clothes. Not since I got bleach spots on half her jeans and turned every white pair of underwear pink.
Grandma pushed a folded piece of paper across her glitter-ridden table. “I wrote down what I want you to do today. And gave you directions on how to do it.”
I sighed and picked up the yellow paper. Her purple cursive neatly spelled out each step.
“I’d follow that to every crossed
Hushed voices in the entranceway caught my attention. I peered around the corner to see Mom hugging some guy with dark hair and a white shirt. She held a blue robe tightly around her body and pecked him on the cheek.
“What are you looking at, Andrea?” Grandma’s voice was loud enough to get their attention. Mom pointed in Grandma’s direction and put a finger to her lips, telling me to stay quiet. The man smiled and waved before edging himself out the door.
I couldn’t believe Mom was sneaking around like she was my age. I wonder why they didn’t go to his place. Mom came up behind me, squeezing my shoulders. I pulled away from her because I could smell
“You’re up early,” she said to me.
“Did your guest leave?” Grandma asked. She scrunched her lips into a tiny circle.
Mom tucked a lock of messy hair behind her ear, and her cheek twitched. “My guest?”
“Yes, Juliana. The strange man who was going through my refrigerator at one a.m.”
“Oh, Mom.” She rolled her eyes and chuckled like it was no big deal.
“What were you thinking? He could’ve killed all of us in our beds. Have you checked your purse? He might have stolen your wallet.”
“He’s a local dentist, and he drives a Benz. I highly doubt we have anything here he’d want.”
“I don’t want strangers spending the night in my house. You have no idea—”
“Point taken. Let’s move on.” Mom rubbed her eyes and poured herself a cup of lukewarm coffee.
Grandma cleared her throat. “I’ve given Andrea some chores today.” She shifted her glare to me. “You can start by vacuuming the living room and hallway.”
Mom took a sip of coffee, wrinkling her nose. “She can’t tolerate the noise.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“I’ll do something else, but I’m not vacuuming.” Every time Mom vacuumed, I’d shut myself in my room and put headphones on. The high, whiny noise pierced every nerve in my body and made my hair stand on end. And the crackling sound really got to me. Like tiny electric shocks. When I was little, I’d cover my ears and rock in the corner until it stopped.
“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” Grandma said. “This is why we have kids like Naomi Quinn running wild—no discipline. No responsibilities.”
“It’s not about that, Mom. Drea doesn’t process sound normally.”
I tossed the paper on the table and left the kitchen, heading right for the basement. They’d had this discussion at least six times since we moved in. Being spoiled versus having a disorder. I didn’t like either argument. What was so wrong with just being me? Disliking vacuum noise wasn’t any more bizarre than hating pickles or roller
