❝I think you're my favorite person.❞
- - -
Since childhood, Lila's had her mind set on what she wants. And now in her senior year, that's getting into West Michigan State University. But her overbearing...
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SILENCE IS ALL I hear for a while.
I swallow, looking over at Grace briefly to see an expression of fear on her face.
This isn't the first time mom has called me like this. It's happened a total of four times before.
And it's always the same story.
She got drunk or high, she went home with random strangers, and when she finished, she called me afterward to pick her up.
The last time this had happened I told her not to call me again, but of course, she didn't listen.
She never does.
"No." Maya suddenly says.
I look at her, sighing. "Maya—"
"No." She says more firmly.
Frustration bites at me, causing me to clench my jaw. There isn't a person I know who hates my mother more than her.
And I cant blame her.
She was only nine when she packed her bags and left us. Nine.
I was fourteen. And I was left with a two year old and a nine year old, having no fucking clue what to do.
It was easier for Grace, and in that way, I envy her. She didn't have to grow up with a mother that once cared so much and then suddenly stopped caring one night.
She didn't have to grow up with a father who hates her entire existence for a reason she would never know.
She was oblivious to it all, and I planned to keep that way.
I planned to protect her.
Protect her in a way I couldn't protect Maya.
I worry my bottom lip with my teeth, glancing at her again. Taking in the look of horror and anger on her face. Seeing the way her headphones hang off her shoulders.
"Maya...I'm sorry," I say shakily.
Her nostrils flare and she looks ready to retort something, maybe even scream, but she pauses and shakes her head, eyes glossing over.
And I know now why she hates me.
Because I could never hate our mother. No matter how hard I tried. I couldn't look at her and not see the person who used to ack my lunches before school. Who used to tie my shoes for me.
Who used to tell me stories before I went to bed, and whisper I love you as I shut my eyes.
She isn't that person anymore, I know that. But it's hard to forget.
And sometimes I didn't want to.
I finally turn to look at Lila, watching as she watches us, but doesn't ask a single question.
