Liars Garden

Chapter 3

Leslie slammed her backpack on the kitchen table as soon as she got home. The millions of bangles she had attached to the zippers scratched the enamel off the top and left fingernail like scratches in the wood. Our table was starting to look like something out of a horror movie instead of a place were family gathered.

"Little less anger there, Les," I called to her as she stomped upstairs to her room. I knew she didn't hear me. That girl had large headphones cemented to her head ninety percent of the time.

I dropped my bag by my chair.

This was the same chair I sat in when mom broke the news.

My fingers wrapped around the top of the chair till my knuckles were white.

He was never coming home. He had leftwith some woman, probably someone he worked with. He ran away frombeing a dad. That was why we never got any calls. Never got abirthday card. Never saw him again.

That was what we were told. That washow it was.

"What's for dinner?"

I jumped. "Shit....what?" I blinked. Leslie was hanging off the banister of the stairs, one headphone cocked sideways. Her long black hair fell over one of her eyes. "Um...let me check on that real quick."

The cabinets were pretty spars. I hadn't gone shopping yet. Correction: mom hadn't given me the grocery money yet. There were several boxes of cereal, leftovers that weren't edible anymore, and pasta. I pulled out a macaroni box and held it up to Leslie. We just had macaroni, no cheese. She rolled her eyes.

"Seriously? We had that last night."

I opened the fridge. Half a gallon of milk, tortillas, and a few cheese sticks; Leslie wasn't happy about that either.

"Fuck," Leslie snapped.

"It's either macaroni or starve,"I commented, trying to be civil with her. It was really hard to do most days. 

"Hold on."

Leslie disappeared. I felt uneasy. When she returned she waved a handful of bills in my face before slapping it on the counter. A quarter popped out of her hand, skipped across the lament, and rolled away across the floor. I frowned. I felt my heart squeeze in my chest.

"Where did you get this?" I asked. It was only a wadded up twenty, a five, and a handful of discarded change but it could mean an ass whooping if she got it from the wrong place. Or a right place. Mom didn't really see a difference there. 

Leslie snorted. "It's not moms," was all she would say about that.

That uneasy feeling grew.

"Les...."

"Fuck, I'll just order the damn pizza, okay?" Leslie pulled out her phone. The screen flickered and glitched due to a giant jagged crack in it.

"Leslie! You know how mom feels about us ordering out. She's gonna also want to know where the money came from. I really don't want to deal with that today. Can we just forget it?" I was pleading with her but she ignored me. Instead she grabbed her money off the counter and headed for the stairs. I could see her plugging away at her phone as she went.

"I'm not eating whatever you make. Pizza will be here in thirty." With that she charged back up thestaircase, her face hard as a rock.

"Fuck." I kicked my backpack. That was gonna be on me when mom gets home. Whenever she gets back. From where ever. 

I told people mom worked for an insurance company that had her traveling a lot and working long hours. It explained why me and my siblings were usually left unattended. But that wasn't true. I never really knew what mom did all day. I suspected sex work took some of her time but other times she was with a boyfriend. None of us knew who he was and none of us have seen him. And the HIM part always changed. Sometimes it was a HIM who lived across town, other times it was a HIM who lived in the city, and sometimes HIM was online messages.