My Wrath is a Mirror | ONC 2022

Eight

Squinting against the bright, unfiltered sunlight, I wrench open to the door to town hall, barely holding it open long enough for Mom to pass through.

"I can't believe the egotistical, small-minded idiots who run this town!" I rant, shoving my arms into my jacket. It was unbearably hot inside the conference room where we were given the news, and although it's nearly freezing outside, the cold tempers my fury.

"What happened?" Janine asks, worry filling her dark brown eyes as she opens the car door for Mom.

"Oh, it's not so bad, hun," Mom says in her most soothing voice. Of course she doesn't think it's bad. She probably is ecstatic about it. I slam the backdoor shut and roughly shove my seatbelt into the buckle.

"Will someone please tell me why Kamille is throwing a tantrum like she's eight again?" Janine says as she slips behind the wheel of her SUV. She meets my eyes in the mirror and I sigh.

"The town officials governing the sale of White Pine Park had some conditions added to the agreement of sale," Mom says before I even get a word out, which is probably for the best because I just want to curse them out right now.

"What kind of conditions?"

"Basically I have to prove that we're not keeping it as it is, which in their terms, a dump," I say gruffly, crossing my arms ever my chest. "And if I don't do that by the Spring, then we forfeit the land and all assets accrued up until that time."

Janine turns in her seat, mouth agape. "You're fucking kidding."

"See?" I say, raising my eyebrows and staring pointedly at Mom. "I'm not overreacting."

"So, what? You just have to make sure you fix it up within the next few months or they reclaim the property?" Janine asks.

A dull throb is forming behind my eyes. "If the council votes that our renovations are not up to standard, they will demolish everything." I close my eyes and massage the bridge of my nose, cursing this stupid town once again. It was bad enough that I don't have a plan for the park, but now I have a deadline.

They drop me off at Mom's apartment before the two of them leave and head to Janine's for their wine night. I almost asked them to drop me off at the park to cool off, but by the time I get there it will probably be dark. Instead, I start the bath and add lavender-scented bubbles before walking into the kitchen to mix a drink. After pouring a rum and Coke, I throw back a shot and wince. I'm not usually a rum girl, but it's the only thing in Mom's pantry besides wine and I need something a bit stronger to unwind. My visit to Reading so far has been a culmination of unfortunate events, and today's meeting with town officials was the match in the powder keg.

As I sink into the tub with bubbles up to my shoulders, I can feel my muscles relax. My body has been stiff since the wreck, and I could feel the stress building up in my neck over the past week. I take a sizeable gulp of my drink and set it on the edge of the tub before leaning back and closing my eyes and recalling the technique my therapist taught. Inhaling deeply, I hold my breath and count to ten before releasing it slowly, counting backwards. Repeating it three times, I almost feel myself relaxing when I remember something else she said—how I can't allow the loss of my twin to make my life halt in its tracks, but how could I make her understand that our lives were so inexplicably intertwined? That when she left this world, she took a chunk of me with her. Every time I look in the mirror, I see a face that could have been hers. Is it normal to wonder what she would be like today? What would I be like if I hadn't lost her and Dad? I'm not just grieving for them, but for me. For my future self that I never had. I wonder if that grief will ever go away or get easier, because it seems to just morph into an uglier sickness over time.