straight

Arlo, You Will Never Like Macchiatos

Mags didn't eat.

You knew you weren't supposed to be angry at her for this, because the doctor said she was trying and that's all you could really ask of her. But sometimes when you sat at the kitchen table and she was beside you you couldn't help but feel a spark of anger in your gut. She had eaten three pieces of spinach (three, you counted each one along with the fourty seconds it took her to chew them) and picked at everything else on her plate.

"Mags.." you drifted off. You used to yell at her when you saw her doing this, but you realized it was useless. Making her feel guilty and angry wouldn't make her eat more.

She sighed loudly, but didn't respond. She did, however, eat another piece of spinach. You counted that as a win.

You cleared your throat. "So, uh, how's it going with Angelica?"

(Angelica was a girl in your math class that Mags totally had a thing with. Angelica was pretty, but not someone who would go for a girl like Mags).

Her eyes flickered up to meet yours before they darted back to her salad. She scowled, a look that crossed her face only for a moment before she grabbed her glass of water and took a long gulp. She began cutting her spinach pieces at a pace too rapid to be comfortable.

"It's uh-" she paused, her eyes flicking around the room.

"You don't have to tell me, Mags."

She sighed again. "It's not that I don't want you to know, Lo. It's just that it's too complicated to explain right now."

You nodded, slightly disappointed.

Father used to tell her it was selfish for her not to eat, that she was only thinking of herself by counting her calories. He used to scream at her about how disappointed he was, about how he raised a better girl than this. You could still hear the shrieking of the wooden chair legs on the hardwood floor as he stormed out of the dining room and the slightly less loud scraping as Dad walked out after him.

Maybe this was why you felt so guilty for being disappointed with Mags, because you didn't want to be like Father. You hated her some days (most days), but she was still your sister and you loved her.

You swallowed what felt almost like a sob but wasn't really, and stood up from the table. You were going to snap at Mags if you stayed where you were. Mags didn't need that, so you walked out of the room.

Your house was way too big for three people and you swore it was haunted (because ghosts probably find empty houses where love used to be and take up the space that is no longer filled), and as you walked down your hallway you stopped and peered in your parent's bedroom. Or, your father's bedroom. He was sleeping on the bed with his face buried in the pillow and his chest heaving slowly, loud snores coming with each breath. He had been laying like that a lot lately, but the snores had only recently started. You had never heard him snore before the divorce.

You padded past the room and up the stairs into your room. You glanced at the clock, 3:00. You were supposed to meet Natalie in 15 minutes, so you grabbed a pair of Converse from your closet and pulled them on without socks. (What an awful habit, Arlo. Your shoes always smelled).