Life's What You Make It

Chapter 57

Smack my ass and call me Beyoncé with the surprise drop lmfao

There's a point in this chapter where i was a lil bit drunk, see if you can spot it before I do! I'll proofread in the morning, i swear!!

Jasmine's POV

The weight on my chest was the first thing I felt when the Saturday morning sun started peeking through the curtains. It wasn't the heavy, suffocating anxiety that usually sat there, though. It was about sixty pounds of golden retriever. Max was fast asleep, his head resting squarely on my stomach and his paws twitching as he chased dream squirrels. Mom definitely wasn't thrilled about the new sleeping arrangement. She had made a face every time she saw him jump onto my duvet, muttering something about dog hair and hygiene, but she hadn't actually forbidden it yet. Maybe she figured a dog was a better coping mechanism than the alternatives I had been turning to lately.

I missed her being in here, though. For a few nights after the whole lighter situation, Mom had stayed with me until I fell asleep, sometimes even waking up beside me. But lately, things had shifted. Now, she just came in, pressed a kiss to my forehead, said a soft goodnight, and walked out. The minute the door clicked shut, Max would emerge from the hallway and claim his spot. I knew Blue was jealous about it, too. She had made a whole scene yesterday about how it wasn't fair that the dog got to sleep with the "cool sister" while she had to sleep alone with her stuffed unicorns.

The peace didn't last long. My bedroom door creaked open and a small, chaotic blur sprinted toward the bed.

"Jas! Wake up! Max, move!" Blue whispered loudly, trying to shove the dog aside. Max didn't budge. He just opened one eye and let out a long, dramatic sigh.

"Blue, it's way too early," I groaned, pulling the blanket over my head.

"It's not early. The sun is up and Dad is in New York and Mommy is still in bed," Blue said, tugging at the edge of my covers. "We have to make her breakfast. Like a surprise. Because she's tired and the babies are making her feet big."

I poked my head out, looking at my five year old sister. She looked determined, her hair a mess of tangles and one of her pajama socks falling off. I knew if I said no, she'd probably try to do it herself, and the last thing this house needed was a toddler-led culinary disaster.

"Fine," I sighed, shifting Max over so I could sit up. "But we have to be quiet. If we wake her up before the food is ready, it's not a surprise."

We crept downstairs, Max trotting behind us with his tail thumping against the wall every few steps. The kitchen was cold and quiet, smelling faintly of the lemon cleaner Mom used every night. I went to the fridge to grab eggs and milk, but when I turned around, my heart nearly stopped. Blue was standing on her tiptoes, her small hand reaching for the dial on the stove.

"Hey! Stop!" I hissed, lunging forward and pulling her hand away. "No touching the stove, Blue. Never."

"I was just gonna make the pancakes hot," she pouted, crossing her arms.

"I'll handle the heat," I told her, my voice firmer than I intended. "You have a very important job. You're the fruit specialist. Come here."

I sat her down at the kitchen island and pulled out a carton of strawberries and some bananas. I searched through the drawer until I found the bluntest, most useless butter knife in the house. It could barely cut through room temperature butter, let alone a finger, but it made her feel official.

"Focus on the fruit," I instructed. "Make them into tiny circles. Be very careful."

While she meticulously sawed through a banana, I got to work. I moved quickly, whisking eggs and flipping pancakes, trying to ignore the way my hands felt a little shaky. Being near the stove felt different now. Ever since Mom had found my lighter and we had that talk about the "monsters," even a blue gas flame felt like a reminder of things I was trying to forget. I kept my head down and focused on the sizzle of the butter.