The Truth About Never

AN: Hey everyone,

I'm posting my short story The Truth About Never written for @RebeccaSky's fantasy anthology. Hoping to turn this into a full length novel sooner rather than later. Peter Pan is everything. :) Thanks for reading <3 

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"Every once in a while, in the middle of an ordinary life, love gives us a fairytale."

I resent that quote. More than anyone or anything on earth. The entire statement offends me because my mother's unwavering belief in its truth has turned my life—and hers—upside down. The words are even cross-stitched on the face of a pillow that has a permanent home in our living room. A constant reminder of the lies that have stolen her soul.

My father refuses wholeheartedly to dispose of the stupid pillow. I think he dreams she'll come home someday. I know better. I turn the pillow on its face every single time it crosses my line of sight-- too often. Truth be told, I'd torch it if I could, use it as kindling for a bonfire but he'd never forgive me. Sometimes I think it'd be worth it just to watch it burn.

I flip it over for what feels like the hundredth time today at the precise moment my father comes into the room, his face shadowed in a scowl.

"You're not ready to go," he says simply. He makes no mention at all about the pillow, instead calmly turning it back around, fluffing it and setting it down in the center of the sofa in all of its revolting glory.

"I'm ready."

"Everleigh, you'll show your mother some respect. You're not wearing pajamas."

His logic is unfounded. My mother, and everyone else at Blind Bay Extended Care Facility is in pajamas. I'd fit in. "She's not even going to notice, dad."

"Clothes. Now," her orders. He looks at his watch for a beat before his gaze sweeps back to me. "You're on the clock, Everleigh, move it."

I roll my eyes and begin an adolescent stomp up the stairs and to my room. The mini temper tantrum has one purpose and one purpose only. To make me feel better. Dad won't notice. An atom bomb could erupt or the world could be taken over by zombies and he wouldn't so much as flinch, so a sixteen-year-old girl in the throes of a fit isn't going to faze him. Regardless, I continue my march of defiance all the way up to my room before I slam the door behind me for good measure.

Capone, my cockatiel tilts his head to the side when I come and he chirps. "Ever, Ever, you pretty girl."

"S'up Cap?"

He shuffles along his wooden perch. "S'up, Ever?"

"Well, dad's making me change," I say to the bird, "Because apparently my mom is going to notice I'm wearing pajamas."

"Change. Ever."

I walk over to his cage and he starts to get excited. He thinks I'm coming to take him out but I don't. Life is filled with epic disappointments for both Capone and I, it would seem. I check his water and refill his food dish. "Sorry buddy, you have to wait until I get home from seeing mom, then we can chill."

"Chill. Ever."

"Chill with Ever, yes," I say. "Soon."

Once I know Capone is set for the next few hours, I begrudgingly select a pair of jeans, a black tank and a plaid shirt to wear over it. If Dad expects me to show up in my Sunday best, he can bury that dream right alongside my mother's sanity.

"Everleigh!" he bellows from the bottom of the stairs. "Now!"

"I'm coming!" I scoop my phone and earbuds from the nightstand, shoving them into my back pocket and sling my messenger bag over my shoulder.