Summer of Us

Chapter 5

"God," mom says, hair wet an already dressed in her pajamas even though it's only six. She collapses into a heap on the couch, the stretched out lounge part, just above we're I'm braiding Stace's hair from the floor. "I've never been this tired in my life."

"You say that every day after work," Stace says. In front of her are toppled over Polly Pockets that she'd been playing with, but I kept yanking her back to make her French braids tighter.

"Because every day it gets worse," mom says dramatically, throwing an arm over her head and checking her phone. "Sands, could you make me a drink?"

"Bourbon and Coke?" Sandy calls from the kitchen. She's been dyeing shirts for some summer relay her office is having next weekend in the kitchen sink for the past half hour.

"Can I have one?" I say, wrapping a hair tie around my finished work.

"How old are you?" mom says without looking up from her screen. I hold up Stace's heart shaped mirror to the back of her head so she could see.

"Come on, I'm not even doing anything tonight."

"No plans?" This draws her attention more than my alcohol request. "What about your friends? What are they doing tonight?"

I sigh, ticking off my fingers. "Star is at work. Trent is going to a jazz club in the city with his gamer friends, but they let people smoke inside and I don't want to smell like cigars for the rest of the weekend. And I'm pretty sure CJ is mad at me." The last one is a stretch, as we'd been ok after we went home last night, but I didn't want to push my luck and ask him to hang out with me again in case he was.

"Why?" mom picks at her eyebrows, a habit she developed after the accident. She hadn't been in the car with us, but with my dad passing, and my therapy, she'd pluck out each hair and they stayed that way for months after from stress. This picking isn't as severe as back then, but I still smack her hand away from her face, just in case.

"He tried to make a move on me," I say, lifting myself onto the couch. I hand the remote to a whining Stace, who's grabbing for it, surely so she can turn up the old Seinfeld rerun and drown us out. She's funny that way, playing with toys but watching shows meant for adults. I think it reminds her of her grandma, because that's all the old lady ever used to watch. That, Everybody Love Raymond, and all the divorce court shows, which used to drive me nuts. "I kindly informed him I'm not interested."

"Aw, Aves," she says, almost pouting. "I always thought you two would be cute together."

Behind us, Sandy makes a retching sound. In her hand are two mixed drinks, one significantly lower than the other. She gives this one to me.

"What?" she says to mom, handing over hers and kissing the top of her head. "You heard the girl. She doesn't plan on going anywhere. Right, Aves?"

I smile as my answer, sticking my tongue out at mom, who rolls her eyes. "Sands, what's for dinner?"

"Shit, is it time for dinner?" she says, pulling up her Apple watch. "I screwed up on the last two shirts, got so pissed I didn't notice."

The doorbell rings, and Sandy slowly makes her way towards it. Most likely Mrs. Johnson from across the way, trying to give us misplaced mail or leftovers of whatever produce is growing wildly in her garden.

"You mean to tell me you went to Michael's twice in three hours and didn't think of dinner once?" mom hollers over the television.

"What?" I almost spit out my drink. "Sandy, you went to Michael's, my store's main competitor? How could you?"