medicine {h.s.}

CHAPTER FOUR

july.

"Monty!"

Even from the solace of the kitchen, I can hear Ruth screaming. It's become a near daily occurrence for them to fight over the bathroom in the morning. If not the bathroom, it is almost always something else: Monty needs to shower. Ruth—she's the type of person to shower at night, wanting to get the remnants of her shift off of her skin—needs the bathroom to get ready: makeup, hair, and the like. Neither of them is willing to compromise a beautiful moment of sleep to get up earlier—like me—so that they can beat the other to the bathroom. "I was here first!"

"But I called it last night!"

"Sorry, can't hear you, shower's on!" Monty calls back, the sound of the shower running drowning out some of their fighting.

Smugly, I sip my tea. Technically, this is a three bathroom house. There is the bathroom on the base floor that is not entirely good for anything other than a quick pee, the bathroom upstairs that they are presently fighting over, and the ensuite attached to my mother's bedroom. Unfortunately, there is not one piece of plumbing that still works in that bathroom. I don't know what my mother did to that room, but the shower doesn't run, the lights don't turn on, the toilet doesn't flush, and the sink doesn't turn water. Also, the bath doesn't fill. I know that Monty and Ruth want me to fix it, but I can't rationalize spending that kind of money right now. Not when the three of us easily could figure out something of a working bathroom schedule. Once they put aside their morning grumpiness, I'm sure they'll realize how easy it all can be. Besides, the majority of my money is going into the communal spaces downstairs first, anyway.

Of course, I know what will happen next is inevitable. Soon, my involvement will become crucial to the argument. Next, Ruth will come downstairs to me. Some mornings, it'll be Monty. They like to think that my word is the final say. It's almost as if we are a bunch of grown adults playing house, where I am the mother and they are the two screaming, sniveling children. Personally, I like the power that that gives me, even if I don't like the responsibility of playing parent between the two of them. Usually, I'll try to play the middle ground. I will nod my head and listen to their complaints before reminding them that if I can figure out a time to safely use the bathroom that they can, too.

Ruth's feet come stomping down the stairs—just as soon as I expect. "Gracie," she seethes, rounding the corner to enter the kitchen, hands pressed down harshly on the countertop. The corner of her left eye twitches, and I can tell that she has finally lost it. "He needs to go."

"He pays rent, too."

She rolls her eyes, clearly not swayed by the evidence. "Then stop accepting his rent."

At this point, I release a sigh as I push myself off of the countertop that I had been leaning against. I tilt my head down as I look at her in a deadpan sort of way. All things considered, I know she really likes Monty. She is a chatter. The type to always be saying something, even though the majority of it is nothing. Monty is a quiet guy. He just lets her talk as he nods his head, not really bothered by her incessant chatting in the same way that other people can be. Not to mention, he is just a good guy. "Ruth," I deadpan, shaking my head. "This needs to stop between you two."

She shrugs her shoulders, not as bothered by this situation as I am. I suppose that would make sense to her. It's an annoyance to her half of the time. The other half of the time, she wins and doesn't have to come running to complain to mommy. I, on the other hand, hear about this every morning. Without fail. "Fix the other bathroom."

"Are you paying for that?"

That serves to shut her up.

There is a moment of silence between the both of us. Neither of us is really mad or frustrated with the other, but I can't seem to stop myself from entering something of a stare-down with her. The bathroom situation does nothing but bring out the worst in us. "Alright, come on," I finally say, breaking our silence as I place my mug gently down on the countertop.