I hear Mother in the background asking Victoria who is on the phone.
“It’s Sara,” she states.
Rustling crackles through the receiver as it changes hands.
“What do you want?” Mother asks, impatient.
“Arissa’s parents asked me to stay for dinner. Can I?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m fixing dinner,” she answers.
“But if I stay here, you won’t have to listen to me and Victoria fighting.”
She is silent for a few seconds. “Be home by seven o’clock. You still have homework to do.”
“But I don’t have homework today.”
“Seven o’clock, Sara,” she repeats, raising her voice.
“Okay,” I relent. “Seven.”
I sit down to eat as Arissa and I recount our day again with Andrew.
“It sounds like an adventure, girls.”
Arissa and I grin.
“If you girls wash up, you’ll have some time before Sara has to go home,” Rose says as we finish eating.
We leave the table and head to Arissa’s room.
“Did you tell your mom about school?” she asks, sitting on the bed.
“I tried, but she was more interested in Victoria’s day. That’s when I asked if I could come over,” I answer, sitting next to her.
“What’s wrong with your mom?”
“I don’t know. Sometimes I think that maybe I’m adopted.”
“Do you think it’s possible?”
“It would explain why I’m not like them. But I look a lot like my mother.”
“Yeah,” she agrees softly.
I hug one of the pillows to me, playing with a corner. “You’re lucky. You don’t have a brother or a sister.”
“I wish I did.”
“But then you wouldn’t get all the attention.”
“How do you know?”
“Look at me and Victoria. She gets all the attention.”
“Maybe. But I had friends before moving here with brothers and sisters and they all got attention.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
Father sits in his chair, drink in hand, watching a baseball game when I return. “Go do the dishes,” he orders, never taking his eyes off the game.
Dishes and serving bowls are spread over the table, pots and pans cover the stove, and several mixing bowls litter the counter.
I peer into a serving bowl on the table and contemplate whether the red mush is worth saving or not. Cafeteria food would be preferable to Mother’s cooking.
I load the dishwasher and hand wash everything that doesn’t fit. I’m scrubbing around the stove burners when Father comes in.
He picks up a pot from the dish drainer and inspects it. “You call this clean?”
“What?”
He thrusts the pot in my face.
“It is clean,” I protest.
“Look at all that.” He points inside the pan.
“I don’t see anything.”
“Are you blind?”
There is nothing where he points but the bottom of a clean pan. “It’s clean.”
He makes a fist and slams the side of it down on top of my head.
“Ow!” I yell, grabbing the counter for support as my knees buckle. I fall to the ground anyway. I cover my head and the room spins as tears rush out.
“Stop crying!”
I attempt to stifle the sobbing as I cower, but it only makes me cry harder.
“I said, quit crying!” he yells, kicking me in the stomach.
I gasp for breath as pain spreads out from my center. The vocal crying stops, but the tears still flow as the world whirls around me.
He throws the pan at me, connecting with my chin. “Now get up and wash that pan again.” He marches out of the kitchen, leaving me on the floor.
I lie still until the spinning subsides. Every move I make hurts my abs and my head while I finish in the kitchen.
I head to the bathroom, taking cautious steps, and stand in front of the mirror, drawing my dark hair away from my face. My emerald eyes are rimmed in red.
I test my swollen chin with a finger and wince from the raw pain.
This is how it is. Methodically completing my assigned chores and checking for injuries. One dreary day after another.
I draw a hot bath, then undress and check my stomach. No bruising yet, but it’s red too. I check the top my head with my fingertips. Tender, but no bump formed yet. I turn off the water, climb in the bathtub, and I sit back with my eyes closed and daydream.
Mother, Father, Victoria, and I are at the beach. Victoria and I run around together in the shore breaks while Mother and Father watch us. Father’s arm drapes around Mother and she rests her head on his shoulder.
A family. Like Rose, Andrew, and Arissa.
CHAPTER FOUR
Rose opens the door smiling. “Good morning!”
“Good morning, Rose,” I return.
Her smile rapidly disappears. “What happened to your chin?”