coffee, I clear my throat and say, “Thank you for letting me stay the night.”
Mrs. Lawson glances at me, no aggression anywhere on her features. Her dark brown hair reaches just above her shoulders, and it doesn’t look like she’s brushed it.
Mom will never leave her bedroom without every hair in place and her make-up done.
Mrs. Lawson’s wearing a robe over her pajamas.
Another thing Mom will never leave her room wearing.
Colton takes three plates from a cupboard and begins to set the table. Wanting to do something, I grab his mug from where he left it on the counter and walk to the sink.
Glancing over my shoulder at Mrs. Lawson, I ask, “Is it okay if I wash the dishes?”
“You don’t have to, dear.” She looks up from where her eyes were trained on the eggs. “I’ll do them after the two of you head to school. It will give me something to do.”
Oh wow, my mom will never wash dishes.
The differences between my mom and Mrs. Lawson are glaringly obvious, and it makes me feel less anxious around her.
When the food is ready, we sit down at the table, and just like the night before during dinner, there’s no tension as we eat.
A feeling ripples through me, and it sends my heart racing. It almost feels ravenous.
I want more of this.
I want to be a part of a family that loves each other.
COLTON
Brie is much more relaxed than last night, and it eases the worry that’s been gnawing at my insides.
Once we’re all done eating, Mom says, “Colton, will you place one of the chairs in the bathroom?”
“Sure.” While I’m busy setting up everything for the haircut, Brie clears the table.
When we’re done, I walk over to Brie, and I take hold of her elbow. Worried about the cuts on her head, I lean down and whisper, “How do the gashes feel?”
She lifts a hand to her head and pats over it. “Better.”
“Let’s make your hair beautiful again. Don’t want you to be late for school,” Mom says.
Brie hesitates before she answers, “Okay.”
“Want me to come with?” I ask.
Brie nods and knowing she wants me there makes the same weird sensation from the night before ripple through my chest. I attribute it to just feeling protective of her.
I go sit on the closed toilet lid, so I’m out of the way.
“Can you wet your hair?” Mom asks while she reaches for a towel.
Brie wets it in the sink, and then Mom presses most of the water out before draping the towel around Brie’s shoulders.
“Take a seat.” Mom reaches for the scissors on the counter, and I watch as Brie’s eyes widen when she notices.
I lean forward and place my hand over Brie’s. “I’m here.”
She turns her hand over, and grips tightly hold of mine.
Her eyes lock on my face, and when I see the fear in them, I say, “Wait a second, Mom.” I reach forward and pull the chair with Brie closer until her knees are between mine.
“Just keep looking at me,” I say to her.
Brie nods, and the moment I reach for her hand, her fingers wrap tightly around my palm.
I nod for Mom to proceed.
My eyes stay locked with Brie’s as Mom begins to cut the remaining long strands. With every snip, Brie flinches. Tension hangs thick in the air, and I force a smile to my face, hoping it will make Brie feel better.
By the time Mom sets the scissors down, my stomach feels like a hard knot of nerves.
Letting out a tense breath, I ask, “Are you done?”
“Yes.” Mom moves the towel from around Brie’s shoulders and drops it in the basin. “Now, for the fun part. Let’s go to my room so I can blowdry it.”
When we get up, my eyes go over the new hairstyle, and seeing how good it looks, pride swells in my chest for the incredible job my mom did. “It looks good.”
“Really?” Brie asks.
She turns to look at the mirror, but I stop her. “Let’s finish first. I want you to see it once my mom’s dried it.”
Walking into Mom’s room, I go sit on the unmade bed and watch as Mom styles Brie’s hair. When Mom’s done, she pulls at a couple of strands with her fingers, saying, “You can look.”
Brie’s eyes lift to the mirror in front of her, and then her lips part. A smile begins to waver around her lips before it stretches into a full-blown happy grin. “Gosh, thank you so much.”
Mom cut