and this power squatting inside me was trying to break free. How much more of this could I take before I reached a tipping point? Before I did something I couldn’t take back?
CHAPTER 3
The next morning, I sat on the edge of my bed with my bare feet on the floor. As I looked around my room, wiping the sleep from my eyes, the cut on my finger throbbed. In a rush, the terror from the day before washed over me.
I should be dead.
In the night, tangled ropes of ivy had made their way across the floor and knitted themselves together like a rug of leaves. I stumbled over them to grab my glasses off my desk and went down the hall to get a jump on my morning routine. I brushed my teeth and fished through an endless hoard of hair products in the cabinet for some leave-in and a spray bottle. My six-day-old twist-out was lookin’ extremely rough, but I thought I could get away with a poof for at least another day or two. I slicked up the sides with some Eco Styler and a paddle brush. If my edges were laid, it was okay if the rest was a little messy. Worst-case scenario I’d throw it in a wrap and call it a day.
“How?” Mom’s voice rang out from the living room, her tone clipped. “We can’t afford it.”
I crept closer to the bathroom door.
“We’ll figure it out. We always do,” Mo said.
“We can’t make money appear out of thin air,” Mom said. “We’re already cutting corners. We can’t keep on like this.”
“I know,” said Mo. “Ordering costs are going up. The main case needs a repair, too. It’s not cooling like it should and wasted inventory costs us more money. But it’s the rent the new owner is charging that’s gonna kill our profit margin. I’ll go back over all the billing, make sure we’re not paying too much for supplies, and then we need to get with our accountant and double-check taxes, write-offs—”
“We’ve done all that,” Mom said.
Mo answered her with a heavy sigh. Their talks about money had gotten more and more desperate over the last few months.
“I can work nights, weekends, whatever I need to do,” said Mo.
“I can pick up some more freelance work,” Mom said, her voice tight, like she’d been crying. “I’ll check in at the college. I know they’ve got some adjunct positions opening in the fall.” She sighed. “I wanna know when we’re supposed to enjoy life a little. Take Briseis on a vacation or somethin’.”
“I don’t know, babe,” Mo said. “I want that too.”
I finished up in the bathroom and walked into the living room. “I can get a full-time job for the summer.”
“No,” Mom said. “Absolutely not. You’ve been struggling in school and I know it’s because you’re stressed. You need to sit down somewhere and relax.”
“I’ll be less stressed when I know we can pay the bills,” I said. “Whoever said money doesn’t solve your problems was a liar.”
“This isn’t your problem to solve, you brilliant, beautiful child,” said Mo, her eyes misting over. Mom was the crier, not Mo. She was emotional in a different way. Seeing her on the verge of tears put a knot in my throat. “We’re going to have to make some sacrifices to keep things afloat after the summer. New rent goes into effect in the fall, so maybe we keep the shop and move to a smaller place.”
“We can get a one-bedroom,” said Mom, glancing at Mo. “Briseis can have the room, and we can get a foldout.”
Mo nodded. “We can give up the paid parking, too. Maybe give up the car altogether. We hardly use it anyway.”
“Um, sleeping on a foldout? Getting rid of the car? Are things that bad?” Those were big decisions. Maybe this wasn’t just a bump in the road. Mom and Mo looked at each other solemnly.
“Everything is gonna be fine,” said Mo.
“You don’t have to lie to me.” I sat down between them. “I know you’re doing it because you don’t want me to worry but it’s too late for that. So, let’s stop pretending everything is okay if it’s not. What do y’all tell me all the time? ‘It’s okay to not be okay.’ That’s us right now.”
Mom nodded and Mo beamed. We both had big brown eyes. People said we favored each other, and it was nice to have someone that kind of looked like me. Me and Mom