Page 117 of Between the Lines

The one I purchased on my own, with money I’d saved, because when I’d asked forhelpacquiring my own vehicle, my parents reminded me that they’d gotten the minivanfor me.

“Stand in front of it so I can get a photo!”

Mom ushers Michael into place, and I know that this will be on Facebook for all of her friends to see within the hour, probably with #blessed and a bunch of emojis. I wonder if Michael notices, or cares at all.

“Why?”

It’s the only syllable to make it through the barrage of questions I have. I leave my mother to interpret its meaning. And maybe that was my first mistake. Her Cheshire smile curls upward like an evil sorceress as she strikes her killing blow.

“Why not? Michael has always done his best. He absolutely deserves it.”

I flee.

Dropping the hands of Ryan and Oliver, who had insisted on anchoring to me, I make my exit through the attached door, snag my purse at the entryway, and push out the front door without making sure it closes.

It’s hard to catch my breath once I’m in the front seat of my own car. I’m shaking, that worddeservechoking the breath from my lungs. The grief is inescapable. I briefly wonder if this is what drowning feels like, before the door opens, slams closed, and a hand clenches over mine.

“That was freaking shitty.”

The squeeze of my unapologetically apathetic sister’s hand releases enough of my tension to allow me to breathe. It takes me a few minutes to calm my racing heart, but with my head tipped back against the headrest, I finally crack a smile.

“Language, Zoey.”

“Okay, but it was!” she erupts. “She has no right to punish you for wanting to be an adult.”

I toss her a sad smile, laughing sarcastically at the ceiling.

“And yet, here we are. Christmas morning, and she couldn’t even keep the peace.”

“At least she got you underwear.” Zoey rolls her eyes, anddamndo I miss my little sister.

“I left them inside.”

“Want me to go back for them?”

I shake my head. “They were probably granny panties anyway. Have things gotten any better?”

“No.” She shakes her head, then wipes the back of her hand beneath her nose defiantly. “She was going to miss wine night with her friends or something to take me to cello, and flipped out about it. Michael was late to soccer again, and they had a fight because he told her to stop yelling at the coach when it was her fault. She can’t cook forcrap, Claire.”

My heart tears. When was the last time my mother actually had tomother?

“You’re never coming back, are you?”

A noose tightens around my heart. I shake my head in a slow tilt, shoving down the brokenness in my sister’s voice.

“No. Not to live with them anyway.”

She blinks. Breathes in shortly, out shortly, and closes her eyes. They flutter against her porcelain skin. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Zo this vulnerable.

“What about for us?”

The slow rising guilt finally overflows. The bite against the inside of my cheek is fruitless to the tears that burst over the shattered dam.

“Oh, Zo.” I run my hand over her tight curls, tugging one to watch it spring back into place before I cup her cheek.

I fear for a moment that I’m about to lose her, but she says, “I get it. You can’t let her treat you like that anymore.”

The fear I’ve always held, that my siblings would be forced to grow up too fast, resonates in front of me. Zoey already knows too much.

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