Page 6 of Love Bitters

Imogene

“You’re up bright and early,” my mother comments offhandedly while stirring scrambled eggs on the stove. It’s been three days since she’s even seen my face in more than passing. After sending the two texts that will likely haunt me for the rest of my life, I’ve been holing up downstairs trying to fight off the sadness from my decision on top of trying to hide my morning sickness.

So, fighting the urge to roll my eyes at her, I grab an orange juice out of the fridge and admit, “I’ve got an interview in an hour.”

She huffs softly in disbelief as my father sets down his paper where he sits at the breakfast table. I don’t think it really clicks in for her until she turns to find my father staring at my face. Her spatula drops to the floor, flinging eggs across the linoleum.

“Oh, thank the heavens, Imogene,” she says, dramatically clasping her chest before bending down to retrieve the spatula and wipe the mess up.

This time I just let my eyes do their thing as I ignore the stern glare my father directs my way. Thankfully, none of the smells from breakfast are turning my stomach, but the bacon hasn’t gone on yet either. My nerves had sent me upstairs in search of a snack before leaving, but now that I’m here, I can’t think of doing anything but leaving. Even if that means sitting in my car for an hour beforehand.

Mother quickly cements that decision for me as she starts talking again. “You know I’ve been so worried about you since we lost your sister. It’s been hard on all of us, but you needed to handle it better. It’s no good for a grown woman of your age to still be living in our basement. What do you think Elizabeth would’ve said about how you’ve been acting?”

The OJ turns bitter in my stomach and threatens to come back up. My sweet mother knows exactly where to stick the knife to make it hurt the worst. She always has. I’ve never been her favorite daughter and never will be. Even with Lizbeth gone. I’m pretty sure she’d rather me be dead instead.

Fighting to keep the juice down, I watch the perfect little house wife at the stove doing her duties, wishing I could tell her where to shove her hurtful words. Choosing instead to take the high road, I announce, “I’ve got to go, or I’m going to be late.”

I’m already walking away as I throw over my shoulder, “Wish me luck.”

“Good luck, sweetheart,” she says without bothering to raise her eyes from the stove.

That’s right, Mother, send me all the luck and good vibes. If I can get this job, I’ll be out of here lickety fucking split.

Wonder how they’ll feel when their house is nothing but photos of the daughters they used to have?

Making it to my car, I climb behind the wheel and brace my forehead on it before the tears start falling. Out of all days, she just had to bring up Lizbeth today. Dark thoughts bounce off the walls of my mind, and it’s all I can do to not just go crawl back under my covers downstairs. If I knew I wouldn’t have to deal with her again, I’d do it. Depression is a weight sitting on my chest as it steals what little air I’ve been managing to breathe over the past couple of days.

“My life sucks,” I whisper into the quiet of my car.

Life is what you make it, my sister’s voice whispers back.

I lift my head and nod as I slowly begin to wipe away the wetness on my face. “You’re goddamn right it is,” I tell myself. Her. Both of us.

Anything is better than where I am now. Rechecking to make sure the dark makeup that draws out the blue color of my eyes isn’t smudged, I jam the key into the ignition, starting the car. I’d really like to give the house the finger, but it’d be my luck one of them would be looking out the window, or a neighbor would call them and complain about it.

“Fuck you!” I yell, lifting my spirits a bit. Can’t give them the finger but getting that out helped some.

When I get to the local-owned department store, I do a quick check on the high pony I’ve got my black hair styled back into before stepping out into the still crisp air of a dying winter.

Involuntary purging over the past week has left me at least ten pounds lighter. It doesn’t really show on my forever size fourteen frame, but I can feel it. Mainly in the way the stylish plum-colored suit dress doesn’t cling to me. It actually fits the way it’s supposed to. Mother had gotten it for me when I graduated. One of those underhanded passive-aggressive gifts. Being a size too small, it was her way of encouraging me to shed the extra weight I’d gained in college. Walking out of the house after her kind words had me considering the option to strip right there on the lawn and set the damn thing on fire while I danced around it like a crazy person. Since I vetoed that one, I’m wearing it now as a badge of fucking honor. I survived the insanity they call my childhood and will soon be living for myself. Well, myself and my baby.

Oh, God. For a moment I’d almost forgotten the most important thing. My steps stutter for half a second before I catch myself.

Just breathe, Im. One day at a time, my sister’s voice tells me. She’s right, of course. Head high, I pull open the door to what I hope will be my new workplace.

Twenty minutes later, I’m dragging ass back to my car. The interview was over in less time than it took to drive here. Apparently, they’re hiring inside the family for the manager position, but they’ll keep my application on file as backup. I’m sure they told that to the thirty other people they had the nerve to waste the time of today.

Climbing back into the only thing in this world that truly belongs to me, I don’t cry like I want. No, my brain is already turning over to find other solutions. First things first, I’m hungry and craving a peanut butter shake from the local creamery, but there are two problems with that. One, I’m broke as a joke. Two, that was our spot. Ollie, Evan, and me. Not only would that hurt worse than the jabs from my mother this morning, but there’s a possibility they might be looking for me. If the flood of texts, calls, and voicemails I’ve gotten over the past couple days is any indication, none of them are giving up without a fight. So, I don’t put it past them.

There’s one other place I could try, but there’s still the problem of cash.

My hands clench so tight on the steering wheel that I can see the veins underneath my skin. Flicking my eyes toward the passenger seat, I take the deepest breath I can manage and hold it in as long as I can before letting it go slowly. Mind made up, I slip a hand underneath the seat where a small cut hides one of mine and Lizbeth’s best kept secrets.

Years ago, we’d made a pact to open a savings account together when we came of age. Lizbeth made sure we stuck to it. On our eighteenth birthday, she took every single cent of her money to Taylor Trust and Mutual with me and started us an account. Having that secret from our parents had made us so proud and excited that we’d turned around and spent mine on a spontaneous spring break trip to the beach.

One of my absolute favorite memories of her is from that trip. Sitting arm and arm, warm sand under our butts, the sound of waves music to our ears as the salty wind blew our hair around our faces.

“Not long now, Immabear,” she’d said. “We’ll be in college, and after, we’ll get a place together. We’ve just got to keep our heads about us. We’re almost there.”

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