Page 8 of Bewitched & Bewildered
“Are you sure?” she asks.
I nod. “I’ll keep it in mind if I can’t find anything else.”
“Oh, give yourself a break first.” She leans over and touches my shoulder. “Don’t start the job search right away.”
“That’s not an option. I can’t waste time licking my wounds. I have student loans to pay.”
“You can andshouldtake time to relax,” she says. “Self-care isn’t a waste. You don’t need to carry the burden alone. That’s not healthy!”
“I know.”
“You could get a job with your degree.”
“Where?” I shake my head.
“At a school!”
I could tell her for the thousandth time that I don’t wantto teach art, but starting that conversation back up doesn’t feel worth it.
“Yeah,” I say. “Maybe.”
It sounds like a solution, but it doesn’tfeellike one. Or, maybe I’m not ready for solutions.
“We’re here for you,” Maple says.
She can say it until the moon turns blue, but I won’t listen. I am supposed to be in charge now.
My sisters and I are all adults. The youngest, Laurel, is twenty-one. We can all care for ourselves, but my mother didn’t want that. It isn’t what she taught us.
We’re supposed to stick together and help elevate each other.
“I know you are.” I offer a tight smile. “And I appreciate it. I won’t start looking today.”
“Good!” That seems to appease Maple. She stands up and smooths down her white top. “Get some rest, sweetie. I’ll be home by lunchtime. We can catch up then.”
“I will,” I say. “Thanks.”
I must fallasleep on the couch. It’s warm and toasty when I wake up—which is why this is my favorite place to sleep. It’s closer to the fireplace than my room upstairs is.
The couch is old and worn, and it feels like it’s sucking me in. It’s perfect. It should probably be replaced soon, but I have more important things to worry about.
Including a potential intruder.
The floorboards creak as someone’s clumsy feet stomp across them.
I sit upright, peering around the room with groggy eyes, intent on finding the source of the noise. A flash of green hair is the first thing I see as my youngest sister tiptoes through the room.
“Shh. Go back to sleep. You can’t see anything.”
“Laurel.” I lie back down. “You don’t need to sneak inside anymore. You’re a grown woman.”
I’m not her mother, though it may be hard for the baby of the family to comprehend. Our father left when she was two years old. My mother was a fantastic parent—I’ll never say otherwise—but I spent my teenage years helping with Laurel.
I would do it again if I had to, but it left us with a strange relationship. Her being a decade younger than me doesn’t help with that.
Laurel is the rebel of the family. If sneaking in at night doesn’t prove it, her green hair does. She was once the athletic one, going to college on a track scholarship, but she left that behind to run around Starbrook instead.
That’s the simplistic way of looking at it. The truth is, she dropped out after our mother passed. I would have done the same.
