Page 7 of My Sweet Dollie, You Have to Love Me
“Then I’d like black.”
The wide O-shape to her mouth tells me she wants to object, but words I’d never expect slip out. “Okay. Black, it is.” Her lips lift, and she’s ready to leave, but then she stops again, convincing me once more that she’ll object to my color choice, but again, she doesn’t. “Ambrose, it might be nice for you and Dollancie to spend some time together. You don’t know any other children here yet. So, it’s nice that you have each other. It’s really a great thing to have a sibling.”
Is it?Neither she nor Dad talk to theirs.
I don’t answer.
Mom has said this pointless babble before, and I’ve said that Dollie and I have nothing in common.
She reads my answer on my face and shrugs. “One day, I’m sure you’ll love your little sister. I hope you do. She really loves you already.”
I feel guilty for her sad smile.
“Anyway, come downstairs in a few minutes. We’ll order a pizza for tonight from the place we saw on the way in. There’s a table with benches in the kitchen. It’s wooden, so I can give it a wipe down first. No germs.”
A smile tugs at my lips, big and bright, not letting her know that a wipe down will never be enough.
The pizza is ugly, to look at, at least. The burned crust sits in a small pool of grease.
Hawaiian is what’s on offer, and it’s never been my favorite. Dollie got her way again, so Dad and Mom could have a quiet night after the long drive. For whatever reason, she’ll only eat foods that are either shades of pink or yellow.
Anything else is unsafe.
The pizza looks anything but safe—unhealthy and tasteless, just to name a few.
Opposite me, Dollie lifts her first slice, and the soggy dough flops downward to the grease it left behind
“Not hungry, buddy?” Dad asks me from my side at the rectangular table.
Mom dusted the table twice, and it still looks filthy. It’s hard to look away from all the lingering specs and stains, but I do it, my eyes landing on a chunk of meat that’s paler than it should be as it stares up at me from the lid of the box. Our plates are still in storage, and the moving van won’t arrive until morning.
Luckily, there wasn’t any in the kitchen when Dad looked, as the cupboards were rotting and hanging from the walls. He would have said they’d be okay after a rush of tap water.
I’d have disagreed. Strongly.
And we’d have argued over it.
I take a slice to please my father.
“Mommy, where’s Duggan?” Dollie interrupts.
Duggan is a weird-looking stuffed antelope with only one eye, and Dollie can’t sleep without it.
“Oh, baby. He must be packed in the van.”
Great, now, she’ll cry louder tonight.
Gratitude for the faraway room and super long hallway fills me as I finally take the first bite of pizza.
Yeah, it tastes ugly, too.
“Nice, huh?” Dad will eat anything, and this is proof.
I force it down, smothering the rumbling of my stomach with a heavy swallow of tasteless dough.
“Did you know this place used to be an old orphanage?” Dad asks me. But I did, he’s told me already. His memory isn’t as good as mine. He doesn’t have millions of thoughts trapped in a busy head.
“What’s an orphanage?” Dollie, and her poor table manners flick pizza crumbs from her mouth as she talks.
