Page 30 of Wanted You More

Okay, so maybe it wasn’t the best food we’ve ever had, but it was better than nothing. Dad had been stressed about work, and the holidays were hard on him. It’s no secret he struggles with finances. Aunt Mae always offers to pitch in, but he’s too proud to accept. Maybe he doesn’t want to owe her, or anybody, anything. I’ve always had an inkling that Mae has a little crush on Dad and would love to step in as the new maternal figure in our lives. That’s why she always gives him advice and suggestions on how to run our lives, especially when I act out. But Dad remains loyal to Mom, never entertaining the idea. Which is probably why she never chooses to visit us that often.

Last Thanksgiving, I wanted to pitch in and help however I could. In hindsight, I should have tried buying an actual turkey and looking up how to cook it online instead of buying frozen meals. But I like to think it was the effort that counted.

“I won’t subject you to rubbery turkey again,” I promise him with a roll of my eyes. “It will be a one-time thing.”

Wolfe nods. “Yeah, because Dad will cook the turkey dinner. I’ll help him.”

Sometimes I wonder why Wolfe has so much faith in Dad when our father has barely held it together over the years. But then I think about how much I’ve shielded from him over the years. To him, Dad is trying his best to be a good parent.

He didn’t watch the breakdowns like I did because I never wanted him to see our father in that light. I always wanted him to believe that Dad was a rock—that one day he’d get better.

Finally.

I guess I did a good job because now he thinks we’ll finally have a big holiday spread on the table, as if this is the year Dad stops mourning Mom after nearly a decade. I don’t have the heart to tell him that the chances of that happening are slim. If he hasn’t recovered yet, I doubt it’ll change in the next month.

“We can ask him tomorrow if we can go to the store to buy stuff,” I reason. If we don’t, Wolfe will spend the next few weeks worrying.

Wolfe seems appeased. Unfortunately, that means he starts in on me about the joint in my hand. “Is your arm hurting again?”

I could tell him the truth.

That I’m depressed.

That Marybelle still isn’t talking to me.

That Noah is falling in love.

That life just…sucks right now.

But the lie is easier. “Yeah.”

***

Marybelle is stillgiving me the cold shoulder, which makes school suck even more than usual. She goes as far as calling out of work on the days we share shifts. Which is most of them.

And today, my anxiety is at its peak because there are two huge groups of people in the smoothie shop that I can barely handle on my own. Not only did Marybelle call out again, but so did her replacement. The owner is sick, her grandson was a no-show, and I’m out of my mind with orders being barked at me by mean middle-aged women who wear way too much makeup and hairspray like they’re still living in the eighties.

My arm is killing me from how much of a workout it’s getting, but I don’t have a spare minute to take anything for it.

“Miss, I asked three times when my daughter and her friends are getting their drinks,” a fake blonde berates me as she puts her hands on her hips. “We’ve been waiting for over ten minutes. This is ridiculous.”

Eye twitching at her tone, I put two finished smoothies on the counter. “Two vanilla coffee bean smoothies,” I call out before turning to the mother. “I’m doing my best, but we’re short-staffed. Your daughter and her friends will get their smoothies soon.”

That doesn’t seem to appease her. “I don’t think I like your attitude. We’re paying customers, so I doubt your manager would like you being rude to us.”

Is this bitch joking?

Nostrils twitching, I grind out, “Well, if the manager were here, she’d probably be as stressed as I am right now. So, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to work or nobody is getting their drinks.”

Before she can complain more, I give her my back to try fulfilling the rest of the orders. Frustrated tears prick my eyes as I work as fast and efficiently as possible while the noise gets louder and louder behind me.

Girls laugh.

Talk.

Yell.

Some parents scold them.

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