For Sure & Certain by Anya Monroe

tonight. It’s okay.
    And then one from just a few minutes earlier,
    Mom: I’m getting take-out with Lily. Please come home ASAP. Dinner together tonight. Mandatory.
    She set her phone down, confused. Part of her wanted to text Cedar to find out what the hell they were talking about, but a bigger part didn’t want to. She would find out soon enough, and whatever it was, it wasn’t good. She could wait for bad news. 
    Marigold decided to bake something while she waited for them. The kitchen had become her sanctuary this past year, as she taught herself the basics from cookbooks, and quickly gained confidence, taking on more challenging lessons like how to make perfect caramel sauce and pipe frosting and bake artisan loves of bread. Walking into the kitchen, she ran her hand over the granite countertop anxiously, thinking about the texts. She turned the oven on to three hundred fifty degrees and began pulling out ingredients, knowing if the house smelled of chocolate brownies, any bad news would be easier to bear.
    She broke eggs in sugar and creamed them before adding the flour and rich cocoa. Beating the mixture by hand was the only way Marigold could create the right consistency for this decadent treat. The batter filled a greased pan and she slid it into the oven, setting the timer.
    Marigold poured herself iced tea and opened the back patio door to wait, but let out a yelp of surprise at seeing her dad sitting out there, alone. He didn’t hear her; he just sat staring at his phone.
    “Dad?” she asked, thinking he was supposed to be at a book signing tonight. “What are you doing here?”
    “All hail, the golden child arrives.”
    “Sorry, what? I didn’t know anyone was out here. I thought you had a signing.”
    “It was postponed.”
    “What?”
    “Postponed.” His word was loud, and cold and surprise her.
    “Why?”
    “Bureaucracy.” His word slurred, and only then did she notice a bottle of Jameson on the patio table, the glass in his hand.
    “What’s going on?” She wanted to ask what the texts were about, but she was scared to press him when he was like this.
    “You didn’t see?” He laughed. “Figures, you’re never where you are supposed to be, are you, Goldie? Think nothing affects you. Think your mother is the Devil for caring.”
    “I didn’t say Mom was the Devil.”
    “Didn’t you though?” He snarls his lip, shaking his head at his oldest daughter. “By doing everything in your power to make her life miserable?”
    The timer went off, beeping through the heavy, drunken words. Words she knew he used in an effort to hurt, to deflect. Words she wouldn’t take to heart.
    “I need to get the brownies.”
    Marigold flipped off the timer and pulled the brownies from the oven. Setting them on the counter, her breath caught on her father’s words. What in the world was he talking about? Turning around she screamed, surprised to see her brother standing there, a bowl of Fro-Yo in his hand. Two yelps in one night felt like a lot. It seemed as if more would come.
    “Didn’t mean to scare you,” Cedar said, handing the fruit laden bowl towards her.
    “What’s this for?” she was suspicious of him. He was her closest ally in this house, but they both knew that was a stretch. He wasn’t exactly a supportive force in her life, just another pair of judgmental eyes.
    “Did you get my text?”
    “Yeah,” Marigold said softly, knowing whatever it was, it was coming out now. She wanted to stall. “Dad’s here. Outside, drunk. Incoherent and condemning as usual.”
    “So you heard?”
    “Heard what, exactly? Mom texted and so did you, but I don’t know what’s going on.”
    “Don’t you read the news?” Cedar shook his head at her, like she was a freak, an alien. Not his sister.
    “Not really. Not today at least.”
    “Well, you need to.” Cedar pulled out his phone and handed it to her. It was an op-ed piece on the Huffington Post. “There are dozens like that, popping up