flu. I’d named him Mr. Chips, after some TV character I barely remember. I focused on Mr. Chips’ figure, looking through the glasses again. He became a fat, white blur I lowered the glasses. He was suddenly sharp as a knife. I must’ve done this several times, a little more surprised with each round.
I could see !
“Mom!” I threw the glasses aside, dashing out of the room. I didn’t care if she was sleeping. She had to know!
I came to her bedroom door down the hall, only to find it ajar. The curtains hung neatly around the windows, their middles tied back. The sun reflected off her jumbled blankets. She wasn’t in bed. Darting downstairs to the living room, I saw the TV on, the kitchen glowing. The aroma of burnt butter and something sweet filled the air.
I walked into the kitchen. Sitting on the table was a plate steaming with fresh bacon and chocolate chip pancakes. What the heck ? A large postal box was beside the plate, a piece of notebook paper tucked under the corner. I pulled the paper towards me.
Got called in early. But eat up, sweet girl, and save some of your energy! Make sure you call the shelter and tell them you’re not coming in today! We’re going out this afternoon no matter who dies or what chef calls out! Happy birthday! I love you so much.
Xoxo! –Mom
How distracted do you have to be to forget your own birthday? Never in my sixteen—seventeen now—years had I forgotten this day!
Sitting down at the table, I picked up the fork Mom had left out and sawed off a bite of pancake. It melted in my mouth. Biting into a piece of bacon, I prodded at the postal box, turned it around. I frowned as I caught sight of the address. Oh, great . It was from Dad. Beside the address, I saw Mom’s handwriting.
Better just get it over with now!
I huffed a sigh. “Thanks for the advice, Mom.” She should know by now I didn’t need a warning. I’d learned to deal with Dad sending fancy, expensive, forgive-me-for-cheating-on-your-mother gifts . . . It was the letters, the pictures he sent with it that I still had a hard time with. Here was the thing: I didn’t want to hear about Dad’s life. He could ask about mine, but I didn’t want to hear about his vacations in Hawaii or how his skateboarding store was the biggest thing since Zumiez. I didn’t want to see pictures of the mansion he might buy, and I most certainly did not want to see pictures of his slinky, boob-job blonde who I referred to as She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named . . . I didn’t want to see the life he’d built without us.
I pushed the box aside and proceeded to stuff myself with chocolate chip pancakes.
• • •
At school, Kat freaked out when she saw I was glasses-less. She squealed out of excitement when I told her about it, the sound echoing through the locker room.
“I’m sorry, I—I just can’t believe it!” She hopped up and down in her cardigan and lacy underwear, like a kid before bath time.
I laughed, shutting my locker. “I know, me neither. Now put your shorts on, dork.”
“Oh! Before I forget.” She grinned while reaching for the back of her locker. She pulled out a colossal pink bag oozing tissue paper.
“Aw, Kat,” I said as she handed it over. “I told you nothing extravagant.”
“Psh! It’s not that extravagant,” she laughed, pulling on a pair of neon shorts. “Open it, open it! We have time before they shoo us into the dog pen.” She glanced over her shoulder at the group of girls crowded around the door. By dog pen , she meant the gym.
I tore the tissue paper out, finding a white envelope inside. I set it on my lap. It didn’t take me long to find the main gift: a giant, plush cougar with a bow around its neck. “Oh my gosh,” I laughed. She knew I had a soft spot for stuffed animals, especially the big ones that double as pillows.
“Yeah, I was going to tell you I found the cougar that escaped,” she smirked.
I ripped open the envelope, revealing a card with
I could see !
“Mom!” I threw the glasses aside, dashing out of the room. I didn’t care if she was sleeping. She had to know!
I came to her bedroom door down the hall, only to find it ajar. The curtains hung neatly around the windows, their middles tied back. The sun reflected off her jumbled blankets. She wasn’t in bed. Darting downstairs to the living room, I saw the TV on, the kitchen glowing. The aroma of burnt butter and something sweet filled the air.
I walked into the kitchen. Sitting on the table was a plate steaming with fresh bacon and chocolate chip pancakes. What the heck ? A large postal box was beside the plate, a piece of notebook paper tucked under the corner. I pulled the paper towards me.
Got called in early. But eat up, sweet girl, and save some of your energy! Make sure you call the shelter and tell them you’re not coming in today! We’re going out this afternoon no matter who dies or what chef calls out! Happy birthday! I love you so much.
Xoxo! –Mom
How distracted do you have to be to forget your own birthday? Never in my sixteen—seventeen now—years had I forgotten this day!
Sitting down at the table, I picked up the fork Mom had left out and sawed off a bite of pancake. It melted in my mouth. Biting into a piece of bacon, I prodded at the postal box, turned it around. I frowned as I caught sight of the address. Oh, great . It was from Dad. Beside the address, I saw Mom’s handwriting.
Better just get it over with now!
I huffed a sigh. “Thanks for the advice, Mom.” She should know by now I didn’t need a warning. I’d learned to deal with Dad sending fancy, expensive, forgive-me-for-cheating-on-your-mother gifts . . . It was the letters, the pictures he sent with it that I still had a hard time with. Here was the thing: I didn’t want to hear about Dad’s life. He could ask about mine, but I didn’t want to hear about his vacations in Hawaii or how his skateboarding store was the biggest thing since Zumiez. I didn’t want to see pictures of the mansion he might buy, and I most certainly did not want to see pictures of his slinky, boob-job blonde who I referred to as She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named . . . I didn’t want to see the life he’d built without us.
I pushed the box aside and proceeded to stuff myself with chocolate chip pancakes.
• • •
At school, Kat freaked out when she saw I was glasses-less. She squealed out of excitement when I told her about it, the sound echoing through the locker room.
“I’m sorry, I—I just can’t believe it!” She hopped up and down in her cardigan and lacy underwear, like a kid before bath time.
I laughed, shutting my locker. “I know, me neither. Now put your shorts on, dork.”
“Oh! Before I forget.” She grinned while reaching for the back of her locker. She pulled out a colossal pink bag oozing tissue paper.
“Aw, Kat,” I said as she handed it over. “I told you nothing extravagant.”
“Psh! It’s not that extravagant,” she laughed, pulling on a pair of neon shorts. “Open it, open it! We have time before they shoo us into the dog pen.” She glanced over her shoulder at the group of girls crowded around the door. By dog pen , she meant the gym.
I tore the tissue paper out, finding a white envelope inside. I set it on my lap. It didn’t take me long to find the main gift: a giant, plush cougar with a bow around its neck. “Oh my gosh,” I laughed. She knew I had a soft spot for stuffed animals, especially the big ones that double as pillows.
“Yeah, I was going to tell you I found the cougar that escaped,” she smirked.
I ripped open the envelope, revealing a card with
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