“He may have not noticed,” I point out, not really trying to defend him, just stating the sad obvious. “He was pretty trashed.”
“And he’s super hungover today,” Bailey adds as she opens the small pantry closet. “I caught him throwing up in the neighbors’ bushes earlier.”
I crinkle my nose. “Did you clean it up?”
“Hell no.” She slams the cupboard door. “I know you think it’s your job to clean up his messes, but I don’t want any part of it.” She wanders toward the hallway, mumbling, “I’m the child, and he’s supposed to be the parent. Not the other way around.”
I sigh heavily. Out of the three of us, Bailey has the hardest time. She’s also been going through a serious emo phase lately, refusing to wear anything but black, and she is always moody. Her outlet is usually music. She spends hours blasting songs while singing and playing along on her guitar. She even writes her own music.
The problem is, about three months ago, our house got broken into. I wasn’t really surprised, considering the type of neighborhood we live in. However, Bailey’s guitar, amp, and her stereo system were all taken—stuff she had before our mom passed away. It was the only stuff of value she owned, and the guitar held sentimental value. We spent days searching pawnshops, secondhand stores, and asking around, seeing if we could find them to no avail. She’s been in a foul mood ever since.
“We should really find a way to come up with some extra cash, so we can buy her a new guitar,” Londyn says as she leans against the counter. “Maybe that’ll pull her out of her funk.”
I lie flat on the floor to look underneath the fridge for the keys. “I wish we had some extra cash, but I already had to sell some of Mom’s old jewelry so we could pay the deposits and stuff on the new house.”
“You did what?” Payton reels toward me, slamming a cupboard door.
I push up from the floor and dust off my hands. “It’s not like I wanted to, but we needed the money, and it’s the only thing of real value I could find to pawn.”
“I don’t give a shit why you did it. Mom left that jewelry to all of us, not just you.” Payton storms out of the room in the direction Bailey took off in. I’m sure she’s going to inform her of how badly she thinks I messed up.
By the time we get in the car to hit the road, the two of them will be pissed off at me and giving me the silent treatment, which isn’t always a punishment, despite what they think. Still, it doesn’t make me feel any less guilty for pawning off some of our mom’s necklaces and bracelets, but I had no other choice. I wish they would try to understand that.
“Did you get rid of her wedding ring?” Londyn asks quietly, tracing her fingertip over her ring finger.
“No, I just got rid of a couple necklaces and bracelets that she rarely wore.” I take a deep breath as tears sting my eyes. “I’d never get rid of her wedding ring, no matter how hard up for cash we are.”
She nods, lifting her gaze from her finger. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“That you have to make these decisions.” She smiles sadly then gives me a hug.
I hug her back, letting myself have a moment to be needy.
Out of my three sisters, I’m closest with Londyn, since we’re barely a year apart. Bailey and Payton are twins, so they’ve always paired up with each other. But Londyn and I don’t share too much in common, except for the fact that we’re tough as shit—all the Harlyton sisters are. Where Londyn is more quiet and reserved, I tend to be a bit loud and complicated. Not always intentionally. Most of my complications are just piled on me. And like I said earlier, one day I’m going to live a simple, structured life.
Our personalities aren’t the only trait that’s different. Londyn likes to rock the simple jeans, T-shirts, and Converse sneakers look; her hair is always down and straight; and she almost never wears makeup. Me, I’ve got the whole alternative, edgy thing going on. My wavy brown hair is swept to the side with tiny, woven braids on one side. Right now, I have on a black T-shirt, cut-offs, and a plaid shirt tied around my waist. My clunky boots are unlaced, several rings cover my fingers, a series of leather bands decorate my wrists, and my ears are ornamented with stud and looped earrings. Kohl eyeliner is my trademark look, along with lip gloss. I don’t have any tattoos, but I plan on getting one as soon as Payton masters the art, which is a goal of hers.
“Thanks, I needed that,” I say as Londyn pulls back from the hug.
“I could tell.” She gives a quick glance around the living room. “You know, it’s strange, but I don’t even get sad about moving anymore. I don’t think I’m even going to miss this place.”
“Me either.” It’s the truth. We didn’t live here long enough to tie ourselves to anything. Plus, we’ve gotten into the habit of not getting attached, not getting too close to the friends we make, or to the homes we live in. After the fourth move, we realized doing so only made moving harder, so we put up walls around ourselves, only letting each other in. Because, when it all comes down to it, my sisters are the only constants in my life, no matter how much we fight or wear on each other’s nerves.
Taking a final look around at the shaggy brown carpet, the bare walls, and the outdated kitchen, I sigh, ready to say goodbye to this place and get on the road.
“You know what? If Larry doesn’t know where his keys are, I say we just hotwire his truck,” I tell Londyn as I reach to close the window she opened earlier.
She nods. “I’m cool with that, but Dad might have a shitfit.”
“I really don’t care. It’s his own damn fault for getting shit-faced the night before we move then misplacing his keys.”
“I completely agree.”
Silence encases us, except for the soft chatter of Bailey and Payton floating from the other side of their shut bedroom door.
“I miss who he used to be,” Londyn whispers suddenly. “I wish we had our old dad back.”
So do I, Londyn, so do I.
I don’t say the words aloud. No, I learned a long time ago, the day our mom passed away to be exact, that wishing is just a waste of time. That was the last day I stopped believing in wishes.
That was the day I stopped believing in a lot of things.
2
HADLEY
Larry doesn’t have the car keys, so we end up hotwiring Dad’s truck while he’s distracted with vomiting in the neighbors’ bushes again. Or, well, I hotwire his truck.
Cars are sort of my thing. Always have been. My first word was race. That was my mom’s doing. She chanted the word repeatedly until I said it.
She was really into cars and racing. She even went professional for a while before she got pregnant with me and married my dad. That still didn’t stop her from racing locally. One of my first memories was when I was about three or four, and I went to watch her race on the back streets of town. I was the only kid there, and that made me feel super special. But not as special as I felt when my mom won the race. My dad was so happy that he took her out to dinner to celebrate. He bought her a necklace beforehand to give her as a prize for winning. At the time, I couldn’t figure out how my dad knew she was going to win. Later, I realized he didn’t really know. He just hoped. And if she hadn’t won, he still would’ve given her that necklace.