A grown girl

A short story

Photograph (unknown source) that served as a prompt.

“I can’t believe you did that,” Mom says.

She knew it was stupid. But could she help it ? No. And was there a slight chance she might do it again ? Maybe. She walked just an inch away from the disappointed, diagonal maternal gaze. Felt better that way. A tuft of grass poked through the concrete, she kicked an angry sneaker at it. Facing her, carried by Mom, Lily had that face she makes when she eats too much chocolate, she struggled to mouth : “I forgive you.”

“I mean, that’s on me. That’s on me for trusting you. For thinking you’re a grown girl. No problem, no more unsupervised afternoons. Mrs. Rosa is just a phone call away now,” Mom says. 

No, not Mrs. Rosa! She looked like a real-life museum mummy, like the one Ms. Stacey projected when the whole class gasped and let out a general « ew. » Except this one felt like an endless, desperate “eeeeeewwwwww.” Something inside of her had already started rotting, cause she was practically dead, so any time she spoke the girls discreetly looked away. 

It seemed too late to beg now, Mom would use it against her. 

“I just gave her the answer she needed,” she says.

“And what answers does she need exactly at three years old, huh? Tell me, Emma, please! I wanna know what exactly she needs that I’m not providing already with two jobs and that night shift at the bar, with all the creeps. You saw them! »

Mom was being unfair; it was kinda mean to put the creeps on her, and she knew it, but she did it anyway. And now for some reason she had a knot in her stomach and almost felt guilty about the whole ordeal. 

She saw them indeed, the creeps. How they were looking at Mom and how Mom was definitely playing into it with her high-pitched laugh and her push-up bras. She had felt gigantic on the stool, loudly slurping the apple juice Jerry gave her on the house. 

“You know, Kiddo, you’re lucky to have a mom like her. Wasn’t gonna let her bring you here otherwise. Keep an eye on her, will you?” Jerry said to her that day. 

And did she? Keep an eye on her? Didn’t feel like it now. Didn’t feel like she could keep an eye on anyone. Not on Mom. Not on Lily, anyway. With her puking face and her stupid eyes. She’d told her countless times : “You’re way too soft, Lily!”. She’d poke at her, tease her, nudge her, toughen her up, really. Lily would cry for a while but would still come and hug her afterward, with her soft whisper : “I forgive you”. She got that bullshit from a fairy tale book mom has read to her so much that it was now worn out, just like that tired refrain imprinted inside her brain. Two sisters, like two peas in a pod or something along these lines. 

So when Lily came at her again the other day with that “I forgive you, my sister”, she couldn’t take it anymore and snapped : “Stop it, I am not your fucking sister Lily! Ask Mom!”. Since then, it had stirred up a whole new excitement. Now that was all Lily could talk about, since it means her dad wasn’t dead — unlike Emma’s.

“Why would you do that, Emma? Is it to get back at me? Is that it? Do you hate me?”

I don’t! I don’t hate you, Mom! 

But the words didn’t come out. Why did she do that, anyway? She got it now, that was the kind of thing she did that made TJ call her a “weirdo” in front of everyone, including that bitch Maddy who cackled like a bitch does. She would have punched her stupid blond face if she didn’t have respect for Ms. Stacey’s class. 

“She did it ‘cause she loves me. She wants me to meet my dad, a weak tiny voice says eventually, breaking the tense silence after mom’s unanswered question. 

Mom let out a visible sigh. Around them, the street buzzed with cars and people hurrying by. A bus roared past them just as Mom answered Lily, but Emma knew exactly what she said : 

“You don’t have to swallow a live goldfish and shout ‘DAD!’ three times for him to appear, Lily!”.