2. Callie
2
CALLIE
The best part about public transportation is that it’s cheap and relatively reliable.
The worst part is that it too often smells like sour milk, and I never know who is going to try to spark up a conversation with me. I don’t know what it is, but strangers always want to talk to me. The women want to compliment my auburn hair. The men want to tell me to smile more. The elderly always feel the need to let me know I look tired or that I need more sun.
I suppose they mean well, and it’s always easy enough to shrug them off with a thank you and a forced smile. But when I’m running on very little sleep and even less food, I’m not in the mood to fend off unsolicited social interactions.
My feet hurt. I’m tired. I want to be left alone.
My big headphones have been broken for almost a year, but I still put them on and shut my eyes. I might not be able to listen to music, but I can pretend, and it usually does a good job of keeping conversation at bay.
The bus takes thirty minutes to get from the store to the stop closest to my apartment. I nod a thank you to Esther as I step onto the curb.
“Have a good one, Calla Lily,” she says in her rough voice, then she shuts the doors behind me and drives off.
Esther has been driving this bus route for as long as I can remember. When I moved back home, she was the first familiar face I saw other than my family, and I’ve seen her almost every day since.
The muffled sound of music filters from the apartment when I reach it, telling me Glory has the day off from her new summer job. Our mother would never listen to music this loud on her own. Not anymore. I try the knob, but it’s locked, so I take out my key and let myself in.
The living room and kitchen are empty, and I grab a glass of water from the fridge dispenser before heading to my bedroom. The bathroom door is shut, and the shower is running, so my mom is definitely awake. Hopefully, this means she’s feeling well today.
The music is much louder as I stand outside my bedroom door. I don’t know how we haven’t gotten a call from the neighbors yet. They must be out for the day.
“Glory, I’m comin’ in,” I call out, announcing my arrival with a knock.
Except for the few years when I’d moved out, I’ve shared this room with Glory since she was a baby. Now that she’s fifteen, though, she’s asked that I respect her privacy and knock before entering. Because I’m a considerate big sister, I do, but she doesn’t seem to think she should afford me the same courtesy. Not that it matters, I guess. The only thing I do in here is sleep.
When a minute passes with no answer—she probably can’t hear me over the music—I repeat myself, louder this time, and push the door open.
“No! Wait!” Glory shouts, but it’s too late.
I’m already stepping into the bedroom and watching her stuff something into our small closet. She slams the door shut and whirls around to face me, forcing a sweet smile onto her flushed face.
I arch a brow and look her over, then flick my eyes to the closet door.
“What are you hiding?”
“I said wait ! You never listen. Ugh , I want my own room again!”
My sister stomps her foot and hits me with a glare, the sweet smile wiped away in half a blink. It’s the look I’m used to getting from her these days. My fifteen-year-old sister thinks I moved back home just to ruin her life.
“Glory, what are you hiding in that closet?”
“Nothing. ”
I walk to her cheap Bluetooth speaker and turn it off, finally silencing her pop-punk racket, then cross the distance and stand in front of her with my hands on my hips.
“Is it Aleck? You know you’re not allowed to have boys in here.”
Glory rolls her eyes. “I’m not hiding Aleck in my closet.”
She talks like the accusation is outlandish when I literally found him hiding under the bed two weeks ago.
“Open the door, Glory.”
“No.”
I raise my voice and direct it at the closet door. “Aleck, come out here right now or I’m calling your dad.”
Glory snorts. “I told you it’s not Aleck?—”
A dog barks, cutting off her statement, and Glory’s eyes go as wide as dinner plates.
“What was that?” I ask, even though I’m not an idiot.
“Nothing.”
“Was that a dog?”
She shakes her head rapidly. “No. Nope.”
I push past her and yank the door open myself, and sure as shit, there’s a dog in my closet. A medium-sized black dog with long, shaggy fur hanging in his eyes. He’s sitting and wagging his tail happily, looking as innocent as can be, but there’s a chewed-up sneaker at his feet that gives him away. My sneaker.
“What the fuck, Glory Bell. Why the hell is there a dog in our closet?”
I flick my eyes from Glory to the dog and back. She folds her arms over her chest.
“He’s my dog. I’m keeping him.”
“You can’t have a dog.”
“Yes, I can!”
“No, you can’t! I can barely afford to feed the three of us. I can’t take care of a dog, too.”
“You won’t have to. I have a job now. I can take care of him.”
“And what about when you go back to school in the fall, huh? What about then?”
“My boss already told me I can work nights, weekends, and breaks once school is back. ”
I shake my head, frustration tightening all my tired muscles until my fingers start to tremble, and I have to ball them into fists.
“No. Absolutely not. You’re not working during school, Glor. We’ve been over this. You focus on your grades and basketball. You’re not working. I’m working.”
“I’m going to be sixteen soon, and you can’t tell me what to do.”
“Yes, I can, Glory. You’re not wor?—”
“You’re not my mom!”
She shouts the words in my face, and I have to bite my tongue to keep from shouting back. It’s not the first time she’s said them to me. In fact, on the list of cruel shit she’s said to me, this doesn’t even register in the top ten.
It still sucks, though.
Not so much the statement—it’s true, I’m not her mom—but the vitriol she hurls behind it. Being on the receiving end of her hatred hurts. I’ve thrown my entire life away to come back here and take care of her, and she still acts as if she hates me ninety percent of the time. I guess I’d rather it be directed at me than Mom, though.
I straighten my spine and take a few calming breaths. Glory’s nostrils flare and she pants with rage. I look behind her at the dog. He hasn’t barked again, but his head is tilted to the side and he’s staring at me with eyes so green they could be emeralds.
He’s judging me.
He’s definitely not on my side.
I turn back to my pissed-off sister.
“Look, I’m sorry, Glor, but you just can’t have a?—"
“Mom already said I could keep him.”
My jaw drops and she smirks at me. I had to have heard her wrong. She’s got to be lying.
“Excuse me?”
Glory shrugs, then turns and kneels next to the dog, wrapping her arms around his neck. He licks her face, and she giggles.
“He’s already been here for a week, and you didn’t even notice.”
I blink and run through the last week in my head. I worked doubles. I was home long enough to shower and sleep. And she’s right. I can’t think of a single thing that suggests there was a dog here.
“Why didn’t you just lead with that?” I ask after a minute, and Glory shrugs again.
“Didn’t think of it.”
Little brat. She just wanted to argue with me. All she does these days is pick fights. I feel like I need to put on metaphorical boxing gloves the moment I wake up.
“Did I hear yelling?”
I glance over my shoulder and find my mom leaning on the doorframe. Her hair is wet from her shower, and she’s wearing a big, fluffy robe despite the heat.
“Why didn’t you tell me you told Glory she could have a dog?” I ask, and my mom smiles slightly, the left side of her mouth tilting up higher than the right.
“I haven’t seen you.”
It takes longer for my mom to say the sentence than it would most other people. “Healthy” people. Her speech isn’t as slurred as it was, but she still speaks with long pauses. Her words come out clipped, yet soft around the edges, like her mouth is still relearning how to form them.
“Who is going to watch the dog while Glory is at school and work?”
“I will,” Mom says with a small nod. I purse my lips, swallowing back the need to argue, and my mom laughs. “I can do it. I’m moving much better now.”
I glance back at the dog.
“And what about the lease? We’re not supposed to have pets.”
“Rosa said it’s fine,” Glory chimes in, and my eyes widen.
“You got Rosa on board, too?”
Glory grins and bats her eyelashes. “Rosa loves me. Unlike you.”
I glower at her. Rosa is our landlord. She’s also our father’s cousin and the reason our rent hasn’t gone up in the last ten years. I’m not surprised Rosa caved. She does love Glory, and she loves my mom. Jury is still out on how she feels about me. While she was the one who called me to let me know my mom was in the hospital, I know she hasn’t forgiven me for dropping out of high school my senior year and skipping town.
Rosa thinks I’m just like my dad, and it makes me want to throw up because I think she might be right .
I fold my arms over my chest and glance at the dog again.
“He ate my sneaker.”
“Your sneaker is ugly. He did you a favor.”
My jaw drops again, and Glory snorts out a laugh.
“I’m kidding! Sort of. I’m going to take him out to go potty. C’mon, King.”
“King?” I ask, and she grins at me.
“His name. Torren King.”
“You can’t name your dog Torren King.”
She rolls her eyes. “Too late. It’s already on his collar. Besides, doesn’t he look like him?”
I stare at the dog, and fuck me, he actually does kind of look like him. Shaggy black curls obstructing emerald eyes. The more I stare, the more I can see it.
Fuck. Me.
Glory is completely oblivious to my turmoil, as usual, but this time I’m grateful for it. She runs out of the bedroom without another word, and the adoring dog follows at her heels. A few seconds later, the front door opens and shuts. I look at my mom.
“A dog is a bad idea.”
Mom shrugs. “She needs this.”
I see the pleading in her eyes. The sorrow. The guilt , even though the last thing she should feel is guilty. And despite the fact that I still think letting Glory have a damn dog is a terrible idea, I concede. Because Mom is right. Glory does need this. A little spark of joy, of hope, when we’ve spent a year fumbling about in near darkness.
We all deserve that, but I think mine will be on hold for a while longer.