Scintilla

8. Unequal Footing

Before

"What is love?" I ask while I sweep the pieces of broken glass that litter the floor.

Mom's voice is gruff as she replies, "What do you mean?"

The handprints on her neck are bright red. She's going to work with another turtle neck despite the heat of summer.

I want to throw the broom. I'm so angry that my teeth rattle with every breath I take. I'm only thirteen but I know too much and at the same time too little.

"I mean that this can't be love right?" My breath hitches before I whisper the last part, "He doesn't love us and you don't love him."

The more I speak the further mom's shoulders climb up to her ears. I'm not judging her. I can't not when I know how hard she works for us, how much she tries, how hard it is to leave, how hard it is to make him leave. I know the statistics, the danger that lies in separation, and the danger that lurks in staying. Sometimes it feels like we can't win regardless of what we do.

There is a fire that burns through my veins. Is this it? It screams as each day passes. Is this the extent of the fickle thing called love? Is this what awaits me?

"I don't know," she states.

I don't know. If she doesn't know then how am I supposed to know? I wish I would never fall in love. I hate the idea of it, the very thought of being vulnerable to such an extent. I know that love equals pain. No, I hope I never fall in love.

***

My tears drip into the sink splashing against the dirty dishes. The fact that I'm crying frustrates me. I told myself that I wouldn't cry anymore. I cried many days after I got the news, and gave myself time to mourn a future that would never exist, but I broke my promise again today. I want to go to my room and curl up. I want to spend the rest of the day in bed but there's too much to do. I can't even afford the privacy of breaking down in peace. I'm just glad that Lucas and Amber left for work and only Michael lurks in the house.

I quickly wipe my tears. Okay, one minute. I'll allow myself one minute but after that, I have to move on. There's nothing else I can do, I can't freeze in sorrow it doesn't allow for a very productive day. I count the next sixty seconds, my body leans against the counter, my head cradled by the cross of my arms. There are only ten seconds left when a Kleenex is waved below my head.

I look up. Michael stands next to me with a somber expression, his grey eyes flashing. He stays quiet but keeps his arm extended with the Kleenex. I grab it and turn away to wipe my face. The silence extends but it isn't heavy if anything there's something almost peaceful about it, which is ridiculous because Michael is witnessing my breakdown, there should be nothing peaceful about that.

"It's not them. It's what he said," I whisper. The explanation bursts from my mouth. I feel like we stepped forward yesterday and the last thing I need is for us to go three steps back.

"I didn't ask," he replies. "But continue if you need to talk about it."

I laugh at the contrast between his cold tone with his words. It's almost like he's paying me back for what occurred yesterday at the bridal shop.