Little Wolves (gxg)

Chapter 1 - Aunt Paula

"I need your help in the kitchen!" she pleaded. I sighed, throwing my head back in the grass. I hate cooking. Anything to do with an oven or the stove was crossed off of my hobby list indefinitely. I used to be a good baker, but I can't stand to look at sweets anymore.

Willa was my little sister. She was born on April seventeenth, as still as a doornail and as cold as ice. We had a welcome home party all set-up with our neighbors all excited and bursting with anticipation. I had baked all these pretty cupcakes and cookies... but we never got to celebrate.

After that, my family fell apart.

I've heard my mom begging God to have some miracle happen that would allow us to move. I doubt anybody will be able to stop grieving until we do. My mom is always strong about it all, but I catch her in the baby's room from time to time bawling her eyes out over her stillborn. I know she's hurting the most out of us all.

My back was all wet from laying in the grass for so long. The back of my shirt was sticking to me like glue, and I didn't like it much, but I was too lackluster to go change.

Mom was humming as she swayed her hips over the stove, stirring something in a pot. Unlike me, she always looks put together. Her hair is always the prettiest golden blonde. She has it tied up in an adolescent bun, fastened with a bright red hair-tie that has those clunky beads hanging off the end. Reminds me of cherries.

She's real slim, always working out and eating like a rabbit. It's why her jeans always fit her so well. I've always been jealous, that's why I've taken up the habit of running. It's hard for me to run for more than a minute at a time, but I run, then walk, then run some more and it's getting easier as I go. I just have to stick with it.

"Oh, Nelly! Thank goodness. I need that cheese grated for me," mom pointed with her nose, not taking her eyes off that pot for more than a second. I sighed and grabbed the giant cheddar cheese block, starting to grate it over a big yellow bowl.

"What are you making?" I asked. Mom hummed a little before she answered.

"I am makin' stuffed bell peppers and homemade mac and cheese." She smiled so brightly. Mom keeps her teeth as white as possible. She thinks if her teeth are brighter than her eyes, it'll distract anyone from asking her what's wrong. Everyone in this town knows, though. The word of a stillborn spread like a wildfire around here. There ain't a soul that doesn't look at us differently when we walk by.

"With the potato chips on top?" I asked, distracting myself from my thoughts. Mom hummed again.

"You bet," she said sweetly. There was a loud bang upstairs. It caused both of us to jump and tilt our heads to the ceiling. "Your father..." she tsked. "He hasn't left that bed in three days. I even slept on the couch last night, you know," she paused to scoff, "all that snoring. It's not good for this pretty face."

I smiled. Another thump had my mind wondering what the hell was going on up there, but my mom kept on humming, stirring the pot, ignoring anything to do with her husband. She dumped the cheese I grated into her mixture.

"Take over for me, will ya?" she asked brightly as she dipped her finger into the cheese sauce. I nodded and watched her taste it, voicing how delicious it was. She moved to her desk, where a little radio was. It took a while to find a station the old beat-up thing would connect to, but she managed, and soon enough the kitchen was dancing.

"Mom..." I said as I watched her walk over to the liquor cabinet. She grabbed two wine glasses, then pranced over to the fridge and grabbed a new bottle of wine—chilled, just how she likes it.

"What?" mom asked shamelessly, pouring both her and me a glass. "After the night I had, I need this." She raised her eyebrows in some half-grimace of annoyance. I hadn't realized I stopped stirring until she came back over and swatted my hand.