Favorite Friend

400 Lux

I always feel like a zombie after therapy. It's exhausting to sit there, on Mrs. Evans' -sorry, Melissa's- couch for an hour and talk to her about all the ways I got fucked over by my brain this week, all while she nods and smiles and scribbles things down in her notepad and then smiles some more. I don't have anything against her. I just wish I could never see her again.

By the time I dump my bike on the front lawn, all I want is to be alone. Instead, I'm immediately greeted by my mom.

"Hey, mi amor!" she exclaims, smiling at me. She's standing in the front door like she was just waiting for me to come home and jumped up as soon as she heard me arrive, her dark curls spilling out of her ponytail and her hands fiddling with the bow at the back of her kitchen apron. "You came at just the right time! Dinner will be ready in two minutes."

I nod and force the corners of my mouth to lift as she ushers me inside. After the quiet of Melissa's office, coming home is always a shock. The house is so loud; in the hallway, my little sisters are fighting over who's allowed to use the iPad, Elena is listening to music at a volume that makes the floor vibrate beneath my feet, and the kitchen is filled with the banging of cupboards and dishes. The smell of garlic and herbs that's hanging in the air only gets stronger as I trudge through the kitchen door.

"Hola, abuela," I murmur.

My grandmother doesn't respond, too busy alternating between stirring in one of the large pots and frying something in another pan.

I push Frida Kahlo, the rugged red cat who's missing part of her ear, aside with my foot in order to get the plates from one of the cupboards. She hisses at me in response but slinks away when I only send her a blank stare.

"How was your appointment?" mom asks while we set the table together.

"Fine," I mumble.

She nods with a smile, like that isn't what I always say, and gently pushes me down on one of the chairs. A moment later, my sisters come storming into the kitchen, Andrea and Isabel still bickering while Elena is looking mildly annoyed.

"Sup," she says as she plops down next to me. "How was therapy?"

I try to suppress the flare of annoyance that runs through me at the question, but my voice still comes out sharper than intended when I say, "Fine. You don't always have to ask."

She rolls her eyes, raising her hands in surrender. "Gee, sorry for caring about my twin brother."

I snort. Even though we have the same curls and the same eyes and the same everything it's sometimes hard to believe that she's my twin and not my older sister. Elena has all her shit together; she's got a boyfriend, a huge group of friends, a driver's license, and a scholarship that got her into Georgetown. Most of all, she has a normally functioning brain. I could never imagine her having to sit in Melissa's office.

I'm ripped out of my thoughts when a wrinkled hand suddenly comes into view and sets a plate that's barely visible under the mountain of food on it down in front of me.

"I'm not eating all of that," I murmur and pass it on to Elena.

Abuela shakes her head and braces her hands on her hips. "Niño, you need to eat! You're a beanpole!"

"I'm really not hungry. Sorry."

"It's alright, cariño," mom says and pushes another plate my way, this one half as full.

I'm not sure why they still act so surprised every time. Ever since I started taking anti-depressants a few months ago, my appetite has been pretty much non-existent, but that concept seems to be hard to grasp for them.