•Talia•
"So what about you, Talia? Any kiddos in your future?" Laney, my oldest brothers wife asks, puffing on a hand rolled cigarette and pulling her hair off the back of her neck.
It's unusually hot for November and we're sitting around outside, not wanting to smoke inside of the house as to upset my dad's lungs any further.
Quitting would be nice, but my nerves are shot and the only thing I can get around here is nicotine and alcohol, and we already know which of those I was strong enough to give up.
"Kids? Me? No, probably not." Kids are fine. I actually like them but I'm not very good with them. Never really have been.
"Aww, but why, sis? You'd make such a good mom!" My youngest brother, Micah, jokes, taking a pull from his own cigarette.
Out of all the kids, Micah is probably the poster child for bringing yourself out of the slums and doing something with your life. With classic southern charm, a decent enough wardrobe to make him appear wealthier than he is, a good truck, nice cushy job that takes care of him, he's pretty much the only person in the Montgomery clan that actually did something with their life. Something reputable, that is. He may not be living in a mansion and still has just as much credit card debt as the rest of us, but he's doing better than the lot of us.
I may have gotten out of the trailer park and lived in big cities, but there's no way I could advertise the jobs I've held or the people I associate myself with on Facebook for all the family to see. Micah works for some bigwig oil guy on his farm taking care of his horses (and taking care of his boss's daughter part time, or so I've been told).
"You know, with all that motherly instinct you've got, you'd be a shoe in for Best Mommy of the Year." Micah laughs, tossing his smoke into the bucket where hundreds of others reside, damp from the rain and overflowing into the dirt ground.
"I said I didn't know what I was doing!" I shout, throwing my hands up in exasperation.
Laney chuckles. "Don't worry, girl, I'm not gonna fault you for putting his diaper on backwards. Hell, Christian couldn't figure it out for love nor money with our first baby."
Christian and Laney, bless them, have five kids together. Starting back in high school, the duo have popped them out like Laney's snatch was an easy bake oven. Sometimes I wonder if they've ever heard of contraception.
"Thanks." I groan, putting out my own smoke and picking my sandwich back up and unwrapping it. The second I do, one of the neighborhood stray dogs comes wandering my way to sit and beg at my feet. "You're lucky you're cute," I say to him, picking a piece of my chicken sandwich apart to drop into his mouth.
"Shouldn't be feeding those strays out here, they'll just keep coming back for more," Micah chastises.
"And I'll keep feeding them," my mom's voice appears from behind us through the screen door.
I smile up at her, grateful she didn't berate me for feeding the poor, scrawny thing that's crawled up here the past few days when I've been outside.
He just needs help and this isn't the neighborhood to be digging in the trash for scraps. He'll either wind up shot or starved since not many of the folks around here toss anything out. Everyone is too poor to be wasteful. Growing up, I remember having to eat many spoiled meat sandwiches and casseroles because it was already expired by the time we picked it up at the food bank.
"Talia, sweetie, Logan has to take off and I was wondering if you wanted to come sit with your daddy for a few minutes before we got supper ready."
Logan is the second oldest of my siblings. In and out of jail since the literal day that he turned sixteen, he's the complete opposite of Micah the golden boy. Drugs, theft, assault - he's looked down on around here, but back with the Wolves, he'd fit right in.
"Yeah, momma, I'll go sit with him." Standing up, I brush off the back of my leggings of the dirt caked into the cement brick I was sitting on.
As I turn to enter the house, Christian and Laney's beat up red mini van pulls back into the vicinity of the yard. Kids free of car seats barrel out of the car and head straight for the side yard where Micah brought them a slip and slide to play with. Buckets of creek water sit nearby for them to douse the plastic kiddie toy with along with some soap to make it extra slippery.
Shouts of "Hey, Auntie T!" meet my ears before I head back into the house. I just saw them less than three hours ago but they still acknowledge me like I've not seen them in years - and some of them I haven't.
Two of them I hadn't even met before, having been born when I was living in Florida.
"Looks like you've got your hands full," I say to Laney who sighs and shakes her head. Turning back to Micah, I thumb in Laney's exasperated direction, "And that, dear brother, is one reason I'm not pushing out any kids anytime soon."
He laughs and I go into the house, blasted with an industrial fan blowing around the stagnant air.
It smells of dough and I know mom was just rolling out some for homemade bread. My mouth is already watering.
Knick knacks galore surround me as I walk through the living room and down the hall. Mom was always fond of every figurine she could find for free or under fifty cents at the Red Barn Thrift Store. Photos of all us kids line the hallway. School pictures with the sample watermark still present. Pictures of us at different functions. Pictures of me at my high school prom. I still cringe knowing I dressed like that and I try to avoid the picture every time I've passed it since coming home.
Micah never seems to let me forget it.
Ass.
After Laney officially became apart of the family, mom decided to hang up several photos of the two of us from when we were kids and thick as thieves. Only around the beginning of high school did we fall apart and once she started fucking my brother and got knocked up, I'd lost all interest in being her bestie.
Not that I don't love her unconditionally as family, but being her friend hasn't interested me in years. We're friendly but both of us know that ship sailed the second she let my brother in between her legs.
"I promise I'll man up and get my shit together, pops, really. For real this time," Logan claims, hunched over the edge of dads sickbed. I watch in between the crack made by the door not being closed or opened all the way. Dad rests his frail hands over Logan's.
"You can do anything you set your mind to, son."
"I want to make you proud of me. I fucking hate who I turned out to be."
Dad looks on with sad eyes, patting his sons hands affectionately. "Only you can change your life, Logan, and no matter what, I'll always be proud of you. Since the day your mom gave birth, I've been proud of my boy. Don't focus on the negatives. You're a great mechanic. Got one hell of a singing voice. You're kind to women. And you've got a family that loves you unconditionally." Dad takes a break to cough, a deep, wet sound that racks through his body and makes my chest clench up in phantom pain. "I believe in you, son. Just know that even after I'm gone, I'll still be rooting for you. I always will be."
Logan chokes up and if his back wasn't to me I know I'd probably see a few tears slip down his cheeks.
I figure I'd give the father and son duo another moment before making my appearance more noticeable.
Taking a few silent steps down the hall, I stomp a bit harder in my combat boots where my footfalls could be heard from inside the room.
Opening the door with a smile and trying not to focus my attention directly onto Logan, I clap my hands together. "Who is ready for their favorite daughter to sit with them?"
Logan turns his head even further from me and I see out of the corner of my eyes his hands come up to his face.
"You kids know you don't have to do this. I'm not going anywhere this second." My dad leans back against his pillows, coughing again, this time holding a hanky to his lips. He slyly slips it under the covers to hide what I know must be blood after he finishes.
"No, but it's good for us to all get time with you, daddy."
He smiles and holds out his hand and I take it in mine, sitting down beside him and resting my head on his shoulder, snuggling in beside him.
"Thanks, sis, sorry I have to run, I've got... plans." He gives me a shy smile and I wonder if his plans include something he doesn't want to say in front of the dad that he just promised he'd be a better man to, or they're just embarrassing. Like say... going on a date with Miss Mayfield, a teacher from our high school who quit to become a writer a few years back. Technically, she's only six years older than Logan, but it was still weird when I saw them canoodling in her car after she dropped him off here late last Tuesday night.
"No worries, bro, I've got this."
Logan leaves, my dad and I the only people left in the room. The tv is on, playing something old from the VHS collection my parents still hold dearly. The room is almost a shrine to the seventies, eighties, and nineties, never having the capability to afford an upgrade. The deep orange shag carpeting has long since lost its shag. The floral wallpaper is peeling at the corners, in some places held up by masking tape. More fucking knick knacks.
If I could afford it myself, I'd have moved them out of here years ago. Sadly, I never made the kind of money I wanted to to be able to get them out of here. When I moved away I had vowed to myself I'd save enough to rescue them from this hellhole and get them a new place.
Too bad no one ever told me that buying a house was fucking expensive and next to impossible if you still wanted to survive yourself.
"What's got you down, butterbean?" Dad reaches up and boops my nose which I wrinkle, smiling up at him.
"I hate that you both still have to live here. That we can't afford to get you the treatment you need. That I never pulled in the fortune I had hoped when I moved away." I sniffle, digging my face into his upper chest but stop when a small grown releases from the back of his throat.
"Oh, Nat, don't worry yourself with trivial details. Your momma and I are happy here. We love this neighborhood. All our friends are here. Family. Aside from your brothers, Granny is here, Uncle Bo, Aunt Phyllis, cousin Skeeter. This is where we raised you kids. There's too many memories in this house to leave."
"Yeah, okay, fine, I see where you're coming from, but I still wish we could afford your treatment. Are loans really not a possibility?"
He shakes his head. "I can't saddle you all with that kind of debt after I'm gone. It'd be over a hundred thousand by the time it was all over and I'd still probably not live." Tears well up in my eyes and I sit up, my dad wrapping his arm around my back. "Don't cry, butterbean, I've made peace with this decision. Plus your brother has been bringing me all that maryjane. I'm feeling pretty damn comfortable most days."
I chuckle through the tears. "But what if there was something that could be done? More aggressive treatment? I don't know. We're not even sure how bad it's gotten. You can still pull through. You did last time."
"Last time it hadn't spread. Last time I had insurance and a steady paycheck. Disability after the military is shit and there's no way I'll get the care I need. I haven't been working for years due to my bum knees and your momma working down at the convenience store isn't enough to help this. Trust me, Nat, we've made our choices so just let it happen."
I'm full blown crying at this point and there's nothing I can do to stop it.
"Sorry to interrupt, but Natalia, your momma said she needs you in the kitchen now that I'm here," Uncle Bo drawls from the doorway. I feel a bout of déjà vu from Logan's interaction with my dad and me listening in.
Wiping my tears, I slide my legs off of the bed and stand up. "I'm going to figure something out, daddy."
"If you do, I'm all ears, but don't work yourself too hard for me, butterbean. I'll be okay," he reassures.
With his sunken eyes and pale skin, his thin body that's lost a lot of its former body weight, frail hands and dried lips, I know he isn't as okay as he's letting on. But I let it go for now, remembering the screaming match the whole family got into the second night I was in town about whether or not we should go through with the treatment anyway.
Uncle Bo takes the chair at the side of the bed and flips a little handheld radio where some sports game is being commentated.
They get to talking and I leave, going back to where my mom is in the kitchen and throwing my hair back into a bun.
"What can I do?"
"You can start by chopping these onions and peppers and then toss them into the pot with the sausage." Mom points to the vegetables laid out by the cutting board and I get to work, trying not to let my eyes tear anymore than they already have - this time from the onion fumes and not actual sadness.
"I know we've talked briefly about it, but I'm still worried about you, babygirl. What have you been doing all this time and why couldn't you call? Talk to me."
"Momma," I sigh, slicing easily through the slick flesh of the layers and dicing them into perfect little cubes, "I don't know what you want me to say. I wasn't doing anything nefarious. I was working. I got busy. Things were hectic and I kind of let my own life get in the way of my relationships. I'll apologize until my dying breath, but nothing is going to change what I've already told you."
Looking over my shoulder I see her throw her hands up in surrender. "It's just not like you to forget to call... for an entire year. If you hadn't of sent texts or that video, I would have been certain you were dead. You don't know how close I was to calling the police and filing a missing persons report."
At times throughout the past year I definitely wished I was dead. The nights where the memories dug their vicious claws into my mind, terrorizing me with the eyes of my attackers, the way their hands felt gripping my body, the way my vagina was sliced through with their dirty cocks, the way my heart broke when I knew Letha was in danger and I couldn't do anything. I'd wake up in a cold sweat and beg for the pain to end, for me to finally find peace in darkness.
I thought for sure I'd drink myself to death some nights, but I'd only pass out to wake up the next day with a raging headache and vomit on my breath.
Almost as if some cosmic force just refused to let me die.
"I promise you, momma, everything has been fine. Letha moved to Vegas and I decided to spontaneously follow along behind her. It's just been rough getting used to living there and trying to make my way in life in a new location."
"Okay, sweetie."
I hate lying to her, but I can't tell her. I can't ever tell them what happened.
"You know, you're more than welcome to come back here. We can even convert the kids' room back into a bedroom and you can stay with us." After all of us siblings moved out, the bedroom that Micah and I shared until I the two of us moved out was turned into a room where the grandkids could spend the night or take naps if they stayed over.
"I'm not going to take the kids' room away from them. Trust me, I'm happy where I am. I actually really like Nevada. It reminds me a lot of home and the city itself is a lot of fun."
"Hopefully not too much fun," she nudges me in the back with her elbow before tossing the bread loaf she's formed into the ancient oven and setting the timer. "You're always welcome here, though, don't forget that. And you can tell me anything, no matter what."
My eyes soften. "I know."
Even though my dad is sick and there's no telling how much time he has left with no doctors involved, I can't abandon my new life for the one I left behind so many years ago. If I could bring myself to move back, I would, but that's not the person I am. I never wanted to get trapped here the way my brothers did. If I had stayed back when I was eighteen, I probably would have ended up just like Laney, chasing around a gaggle of kids I didn't necessarily plan for, with saggy tits and no time to myself, the only highlight of my month being a night out at the local saloon where I could get a little tipsy with a set of girlfriends who are also stuck in the same situation.
I was built for something much different than small town living and wasn't meant to stay in this small junction just outside of El Paso.
Now that I know someone I'd miss terribly resides back in Vegas, it'd be impossible for me to let that city go. To let that special person go.