I release a breath once the RV rounds the corner, and I’m alone with Claire. As much as Claire and I don’t get along, we get along far better when our parents aren’t around to highlight all the ways I fall short of her.
She follows me back through the front door, through the front sitting room and to the kitchen at the back of the house. There are two sets of French double doors leading to the patio in the backyard, and this morning they’re both open, letting the sweet summer morning air waft in. Soft sunlight bathes the pale-yellow kitchen, and my eyes slowly blink to life as I wander over to the coffee station and pour myself a mug.
I lift my cup up to Claire in offering. She shakes her head. Even my coffee doesn’t meet up to her standards. Fine.
“If I have coffee, I won’t be able to nap before my night shift tonight,” she says. There’s a beat of silence between us as I take my first sip and savour the feeling of caffeine hitting my bloodstream. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay here on your own?”
“Of course.” I nod. “I did live here for the first eighteen years of my life.”
“I know. But being here all alone is a little different.” She sets both elbows on the counter, leaning in towards where I’m standing on the other side of the island.
“I’ll be fine, Claire.” I try to hide the annoyancein my voice. Claire treats me like I’m incapable of taking care of myself. As if she hasn’t seen all the success I’ve achieved 100 percent on my own. She’s overbearing, bossy, and totally controlling.
She looks at me skeptically, like she’s surprised Mom and Dad even entrusted me to take care of the house. I’m sure I wouldn’t have been their first choice either. If Claire didn’t live an hour away and didn’t work such a busy schedule at the hospital, I’m sure they would have preferred to have her stay here, too. But when I told them I’d be in town for the summer working on the arts centre, it made sense to have me stay with them and house sit.
Dad will probably message me a thousand times a day, asking to see photo evidence that I haven’t burnt the place down. They’ve always seen me like this—the irresponsible baby of the family who can’t do anything for herself.
You’d think, by now, they would see how perfectly capable I am of taking care of a house. Structural engineer and all that.
“Okay, well. I’d better take off. I have to meal prep for my shift set and then try and get some sleep this afternoon.” She stands up and places a flat hand on the counter. “Call if you need anything, okay? Day or night. Don’t worry about waking me if I’m sleeping.”
On the surface, it’s a nice offer. On the surface, it seems like Claire cares about me. But she doesn’t; she wants to be the one to swoop in and save me when something goes wrong, maintaining her place as the favourite child.
Claire grabs her brown leather duffle bag and starts to leave, but turns back at the lastmoment.
“Go get that breathing thing checked out too, okay?” I hold myself back from rolling my eyes. As if Claire didn’t need more of a reason to think I’m vulnerable—another weakness she can use for her own gain.
“Yeah, okay. I’ll do that.” I agree to placate her for now. Though, I must admit, it’s not a bad suggestion. The feeling of a vice tightening around my lungs has been getting annoying. It’s started to distract me from my work, and I can’t afford that right now. Maybe I need an inhaler or something.
Once Claire leaves, and I hear her car engine start and then fade as she drives away, I close my eyes and savour the warmth of the sun on my face, the quiet of the house.
It’ll just be me here for the summer.
This will be good for me. I can focus on the arts centre, no distractions. I can beat Hudson and win the lead role, and by the time Mom and Dad come home, I’ll have something to show them, a hard-earned success. A promotion to celebrate.
Something about the silence Claire left behind is refreshing. I roll my shoulders back, straightening my posture, and pick my phone up off the counter, opening my music app. I connect to Dad’s surround sound speaker system flanking the television in the family room off the kitchen and hit shuffle.
I’m feeling lighter, optimistic. I wander into the kitchen and start tackling the left over dishes from last night, scrubbing them in soapy water and placing them on a dish towel to the side of the sink. Despite myself, I find myself swaying to the music, until a song I didn’t know was even on my playlist comes on. It’s a stupid song—it’s got acheesy pop sound I always thought was overdone growing up.
But when the electronic intro to ‘Come Clean’ by Hilary Duff blasts through the speaker and something in my chest swells. It’s a feeling I haven’t had in a long time. This song sparks what feels like a vague, yet very specific, memory I can’t grasp. It’s one from my youth, when I didn’t worry about anything.
The beat drops and I can’t help but shout the words to the chorus.
Something in me snaps, breaking free for a moment as I belt the words. I twirl around the kitchen, grabbing a spatula from the jar my mother keeps on the counter and turning it into a microphone.
I don’t have a good singing voice—I sound terrible—but the feeling of finally being free of my parents and my sister has unleashed my inner pop star, and I am on top of the world. I spin around on the smooth hardwood, extending my hand to an imaginary crowd, and my eyes flick up to someone standing in the open doorway, in my yard, catching me in this utterly humiliating moment.
My voice trails off in an excruciating crack, and I straighten, coming face to face with Hudson, standing in my backyard.
“What the fuck?” I shout, heat rising to my face. “What on earth are you doing? Are you some kind of creepy peeping Tom? Jesus, Hudson!” My embarrassment is now morphing into rage as my face heats and my blood nearly boils me alive.
Our backyard is fully protected by towering evergreens. No one could have seen me—no oneshouldhave seen me. Itwas my moment. My moment to feel some semblance of joy, and Hudson has squashed it. Clearly, some things never change.
He has the goddamn audacity to be standing there, staring at me, eyes raking over me with a cheeky, dimpled smile. I want to punch it clean off his face. It’s teasing, mocking, and I hate it. I hatehim.
I run to snatch my phone off the counter and turn off the music. Now it’s eerily quiet, only the sound of a chickadee trilling outside.
He hasn’t even answered me. He’s still staring at me like a freaking perv. With that stupid smile on his stupid face. That stupid smile that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about. I cross my arms over my chest to hide my nipples, which have peaked and are visible through the thin cotton of my tank top.
