Both of her sisters sat at the table expectantly, checking their phones.
“Eggs okay?” Jane asked with fake cheer as she made her way over to the fridge.
Neither of her sisters answered.
Her parents had hated Mondays—and early on had established a family tradition by starting the week with a home-cooked breakfast. Jane had kept the tradition alive—long after she suspected that she was the only one who cared about the tradition.
And then one Monday she’d poured them all cereal, thinking she was too tired to keep up the tradition no one else seemed to care about. Her sisters cried.
It was horrible.
Manipulative, yes.
But also horrible.
Everyone mourned in their own way; it didn’t matter that their dad had been gone a few years already, and their mother longer. It was still hard to be without them. Sometimes it was the only thing Jane thought she had in common with her sisters—their sadness over the loss of their parents.
Sighing, she quickly made the eggs and fried some turkey bacon.
“Finally,” Essence grumbled, swiping the bacon off the plate. Her bleached hair was pulled into a knot on top of her head. “Can you stop off at the dry cleaners and pick up my clothes?” She slid a receipt across the table.
Jane had to resist the urge to slap her sister’s hand with the spatula.
“You know…” Jane said as she pulled out a chair. It squeaked across the wood floor, causing both sisters’ heads to bob up. “I’ve been thinking, about the whole cooking and errands thing. Why don’t we take turns? I’m swamped with work.” Okay, that was a lie; she wasn’t exactly swamped. More like overwhelmed.
Both girls were silent and then Essence reached across the table and grabbed her hand. “I’m sorry I yelled at you.”
Jane’s heart clenched.
“Yeah,” Esmeralda said. “It’s just, you’re so good at those things, and nobody taught us how to cook. We’d probably starve without you. Besides, you’re in that cleaning van all day zipping around town so it’s easier for you to run errands. We’re stuck in an office building all day.”
“True,” Jane admitted, “but—”
“Promise we’ll think about it.” Essence squeezed Jane’s hand one last time then pulled away. “But, Jane?”
Oh no.
Essence’s eyes filled with tears. “You cook just like Mom used to. And you’re so good at it.”
The room fell into a tense silence.
The silence made Jane’s heart ache with memories of laughter and food fights.
No.
At some point she had to have her own life, away from taking care of her sisters twenty-four seven.
“Yes, but—”
“So it’s settled.” Essence stood and clapped her hands. “You’ll keep helping us around the house! And cooking!” Her lower lip jutted out. “It makes us feel like a family again. Besides, it’s what you do for a job anyway. I mean, you own your own cleaning company. How is this different?”
And there it was.
The guilt.
The other reason Jane stayed.
She had sworn to her father that she’d keep the family together at all costs.
“Family,” he had said between coughs, “is all we have in this world. I was never a rich man when it came to material possessions.” Another coughing fit had ensued as Jane tried to hold back the sting of tears. “But, my Jane, I’ve always had you.” His eyes were blurred with tears. “Your sisters don’t have your same heart, Jane, and they won’t deal with this like you will. I need you to keep them strong. You’re the youngest but you’ve always taken care of them. Don’t let the family fall apart.”
He’d died the next day.
Lung cancer.
Cancer had stolen both of her parents.
Jane stood and started clearing their plates while her sisters chattered endlessly about work.
It was hard to believe that they were both successful lawyers. On the other hand, maybe that was why they were so good at arguing with her, wearing her down, making her feel small.
The front door slammed and Jane looked up.
Would it kill her sisters to say good-bye?
With a sigh, she ate the leftover eggs in three bites, dumped the dishes into the sink, and ran back up the stairs to her room to put on her uniform.
Torn jeans and a white T-shirt.
She never deterred from it. She’d ruined way too many of her favorite shirts because of multiple bleach accidents.
Humming, she opened the curtains to her small room and smiled. Today would be a good one. She wouldn’t let the rocky start ruin the rest of the day.
After all, last night had started out terrible. But it had ended on a good note. She touched her lips. Brock hadn’t kissed her, but she could imagine what his kiss would feel like all the same. Brock was so out of her league it was laughable, but he’d treated her like an equal, something she wasn’t used to even in her own family.
Pushing that depressing thought away she turned away from the window to grab her tennis shoes, only to stumble over a pair of heels that cost more than she made in a week.
They were even prettier in the daylight.
The soft leather glistened.
A small smile formed as she picked up one of the shoes and examined it. These were the kind of shoes that made her feel like she could click the heels together and she’d end up with a different life.
A life where her boyfriend didn’t dump her because she was too boring.