CHAPTER NINE
“Where’d you say y’all were going today?” Grandma asks over the phone. I don’t miss the sound of a flick of a lighter and I just know she’s lighting a cigarette and it makes my own fingers twitch, wanting one.
Grandma has been smoking for over sixty years and raised kids perfectly fine…
“Ivy.”
“To the neighbor’s house,” I say, shaking my head. Focus. “They’re having a cookout.”
“Oh, that sounds fun. It’s good that you and the kids are finally getting out and socializing more. Being cooped up in that house isn’t good for any of you.”
I open a drawer, looking for my favorite pair of jeans and press the phone between my shoulder and neck. “We get out.”
“I mean more than baseball practice and swimming lessons.”
She has a point.
“Tanner has a playdate tomorrow .”
“Hmm, and when will you have a playdate?”
The double meaning isn’t lost on me and if I weren’t used to my Grandma, I’d be more shocked by her words. But as it is, this is the woman who had to have the sex talk with me since my mother couldn’t have cared less and my dad almost had a heart attack when he tried. “Grandma, I’m not having any of those types of playdates anytime soon. I’m too busy making sure I don’t ruin the kids’ lives.”
She lets out a laugh. “Girl, you’re doing fine with those kids. Find yourself a babysitter and go have a good time.”
“I’ll consider it.”
“You better. Don’t forget I’ll be there soon and if you’re still sitting around the house when I get there, I’m going to push your ass out of the door and not let you back in until you have fun.” Here I am trying to be responsible and my grandma is shoving me in the opposite direction.
“Okay, Grandma.” I finally find the pair of jeans and pull them out of the drawer. “I’ve got to go, so I can finish getting ready.”
“Alright, honey, love you.”
“I love you too.” I hang up the phone and toss it on my bed. I hold up my jeans, inspecting them for any stains that may have slipped through. The only thing I find is a faded green paint stain that still hasn’t come out, even after a year of being there. It reminds me of all my art supplies sitting in the basement, untouched. I haven’t felt any inspiration to pick up a brush or even draw a doodle since Kylie died.
Her side smile flashes in my mind and I press a hand to my forehead as it starts to throb. I’ve found the best way to deal with the grief is to just not directly think about her. The first few days she was all I could think about. The last time I’d talked to her had only been a day before the accident when we were having one of our many discussions about money. She’d wanted me to let her help me with bills, but I’d always made a point of not leeching off her. I didn’t want to be like my mother, living a life off someone else’s money.
Isn’t it ironic that you’re now living off your sister’s insurance policy.
I force a shaky breath past my lips and push the toxic thought away.
I focus on my clothes again instead, ripping my sweats off and replacing them with the ripped jeans. The jeans meld to my body like a second skin. I grab a bra and throw it on before pulling a tank top on. I inspect my body in the mirror. While the jeans are tight and do wonders for my figure, they still seem appropriate enough for a family oriented cookout. The tank top is loose fitting and comfortable, it’ll keep me from dying in the summer heat.
I slide my feet into a pair of flip flops and frown at the chipped polish on my toes. I totally need a pedicure… maybe Grandma is right and I need a little more me time.
Shaking the thought off, I stuff my phone into the back of my jeans and move to the bathroom to check my hair. In the mirror, I find the curly locks actually look decent for once and after running my fingers through it and adding a little leave-in conditioner, I decide it’ll be fine.
I move out of my room and head down the hall to Tanner’s room. His door is already slightly ajar and I look in to find him pulling on a pair of tennis shoes. Lilly sits in the middle of his bed with one of his action figures, babbling incoherent words.
“Ready?” I ask and Tanner’s head turns in my direction.
“Let me grab my baseball cap,” he says and moves over to his dresser. He pulls a black baseball cap over his head.
“It’s time for a haircut isn’t it?” I question, looking at the curls flowing from under the hat.
His eyes widen and he shakes his head, “No, Aunt Ivy, I’m letting it grow out.”
Who exactly did he run this plan by?