Four Daughters
It would’ve been easy if I hadn’t run into Alice on the way down the stairs.
Putting her hands on either side of the railing to block my progress, Alice frowns and looks me up and down. “Where are you going?” Her voice drips with disapproval, and sometimes she reminds me so much of Mom it’s like she’s here.
“To a party, dumbass,” I quip back, pushing her arm out of the way and stomping past her down the stairs.
I glance back to see Alice’s arms windmill momentarily as she attempts to keep her balance. She’s so stiff and frail sometimes I think a strong breeze could knock her off her feet.
“It’s a school night.” She stares down her nose at me.
I bite back a nasty response and say instead, “Yeah,” as I yank old converse onto my feet.
“Are you going to tell Dad, at least?” Her voice is starting to switch over to its shrill tone, which means she’s worrying about things. She picked that up from Mom, too, but at least Mom doesn’t sound like a squeaky appliance when she speaks.
“Oh yeah, I’ll get right on that,” I snap back. We both know Dad doesn’t give a damn what any of us do. I think he’s afraid of us. Or doesn’t understand the female species, anyway, which was terrible luck for him. Four daughters.
When Mom isn’t around, Dad’s always holed up in his office, only really coming out to make us dinner. We used to eat together, sitting and stumbling through conversations with Aisling at the head. Without Mom home to regale us with stories about her exciting travel adventures, Aisling, as the eldest, would take over the conversation.
She used to talk about upcoming concerts, and weird fashion trends, and global warming, and why we should become vegetarians, and a million other things Dad doesn’t understand. Sometimes he would change the topic, and sometimes he’d quietly disagree, and sometimes he’d stare at his food like he was a ghost that couldn’t hear anything at all.
But Aisling is in college, as she has been the last two years, and dinner is no longer a family activity. Alice had tried, briefly, as the new oldest daughter of the house, to fill the silence. She’d talk about her classes and her grades and the one point she’d missed on her chemistry test and how oh-so sad she is about it. Boo hoo.
It didn’t take long for us to decide it’s better for us to eat at different times, or in different rooms. Or not at home at all. Alice stays, and sits in what I presume must be silence with Dad. I eat in my room. And Ava, who thinks she’s so cool because she’s in seventh grade and seventh graders are little shits, sits in the corner of the living room with headphones in.
Sometimes I think Ava doesn’t have a soul in her body. When she’s not actively ignoring everyone around her, she’s lamenting over Mom being away or begging Dad for whatever’s the cool new trend right now. What’s worse is that he always caves. None of the rest of us were allowed to be cool in seventh grade, but she’s the baby, so she gets what she wants.
It all makes me miss Aisling even more, because she’s the only person in this family I can stand. She would think it’s fun that I’m going to a party; she’d be excited for me. Unlike perfect little Alice, who is still glaring holes in me from her spot on the stairs.
“If you’re so concerned, you tell Dad,” I say up to her, then yank open the front door and escape outside.
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