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but later, i’m tired

i’m gonna go to bed but i’ll talk to you guys tomorrow

Tatum

10:40 pm

alrighty, stay safe goodnight

Jared

10:40 pm

nighty night xx

Greyson10:40 pm Peace.

Even though I probably shouldn’t care this much about someone else’s passion project, I want to know more about her art. I want to know what about it made her glow like she did. But most importantly, I want to know what about her family made my mom, the most organized and type-A person I know, make such an impulsive decision like that.

2

Laine

Last night’s dinner was amazing. Drew’s mom was such

a great cook that I woke up still feeling full from that heavy chicken pot pie. Despite my still bloated stomach growling at me to stay comfortably tucked under my bed sheet, I force myself to get up and walk over to my desk, where my sketchbook is laid out.

Pulling out a mirror from one of the drawers, I cherish the sight of the drawer being neat from having just moved in, and I already can’t wait to organize it using my new Ikea desk drawer dividers. It’s not often that you find quality items that are cuteandon clearance, right when you need them.

Carefully pulling up my pajama top, I hold the mirror up to my side and study the curve of my torso. Why can’t I get it right? What am I missing? I take a seat at my desk and pick up the piece of graphite I’ve been working with, determined to get this part of the body right. Hopefully, using myself as a model for this piece may help find direction for this piece.

I want it to mean something to me, not just be another random sketch to get me through another bump in the road. But that’s particularly difficult to do, seeing as I haven’t even fully figured myself out yet. On top of that, unfortunately, there’s only so much you can see of yourself, and staring at my bony side isn’t sparking any new insightful strokes on this piece.

“Laine! Why don’t you come downstairs and have breakfast with me? I got bagels from that place down the street you used to like!” My mother echoes down to me. Because my room is in the basement, the acoustics ring a little longer than they do upstairs.

When I reach the top of the steps, landing in the kitchen, I see she’s prepared my favorite sesame bagel with lox and jalepeño cream cheese.

“¡Buenos días!” Mother smiles at me, caressing my hair as I sit down at the table. “So, how did you and Drew get along?”

“Fairly well,” I say through a mouthful of bagel. “¡Ay, qué bueno! Because you two are going to be spending some time together.I really missed talking to Anne, and now that her husband and your father aren’t in the picture, we really got to sit down and have a real conversation.”

I scoff as she says this. I always hated how my father overtook conversations, acting all macho like he was the man of the house. Sure, he was the only man in the house, but he didn’t have to make it his responsibility to facilitate conversations that he wasn’t a part of. It just felt very patriarchal, that’s all.

“Also, I wanted to talk to you about some potential church options. I’ve been researching catholic churches in the area that I’d like us to try out.”

“We’ve barely unpacked, though.”

“Sí, pero I think it would be a good idea to get involved in the catholic community around here as soon as possible. Plus, unpacking is an ongoing endeavor, Laine. I know you have been stressing over how disorganized everything feels, but an hour out of your Sunday will not significantly impede your unpacking process.”

We’ve always been a religious household, and I know my grandparents on my father’s side are devout catholics, but I figured we would have a minute to breathe and settle in before finding a church, or more realistically, I assumed my mother would have already picked one for us to start attending. I didn’t expect us to spend our Sundays shopping around.

“Claro que sí, of course, Mother. I understand.” I say through a mouthful of bagel.

“Mm,” she mumbles contentedly, kissing the top of my head and tapping a finger to my chin to close my mouth as I chew.

Ever since my father’s been out of the picture, Mother has encouraged the “path of God” as she calls it, and insists we“mustn’t stray from it.” In my opinion, this is her way of coping with the way my father left us. What he did, ultimately catalyzing our move back to Georgia, was the perfect reason for her to believe she could be a better Christian than she was before.

Part of me is glad she’s found something to help get her through the transition period of having him in our life full-time to having him in our life no-time, but the other part of me knows she’s setting unrealistic expectations for both of us. Her infatuation with becoming the perfect Christian woman and my becoming the perfect Christian daughter is just the slightest bit concerning. I pride myself in my faith already, but evenIrecognize nobody can be perfect.