Page 29 of Morally Black Betrothal

That I’d been expecting. What I wasn’t expecting was a very awake four-year-old sitting in front of the tiny television in the far corner, watchingClifford the Big Red Dogon one of the few analog channels I got.

“Hey, kiddo,” I greeted her. “Up early, huh?”

Kylie looked up from the couch. Her hair was messy in the way that only little girls could get away with, and she was dressed in pajamas printed with disco dancing koalas. An empty bowl with the remains of what I recognized as the chocolate cherry ice cream from my freezer sat in front of the television, and there was a bit of chocolate smeared around her mouth.

She abandoned the TV to join me in the kitchen off the entrance. “I always get up early. Mommy says it’s my ‘fuckin’ farmer genes.’”

I bit back a laugh. No, I didn’t want her to be so familiar with that kind of language. But hearing a four-year-old swear was just funny. Besides, she wasn’t wrong. We did, in fact, have farmer genes. I had to take melatonin to sleep in the mornings after I got off work to fight my natural urge to make hay while the sun shines. Or in my case, bread.

I scooped Kylie up and kissed her cheek. “I love your farmer genes. Where’s your mom, honey?”

“She’s taking a bath. She said her head hurted when I woke her up, so she needed some ‘me time.’” She pointed a chubby, chocolate-covered finger toward the closed bathroom door and appeared to consider this concept. “What’s ‘me time,’ Aunt Simone?”

“It’s when adults need to think,” I told her, though I wanted to say “it’s when your mom needs to soak in her selfishness.”

I grabbed a dishtowel hanging from the stove and cleaned her up before setting her back on the floor. Kylie skittered back to her show, and I set my purse on the battered wood table currently covered with toddler drawings before turning in the direction of the bathroom door. Kurt Cobain’s voice groaned through the crack underneath.

Nirvana on a Tuesday morning. Not the greatest sign.

“Sel?” I called through the door.

Nothing.

Kurt’s voice started to moan a little louder, and a puff of something that smelled suspiciously like marijuana slipped under the door.

“Selena,” I called again. “Can I come in?”

Again, not a word.

Part of me genuinely wondered if she’d slipped in the tub and was drowning without anyone knowing. The other part of me was more annoyed that she was ignoring me. She tended to do that. Especially when she was high.

Screw it. My sister had never afforded me privacy. And this wasmyapartment. I was going in.

“Sel.” I banged on the door, hard enough that Kylie startled by the TV. “I’m coming in.”

“Kylie, I told you, I need some me time!” My sister’s voice was shrill but slightly slurred. “I’ll be out in a few minutes, all right?”

I scowled. Well, at least she wasn’t dead.

I opened the door while keeping my eyes covered. “It’s not Kylie. It’s me, wondering why you are hot-boxing my bathroom at six in the morning.”

There was a brief pause while the playlist switched to something that sounded like Garbage. Selena had had a thing for nineties girl rock since we were in high school.

“Oh my God, Simmy. You don’t have to cover your eyes. It’s nothing you haven’t seen beforeliterallyevery day in your own mirror.”

I dropped my hand. She had a point.

Selena was lounging in my blessedly oversized claw-foot bathtub, her hair wrapped in a towel and a bright green mask spread on her face. Bubbles cascaded over the sides of the tub as she used one hand to wave at me while the other pinched a joint.

“Greetings from Bliss Island,” she said before taking another hit. “I have to hand it to you, babe.” Her voice was stunted through a held breath. “Your taste is immaculate.” She exhaled into the steam. “What scent are these bubbles?”

“Almond,” I said flatly.

Almost numbly, in fact, as I took in the open (and now mostly used) jar of lemongrass face mask on the vanity and the nearly empty bottle of bubble bath on the floor. It was just cheap stuff I picked up at CVS every few months, but they made up the foundation for my one small ritual, the one luxury I afforded myself.

Based on what was left of my supplies, I wouldn’t be able to enjoy it for a while.

“That’s quite a sourpuss.” Selena stretched back in the tub and exhaled another stream of smoke. “I don’t know what you’reso annoyed about. I’m the one who had to wake up at the butt crack of dawn for the gremlin in there.”