Page 12 of Next to Everything We Wanted

“Fine.” Asher shoved the magazine back in the bag before returning to the sandcastle he’d been making next to Dapper.

I took a book out of the bag, but I couldn’t focus on the words. I read through the first page four times before giving up and putting it back. Why did a good day have to get ruined like that?

So many mistakes, all attached to my legal name. Four years, three albums, and way too many nights of crying and yelling. I couldn’t get rid of it, no matter how far I ran.

Once something happened, it could never be erased.

CHAPTER 4

Sienna

“Good morning, love,” Dad sang as he placed a plate of pancakes on the table. “You woke up just in time for breakfast.”

“Good morning.” I smiled at the plate in front of me. “I was going to make breakfast today.”

“I thought it’d be nice to surprise you.” He smiled and sat down with me with his big stack of pancakes. “You’ve worked hard lately. You go to school, take care of the twins, work, volunteer at the shelter, have band practice, and cook dinner for me. Anything else I’m missing?”

“No, that’s all.” I also did all of that on only three-to-five hours of sleep, but he didn’t need to know that. Drinking at least two cups of coffee a day wasn’t just for the heck of it.

“I want to start making you breakfast on the weekends. I have the time, after all.”

“Thanks, Dad, but I really don’t mind making breakfast when you’re worn out.”

Dad was a special agent, and things got hectic fast in his office. Sometimes he had to work late or unexpectedly, adding to his stress. He deserved a good meal to come home to.

“Sienna.” Dad’s amber eyes met mine. We had the same eyes, one of our very few similarities. I tried to look more like him and less like Mom, though there wasn’t much I could do without a beard. “It’s okay. Really.”

I smiled, my chest warming. “I just like helping.”

“Then help me out by letting me help you.” He took a bite of his pancakes. “Delicious. Our recipe hasn’t failed us yet.”

I took a bite of mine and nodded. “Sure hasn’t.”

“You know, your mom loved our pancake recipe,” he said, pointing his fork to the plate, a thing he did when he enjoyed his food. “That and our waffles. She’d eat them up every weekend morning.”

My fork dropped into my syrup. I cringed and cleaned it with my napkin.

Dad sighed. “I’m sorry, Sienna. I know that what happened hurts, and trust me, you have every right not to forgive her. Even I struggle to forgive her. But I think you should open the letter. It’s already been a few weeks.”

“Dad, I already told you.” I bit down on my pancake so hard I bit my tongue. Why did he have to ruin a peaceful breakfast with this subject? “A letter won’t make up for the seven years she’s missed. It means nothing.”

Then why haven’t you thrown it away?

If only I had an answer. Maybe it was because a tiny corner of me still loved my mom. I hated that corner, but it never went away. In that corner of my mind, she popped in uninvited, and her footsteps trailed all the way to my heart. No matter how hard I tried, that small part of me was still attached to the woman I’d spent ten happy years of my life with.

“Sienna.” The muscles in Dad’s face twitched. We’d gotten into multiple fights about this, abouther, and they’d never gotten us anywhere except slamming the doors to our rooms.

“I don’t want to talk about her right now, okay?” I tried to keep my voice even, not wanting to take things out on him. He’d been on my side since the morning Mom moved out. The morning she hadn’t woken me up to say goodbye. “Please.”

Dad chewed his lip and sighed. “Sorry.”

“Thank you.” A twinge of guilt pinched me. He should be allowed to talk about his estranged wife—who he really should’ve divorced if Mom had been willing to go through the time, money, and paperwork. Still, I hated hearing it.

I wished she wasn’t still tied to us. The thread was thin, on the verge of snapping, but it was still there.

“So, what does your band plan to do when school gets out?” Dad asked. “You’re supposed to start performing at What Do You Bean, right?”

“That’s the plan.” I sipped on my coffee. “We’re still working it out with Mr. and Mrs. Mason.” I’d nearly fainted when Ivan said he was talking to them about hiring us as one of the regular bands. Sure, Battle of the Bands had suggested that on the flyer, but hearing it from Ivan’s mouth? I’d almost exploded into fireworks.