Page 47 of CurVy Forever
She’ll keep them happy.
While I’m away…
Then I leave Tyler and my baby girl wrapped together in my bed and head downstairs towards the kitchen.
It’s unfair to feel possessive.
But envy hides in deep places.
I wish I had more time with her.
The morning sun cuts through the glass like a drill, low in the sky and blinding. A harsh heat that reminds me that I’m sober but alive.
I’m alive.
And well.
Some mornings, it hurts just thinking about being sober. Today though, it’s more of a niggling. And I don’t mind it. It’s good to remember I have a problem. It’ll help me take it seriously. Anyway, I have a new addiction now…
“I’m the healthy alternative.” The memory of her words makes me smile.
She’s not like anyone I’ve ever met before, unusually selfless but sassy and strong. Vallie might be right about the little girl and what is best for her.
What do I know?
A shitty mother might be worse than the system. I remember the little girl’s excitement over the bubble bath. If that’s her standard for happiness… Christ. She deserves more than her mother can give her.
With my money, I could have the new foster parents vetted and set up with every nice commodity. I could give her a chance at a comfortable life.
“You’re not coming back today, are you?” Donnie asks. I turn to see him standing at the far window, eyes distant, lost to the depths of the forest.
I sigh on a small laugh. “So, your mind-reading shit isn’t just a twin thing.” Walking to stand beside my brother, I feel all the tension in me drop like a bag of mud, spilling out at my feet.
“You took care of everything,” I admit, stopping at his shoulder. “I never thanked you.”
Another man might clear his throat on that sentiment, sigh, respond, but not Donnie.
He doesn’t flinch.
I turn to stare at his side profile and, for the first time, really take him in. He’s identical to Tyler, and even I couldn’t tell them apart, but for the deep weight of responsibility in his gaze and the thin lines between his brows. Traces of a life lived under pressure.
They’re my fault.
Tyler’s scars.
Donnie’s aging.
“Thank you,” I say to him.
He doesn’t move.
He doesn’t even blink.
“Thank you, Donatello,” I repeat. “For taking over. For being the man this family needed when I wasn’t.”
After a few moments, enjoying the pride I feel in my chest, not at all jealous, not in the slightest resentful, I turn and tap his shoulder firmly. “I’ll be back, brother.”
I walk to the door.