Chapter 8 Milly.

CHAPTER EIGHT

MILLY – POINT OF VIEW

Sunday morning creeps in.

I wake up feeling groggy. A headache blooms behind my eyes because I didn’t get enough sleep. I was up all night thinking. I turn on the flashlight and yawn. I need to get to Queens and sell these books after church. It hangs over me, but I move on. It’s fine.

Quickly, I arrange my small bedroom. It’s the smallest room in the house. My desk is made out of dining table leaves. There’s a stack of notebooks tied with strings and a thrifted lamp Miles broke when he was a toddler. My walls hold up college brochures, sticky notes and a pressed wildflower taped over my bed. The flower was a gift from Emma, and I cherish it dearly.

I throw my hair in a tight bun and walk out. The laundry basket in the hallway is filled with clothes I need to wash. I yawn and step into the bathroom. I stare at my puffy cheeks through the cracked mirror and look away immediately. There’s no need to look at myself, especially when I don’t like what I see. I learn to separate myself from my body. 

I don’t have to be beautiful. I’m intelligent.

I take my bath quickly, moving on autopilot.

In my bedroom, I change into black tights and my bra. Then, I head to the twins' bedroom.

Glow-in-the-dark stars shine from the ceiling, illuminating their rosy cheeks and mismatched sheets. The smell of cough syrup hangs in the air, and I frown. 

“Come on, my lovelies. We have to get ready.” I sing-song.

Sunlight streams through the window, shining bright. A sign of a new day. Another chance to make everything right, and somehow, my despair fades away. Today will be beautiful.

It takes a while to get them awake. They’re always grumpy in the morning, but eventually, I get them to the bathroom. After so much fuss, they step out, clean and refreshed. Miles dresses himself while I work on Emma. 

“How’s your cough?” I ask, brushing her curly, beautiful brown hair.

“Mom gave her syrup.” Miles answers instead, and I nod, even though I’m surprised. Where did she get the money for that?

“I feel better.” Emma tells me, showing her teeth, and I chuckle, “Of course, you do.”

We play around a bit. I tickle them, and they run out of the room, loud as always.

We make our way to the kitchen. Mom’s dressed and has food ready, noodles. It smells so good and spicy. My stomach grumbles, and she gives me a soft smile, “Eat up, babies. We’re leaving in an hour.”

She doesn’t have to apologize for last night. Her actions show. I eat as much as I can, then remember I wasn’t supposed to eat. I’m supposed to be on a … a diet. Well, too late now.

I put my plate in the sink and finish getting ready. 

My outfit is a simple polka-dot dress. I struggle to get into it, then struggle to button the bust.

My cheeks flush, and self-loathing fills me. I’m not a fan of my body, of the way it always expands. I make sure I fix the buttons, then wear a short cardigan over it to hide my curves. I try to be in a good mood for the kids, even though I feel anything but good.

Eventually, we leave.

“Hi, Ms Joyce!” Emma and Miles chorus as we walk down the road.

“Hey, my beauties!” Ms Joyce shouts back.

“Good morning, Grandma Victory!”

“Looking dashing, my babies!”

“Happy Sunday!” 

“Happy Sunday to you, too, angels!”

Our Sunday mornings are always filled with excitement and enthusiastic greetings. Everyone loves the twins. Our family is respected. Our neighbourhood is full of modest and working-class families. Kids play all over the yards always. We are comfortable.

We get to church in time, and it passes slowly.

I pull out my jotter and make some notes. 

I try to keep the worry out of my mind, and succeed for a while, but it always creeps back in.

“In line with today’s lesson, the church has decided to gift our members some groceries and household appliances. A large donation was made for this purpose. We see all your hard work and perseverance. The world is moving, and often, the economy doesn’t favour us, but it is important not to give up. We must hold the faith and be strong. We must not give up. We must continue and walk the right path. No matter how hard it becomes, there’s light at the end of the tunnel, just hold on now.” The pastor smiles, and my mouth falls open in shock.

Mom grabs my hand and holds it tight.

Pressure builds behind my eyes, but I do not cry.

The ushers begin to share big boxes with every member. Surprisingly, they hand me a big box, and yet hand a bigger box to my mom. 

At the end of church, we meet up with the twins, who show us the boxes they got in the children's class.

Our boxes are filled with pastries, teas, tissues, groceries and even a flashlight, and more.

All my worries have been taken care of. I can’t help but wonder who donated. Whoever this person is, has saved me from two weeks' grocery money.

“Milly! Milly! See!” Miles laughs, showing me his kite.

I chuckle, my chest light. The children’s box has different kinds of toys. Emma got a Spider-Man action figure, mint in box. She doesn’t want to open it. She’s delirious with happiness. We all are.

“I got the cough syrup before you came home last night,” Mom tells me, and I sigh, because I didn’t even ask if she got it; I just assumed she didn’t.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” I whisper, cheeks flushed.

“It’s alright. When we get home, you’ll tell me all about the interview.” She says, and I nod.

We walk home, carrying our boxes, happily.

I frown when I see a black, polished car in front of our house. A car that doesn’t belong on our street.