Chapter Five

"When Garfield becomes your Iron Man."—Hazel Titus

August

Was it wrong to be excited after seeing a sad, pathetic Garfield slipper and a half-asleep girl yelling at me?

Probably.

Maybe that meant you'd hit rock bottom. Regardless, I was literally smiling all morning when I went into the living room and saw Mom sleeping on the couch. I grabbed the red and blue quilt, pulled it up to her neck, and kissed her forehead—just to make sure.

God, it sucked to even think that.

To make sure.

What? That she wasn't cold?

My good mood left until I looked back at the lawn.

"Mmmm." Mom stirred. "You talked with Hazel this morning. Were you yelling?"

I smirked. "Pretty sure she did all the yelling, Mom."

Her laugh had always been one of my favorite things about her. It was always too loud, boisterous to the point that when we went to the movies, people stared at her, and I would sink into the seat like I was a part of it. But now? I wished it was like that again and didn't sound so weak and frail.

"August." Her lips pressed together like she was gaining energy from not speaking before she opened her mouth again. "Yelling doesn't always mean fighting. If you evoked a response in her, maybe that's a good thing. God knows I would do anything in this world to see you happy and with someone before…"

"No." I rushed to her side. "Before what? Aliens come? Zombies? Before In-N-Out takes notice? Nope, not happening. Just relax, you're tired. I'll deal with her. It's just some friendly, um…banter."

"Exactly how you were born." Coughing ended the argument as she turned on her side and went back to sleep.

For the rest of the night, I stared up at the ceiling.

What would have happened if I'd grabbed Hazel by the waist back then and told her how pretty I thought she was despite my anger that she didn't realize it?

The way she stared at me was all venom.

Ironic.

The way I stared back at her was all antidote.

But she never saw it that way because she never saw herself how others should see her—the way her family saw her.

As precious.

Something to fight for. Someone to protect. Someone to also annoy, because there was nothing better than someone who fought for something without sitting down. I wanted that for my future.

I jolted awake and rubbed my hands down my face. "Nope, no. Nope. Not thinking about family. I'm young, so young. Ha, ha, nightmares. Is Mom smoking weed and suddenly getting everyone in the house high and delirious, thinking all the thoughts?" Voice weak and raspy, I lay back down and turned onto my side. Her window was right there. The light was on.

I shook my head. "What could she possibly do to make me mad?"

I hated myself a bit for turning onto my side and staring back at her illuminated window across the yard, wondering if she would crawl up that tree or lie in bed.

What was she doing?

Was she the same Hazel I remembered? She seemed stronger, angrier. And I liked it more because a weak Hazel made me want to hold her. A strong Hazel made me want to fight for her, and I wanted to fight more than I wanted to hold because that meant she was strong.

And I needed someone strong.

Because every time my mom coughed, I felt weak.

Every time I heard her laugh, a part of my laugh died a bit.

People are people. In the end, we all want a shoulder to cry on, someone to laugh with. Or, at the very least, someone who won't just stand by our side but shove us behind them and say, "I've got this."

God, what would that even feel like?

It was the last thought I had before random knocking filled the air and I heard the chicken—or wait, rooster? Who the hell had a rooster? And why? Why at this hour? Why? We weren't in the country. We both had houses by the freaking Columbia River. Did they suddenly release random roosters and chickens to entertain the ducks and fish?

My imagination. Obviously.

I yawned and closed my eyes again.

The rooster sounded.

Again.

I jolted awake and rubbed my blurry eyes, attempting to focus on the white wall in my room. Suddenly, I heard it to my left. Slowly, I turned and saw an honest to God rooster in my front yard. "The hell?"

It wouldn't shut up.

I had no pellet gun, but I wouldn't lie about it or to myself. If I had one, I would have been tempted to use it and then cook the thing…wait, could you even eat a rooster?

Was that inhumane?

Probably. I did live in Portland, after all. Animals had rights, and we were within city limits. I'd learned last year when we had wild turkeys roaming and eating people's gardens that, apparently, it was frowned upon to hunt for Thanksgiving. Who knew? But going to the store…totally fine.

I could deal with the rooster once I had coffee and did a jumping jack or two. Whatever.

I rolled out of bed and put my feet onto the cold hardwood, swearing both pinky toes almost cramped. Going back to bed sounded like the best idea ever, but I knew Mom would be up—not because of the rooster but because mornings had always been her thing. And while my dad was gone, it was my job to get her ready, perch her in front of the window to watch life pass her by, and fill up her coffee cup. While it sounded depressing, it was actually the highlight of her days.

"Look." She pointed at the school bus that'd pulled up down the street. "Leslie's six now. Wow, she's gotten so big. And those brown pigtails. Aren't her pink bows adorable?"

"Yeah," I agreed. I always agreed because, in my world, my mom was right. She was my world, what kept it spinning.

"Oh." She swatted me weakly. "Did you know that Hazel's going to start working at her dad's ranch soon? She's taking over as the main bookkeeper while she gets her MBA. So wonderful. Aren't you proud?"

Of sparkle queen? Yeah, maybe. Sort of. "Yup," I answered. "So proud."

A knock suddenly sounded at the door.

Mom rested a weak hand on my arm, her small diamond from Dad still shining under the lights of the room. "Get that, will you?"

"As if I'd let you race me," I teased, swallowing the lump in my throat. Her skin was paler today, and I knew I'd been helping with her meds and getting her to sleep as much as possible. But I needed Dad to come back. Not because I wanted a break—I would spend every moment with her—it was just…I didn't want to fail.

Failure as soon as she got sick became my kryptonite, not just in life but also in friendships. The fear of letting people down. My biggest insecurity was not being what people expected and falling short.

Her hand dropped, and her head turned to the side as she sighed and fell asleep again. Our morning ritual was done. Now, it was time to get the mail or package or whatever had been delivered.

The floor creaked as I walked over and reached for the bronze door handle. Our house was expensive and in a prestigious part of Portland, so we didn't have knobs. Instead, we had this weird giant handle that made you feel like you were in a castle and not the suburbs by the river.

I shoved it down and looked out.

A simple brown box sat on the doorstep, and it was addressed to me. I was leery after the rooster had somehow planted itself on our property, but I assumed that was probably Hazel's weird prank. A rooster. Congrats, it worked.

I shook the box, and my head was all like, "Oh, you know, just in case it's a bomb," not thinking far enough ahead that if it were a bomb, I would be dead.

All men are idiots, apparently.

I even shook it again after that errant thought and then started pulling away the tape, only to open it and see a simple black razor with a note.

Nobody wants to marry the Beast in real life. They only tolerate him for the library. Shave that scratch before you end up alone. Oh, and even if you had a library…—Garfield-wearing Hazel

I picked up the razor and clutched it in my hand

I'd like to say the war ended there.

But what followed was a constant battle of wills.

The next Friday, Hazel woke up to find Jane Eyre with instructions on how to read books. I was very detailed.

She followed that up with three types of organic soap because she said I looked like I'd never used it a day in my life.

I followed that up with crickets in her house. Okay, not a proud moment, but I was at a loss for something to continue this weird banter because at least it distracted me from my mom's failing health and my dad's return, where he'd most likely see her and collapse in front of me. Meaning I had to take care of everyone physically and emotionally. I wasn't really sure I had a lot left to do that.

I was already struggling, so I focused on the girl next door, her hate for me, and her cute way of showing it.

After the crickets, though, things went deathly silent. A worry for sure. My mom even asked what was next, and all I could give her was, "The apocalypse. Brace yourself."

A week later, I came to the conclusion that she was either bored or gave up. It annoyed me that the last thing I saw when I closed my eyes was her light shutting off as if I were off, too.

Gone.

Forgotten.