The Little Girl I Always Wanted by Anya Mora

The Little Girl I Always Wanted by Anya Mora

Author:Anya Mora [Mora, Anya]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-11-14T16:00:00+00:00


Chapter 24

Jubilee

One month ago

I think Mom’s upset with me. She says she’s not, but I feel it, and it’s all my fault because I keep messing things up.

She doesn’t like it when I take the food from the cupboard and hide it in my bedroom or put the leftovers from my plate in my pockets. I’m not doing it to be mean or sneaky. I’m doing it because I can’t help myself. It’s something I’ve been doing for as long as I can remember, and it’s embarrassing when I get caught.

I hate it when she pulls up my mattress and sees a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich underneath it. Or when she’s doing my laundry and goes through my clothes and finds empty wrappers of food I took without permission. She says in this house there is no such thing as permission when it comes to food. She says there’s no lock on the pantry, that I can have any food anytime I want, and the fridge is open for me anytime also and that I can have as much as I want, and I don’t need to take it and hide it. And I don’t mean to, but still, I do.

Now she’s sitting at the kitchen table with Susannah, her best friend. They’re drinking coffee. When Susannah comes over, they sit at the kitchen table with coffee and they eat something sweet. Today, it’s blueberry muffins that Susannah brought.

“I love the crumble topping,” Mom says.

“Thanks,” Susannah says smiling. They see me standing in the doorway. “Did you want one?” Susannah asks.

“Sure. If I can?” I ask Mom, looking at her.

She exhales slowly as if this statement is annoying, and I realize it is.

“Jubilee, Susannah offered you a muffin. Of course you can have a muffin. Like I said so many times before, you are free to eat anything in the house that you want at any time. There are no restrictions of food in our home. Okay? That goes for everyone who lives here.”

Susannah presses her lips together but doesn’t add anything to the conversation.

“Thanks, Susannah,” I say, taking one off the plate on the kitchen counter and reaching for a paper napkin.

“Why don’t you go eat that on the front porch?” Mom suggests.

“All right,” I say. I walk out of the kitchen, but I don’t get out of earshot. Just out of their sight. I want to hear what they’re talking about. I want to know if, when I walk away, if Mom is going to start talking about me, saying all the reasons she doesn’t love me or want me.

“So, how are things going?” Susannah asks her. “I mean, really.”

“With Jubilee?” Mom asks. I can hear her sigh. Her voice lowered. “Jubilee is wonderful. She really is such a sweetheart. But sometimes I feel over my head, the things she struggles with, the life she’s lived . . . And I’m saying that as someone coming from a hard place, too. My childhood was a mess, you know that.”

“From what you’ve shared,” Susannah says, “I do.



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