Lucia--
"I need your help," I repeat to Carly, whinier than I want to sound when she responds to me with only a smirk.
She leans on her desk with folded arms, and her lips stretch into a devious smile. "I hear ya."
She props her left arm up and supports her face with it, rocking side to side. Her smile turns into a Chesire grin as her green eyes trail me from head to toe, causing me to wrap my arms around myself.
I glance around the room finally returning to her. "Ca-
"So," she interjects with an unneeded volume, "what is it you need?"
I'm starting to wonder when her aunt is gonna return, hopefully soon, preferably right now, so I don't have to do what I'm about to do and have Carly rub it in my face every chance she gets.
"I need the money," I say, focusing on her bright blue shirt, not wanting to see the smug on her face.
"So?"
I give her a side glare, then avert my eyes from her to the side of the brown desk.
"So, I'll take the job."
"Why? I thought you could do without it?"
I cross my arms and shrug.
"On one condition." My head snaps up, remembering what I'd told myself before I came in here.
She folds her arms and leans back into her chair, glaring at me.
I hold her glare. "I'll only stock products."
"And if I say no?"
"Then you'll be down to one worker--Margaret."
"Please." She rolls her eyes and leans forward with her arms crossed. "I can always find someone to replace you."
I swallow, trying not to let the words "replace you" get to me. She's only talking about the Bodega.
"Nobody wants to work at this Bodega."
She rolls her eyes and leans back into her chair.
"You do." She sneers.
Well, it's not like I have a choice, but I can't say that, she'll hold that against me for the rest of my life.
I shrug.
"Fine." She pulls out her phone and that is my cue to leave.
***
"Hey." my mom says from somewhere behind me.
My mom?
"Hey," I drag out, confused yet glad that she's at home and sober at this time of the day, locking the door.
As I walk to the kitchen, I pull out my phone to check the time-- 4 pm.
She's normally at the bar by this time beginning her drinking session.
I try not to look so confused as I place my bookbag on the floor by the kitchen island.
"How was your day?" I pull out a glass cup from the white cupboard, walking over to the fridge to fill it up with water.
I glance at her. She circles the rim of her mug with her finger as she answers, "Good."
I cock my head at her, removing my cup from the dispenser and bringing it to my lips, wondering why seems...shy?
I glance around the room as I sip on my water.
"I know you're probably wondering why I'm not out drinking." She chuckles, finally breaking the awkward silence.
I mean I wasn't going to say a thing, but...I'm glad she's brought it up.
"Yea. Something like that." I give her a closed-lipped smile, placing the cup in the sink, then resting my front against the counter with my arms holding the edges of the counter, focusing on her.
"Well..." She approaches the kitchen island and sits on the chair behind it, then sets her white mug on the kitchen island. "After you brought me home that night..."
I cringe, vividly remembering the way people stared at us.
"I felt terrible for consistently drinking and putting your through that kind of stuff, so I asked a friend to connect me with a group she used when she wanted to get clean. She set a meeting, and today will be my first day."
She bites her lower lip and turns her gaze to her mug.
She rubs its rim and shoots me a glance from under her eyelashes as she says, "It's also a Christian group."
This is the second-best news I've heard all day. I want to say, "Mom, that's great," but what comes out of my mouth is, "Why?"
Her head shoots up with her eyebrows scrunched.
"I'm sorry. I should be more supportive. I-
"No, it's okay," she says as her face relaxes, and walks around the kitchen island to stand before me.
I chew on the inside of my cheek.
"I've not been the most supportive or the best mom since Greg..." She clears her throat. "...I mean your father left."
My hand tightens around the counter at the word 'Father.'
"I should've realized that you'd be hurting too, and I'm so sorry, Cici. So, I'm trying to change and be that now. I know it's probably too late since you're all grown up..." She gestures to all of me, "...but I still want to love you." A tear slides down her face.
I bite my lip and turn my head away from her at her words and the recall of the familiar nickname. I haven't heard it since I was three.
"It's..." I clear my clogged throat, staring at my feet with my arms wrapped around myself. "I forgive you."
"Lucia." She beckons my attention, grabbing my crossed arms.
"Yeah?" I stare at her from underneath my eyelashes.
"Thank you," she whispers.
I shrug, biting my lower lip, refusing to let the tears spill over.
She squeezes me after pulling me into a hug. I stand there, letting her hug me. I've never been one for hugs, so I throw my right arm around her and pat her slowly, hopefully, it's not awkward.
We stand there for a minute or so. I can't believe my mom's getting sober. I can't believe she's actually seeking help after fifteen years. This is great.
"Hey, mom. I have something to tell you," I say, pulling away from the hug, remembering another great news I'd heard today.
I lead her toward our muddy brown couch.
"Is it serious?" she asks, wiping away the tears on her face with the back of her hand.
I shake my head 'No.'
"It's just, well..." I explain what Principal Anna and Miss Racheal told me earlier.
"That's great!" She exclaims, leaping off the couch, looking and sounding more excited than I'd sounded or looked despite knowing we'd have to pay thirteen thousand dollars plus the cost of plane tickets.
"We don't have thirteen thousand dollars or over," I remind her.
"How-
"The Lord will provide," she says, settling back on the couch and taking my hands in her hands.
I narrow my eyes at her, wondering what sort of transformation happened to her overnight. This isn't my mother. She'd practically given up on Christianity fifteen years ago, and now she's...
"Yeah." I pull my hands away from her.
"You don't sound convinced. You wonder why you're not shown enough love."
"You keep doubting Him."
I swallow and stare at my hands as the familiar feeling of guilt overwhelms me.
You're right. I'm doubting. Sorry.
"You okay?" She asks, "Your eyes are twitching."
"Yeah," I say, getting up from the couch, "I just have a headache."
Which isn't a lie, this headache has been bothering me all day.
"Have you-
"Yes, I've eaten today," I say, grabbing my black bag to head to my room.
It isn't a complete lie. I did have an apple today.
"I mean you can't always give your flesh what it needs. It's part of sacrifice."
Recalling the sermon on Sacrifice I'd watched two nights ago. The pastor had said it pleased the Lord. He said suffering the flesh pleased the Lord.
Right. Suffer the flesh.
The mantra seems to do the job as the pressure I've been feeling in my head begins to vanish.
"I'll be in my room." Trying not to wince as sharp pain shoots through my head again. This is the third sharp pain today.
"Okay. Well, I'll be heading to the support group. It starts soon." She shakes her phone at me and offers me a soft smile.
I return her smile with a closed-lip smile, letting my hand swing awkwardly beside me.
"Congrats mom."
***
"It's a wonder you're not deaf by now," Priest Dixon says, pointing to the headphones around my neck as he adjusts himself beside me.
I turn my gaze to the sketchbook in my hand, spotting areas of my drawing that could be perfected.
I shrug. "It's the only way to keep the voices away."
"Still bugging you, huh?"
I nod.
"It's not that bad, actually."
"You're before the crucifix, Lucia." He points to the altar, "Don't lie."
"I'm not." I turn to him, tapping the point of my pencil against my sketchbook.
"Somedays, I actually enjoy it. It's like it's keeping me company. Then there are also bad days, but you know about that part."
I can't tell him that it feels like a person guiding me; like it's from the Lord's Spirit, and I can directly hear Him...if it is Him. It sounds odd to say.
I swallow and shake the thought away.
He nods.
"So, how was work?"
"Good," I respond, contemplating whether I should tell him about the abroad program or not. Knowing Priest Dixon, he's probably going to want to pitch in, and he's done more than enough for me and my mom since I'd ran into the Cathedral when I was five. I feel too indebted to him to unintentionally ask for thirteen thousand dollars because that's what it's going to feel like—me unintentionally asking for money.
"So..." Wondering how I should put my other question after deciding not to tell him about the program.
"So" He repeats when I don't finish talking.
"Have you..." I glance at him and chew on the inside of my cheek. "spoken to Silas lately?"
He raises an eyebrow at me. "No."
"Why do you ask?" His lip twitches.
"No reason. I just haven't spoken to him since last night, and I was hoping to apologize about that thing, but..."
He leans forward, I guess to get a better look at my face since my hair's shading my face. "He didn't give you his number?"
"He...did," I say, still tapping my book with the point of my pencil, "I just don't think or feel I should text or call him."
I shrug.
"Oh." He leans back into the wooden pew.
"Yeah," I respond, regretting that I'd brought the subject up and made the atmosphere awkward.
I clear my throat and straighten up. "Oh. My mom joined an alcohol support group thing."
"You mean a recovery center."
I nod. "She said it's a Christian center. Which is...great."
"You don't sound too excited."
"No. I am," I quickly retort as my eyes shoot to his.
"I guess I just don't think she'll stick to it." I chew the inside of my cheek.
"Lucia, you can't be so negative."
"Look at me."
"Look at me," he repeats and nudges me when I don't look at him.
I turn to face him.
"She'll do it. I've known Amy long enough to know that she's a fighter just like her daughter, and I'll pray for her. Hmm?"
I nod, trying to feel less grim about the situation.
He glances to his side. Then again.
"Silas is here."
My head snaps around, and indeed, Silas is standing by the door with a black cap over his head and his hands in the pockets of his black cargo pants with his jaws clenched. He looks almost...angry. He looks around the Cathedral, but it doesn't seem like he's noticed me yet.
I bite my lower lip as I contemplate facing him. I did, no, do want to apologize, but I don't have all the words yet.
I swallow as he draws nearer to the pews and I realize if he comes closer, I'll have to face him.
I bite my lower lip and turn back to Priest Dixon.
"Hey! You can finally ta-
I snap my sketchbook shut and clutch my purse to my chest as I get up.
"I have to go."
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