You Win

I didn’t sleep much anymore. I just couldn’t. I didn’t have the patience to wait for sleep to come, my bed wasn’t comfortable anymore, there were always other things that needed to be done. The reasons were building up every day. My mind had better things to do than rest. Sleep was not a priority anymore. I never got more than a few restless hours before I gave up and ventured to the kitchen, where I usually found my mom guzzling coffee and reading the newspaper before work. We were a family of newspaper-readers. Even Carter.

“Good morning,” my mom said.

“Morning,” I grumbled, dragging my limbs to the coffee pot and pouring a cup. I took a chocolate chip cookie from the cat-shaped cookie jar and dipped it in my coffee. We had excessive amounts of chocolate chip cookies. I couldn’t stop making them.

I leaned against the counter and focused on the warmth spreading from the coffee cup to my hand, up my arm, making my skin tingle pleasantly. I closed my eyes and diligently ate my coffee-dipped cookie. It always tasted better with closed eyes.

“Did you sleep well, Caroline?” my mom asked as she examined the newspaper.

No. I tossed and turned all night. I felt physically sick. Whether it be from a virus or stress or all the cookies I had consumed in the past few days, I didn’t know. But my stomach was churning and my eyes felt like they were burning into my skull.

“Uh, yeah,” I lied. “Just fine. How did you sleep?”

She turned her examining eyes to me, and I immediately straightened my posture. Both Carter and I had taken after our mother in looks. Same dark hair, dark eyes. Same thick eyebrows (which my mom and I could tame, while Carter could do nothing). My dad was the oddball when we were all together, which was rare. He had dirty blonde hair and green eyes.

There was a time when I was younger and had gotten so mad at my mom because she had given me her brown eyes instead of letting my dad give me his green ones. I was legitimately pissed until my mom explained the basics of genetics to me. I held a grudge against her for at least a year after that.

“Wonderfully,” she said. “I had a dream that Carter became the president of the United States.”

I laughed, almost choking on my coffee. So many insults popped into my head, but I didn’t say any of them, just grinned knowingly at my mom. She neatly folded the paper and stood from the table, putting her empty coffee cup in the sink. She put an arm around my shoulders and kissed the top of my head, and my eyes instantly filled up with tears.

“Everything will work out,” she said. “You’ll see.”

My mom wasn’t clueless, but she didn’t know exactly what had happened between me and Carter, between me and Luke, and now between me and Maggie. She was observant enough to know that something was up, she just didn’t know what. And she didn’t press me for information.

“Thanks,” I said softly, standing still and gripping my coffee cup with both hands.

She put a soft hand to my forehead. “You look pale. Are you getting sick?”

“I feel fine.”

“You don’t look fine,” she said, but it was concerned and motherly, not insulting. “I’ll make you some of my chicken noodle soup when I get home tonight.”

I liked being taken care of just as much as the next person. But I would rather eat my own shoe than have to choke down her chicken noodle soup. I don’t know why it was so horrible. I didn’t think it was that difficult to make. But my mom found a way to turn a perfectly good soup into something that made me gag. I was just trained to hate any kind of chicken noodle soup now, because she had always made me eat it when I was younger and came down with something.

“Just rest today,” she instructed. She let go of me and made her way out of the kitchen. “I’m going to work,” she called back to me. “I’ll be back later tonight to make that soup!”

“Great,” I mumbled. I heard the front door shut and then I was alone.

I started making cookies, but we didn’t have any sugar. Or flour. Or chocolate chips. So that didn’t really work. It was too early in the morning to do anything. But I needed to do something.

Every time my mind moved to yesterday, to the things I had said to Maggie and the things she had said to me, I literally cringed. I felt horrible about it. She only wanted the best for me—I knew that. And she was the reason I hadn’t given up on Luke yet. I just couldn’t stop messing things up.

But how could she have said those things? One minute she was encouraging me, and the next, she was saying things that even Carter would never say. It was either all or nothing with Maggie. And it was tiring. Sometimes I didn’t want to be all in. Sometimes I just wanted to let the chips fall where they may. I wanted to let things happen when they felt right. When I felt right.

But I never felt right when Maggie and I weren’t on good terms.

I sipped my coffee until Carter appeared in the kitchen, disheveled and barely awake. I wanted to hug him until he couldn’t breathe, but refrained. I knew that he would always be there. Even if I broke his ankle and made him sit on the bench all season, even if I got so mad at him that I just wanted to rip his eyeballs out. He would still always be there if I needed him.

“You’re up early,” I commented.

“Your restlessness is contagious,” he grumbled. I took in his scruffy appearance and he shot me a look. “You look like shit.”

I raised my eyebrows and decided to let this one go. I watched as he made his way to the half-full coffee pot and poured himself a cup, even though he didn’t like it.

“What’s up with you?” I asked, because something was clearly up. He never woke up this early, he never drank coffee, he never even went downstairs until he took a shower.

“Nothing,” he said. Meaning, I’m not going to tell you no matter how much you ask, so you may as well just stop now.

“Whatever you say,” I said. He looked like hell and I wasn’t going to push him this early in the morning.

He downed a cup of coffee and made scrambled eggs for the both of us. He was actually a pretty good cook. I don’t know where he got it from, seeing as how my mom could burn water and my dad lived on TV dinners.

Finally, after two cups of coffee and some breakfast, he started to wake up. I felt like I was still asleep.

“Are you going to the Leevy’s house today?” he asked.

That is, Tulip Leevy.

I looked at the calendar beside the refrigerator. “I guess I am,” I said. School started in exactly two weeks. I always went to the Leevy house before school started up again. They only lived a few houses down from us.

“You should bring some chocolate chip cookies with you,” Carter said. “We have too many.” He gave me a look, but I was just glad that I would have something useful to do today.

“It helps me sort out my issues,” I defended. “It’s kind of like cookie therapy. But we’re out of sugar and flour so I won’t be making anymore today.”

“Good,” he said with a smirk.