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Sometimes she forgets, that not everyone lives like this. That for some people a childhood gets to be exactly that. That there are people out there who don’t grow up stealthily counting their parents drinks, walking their sisters home from school when no one shows up to collect them, being taught to drive by the same man who once almost careened them into a tree asleep at the wheel.
She gave up envisioning that life long ago; the one where she didn’t arrive home to all her belongings sold, the trappings of their youth spread over the yard with masking tape prices on them.
And so sometimes it astounds her, that not everyone spends life waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Addiction was always part of the picture, long before she knew to call it that it was as familiar as the grey bunny she clung tightly to at night. She got to know the highs of a big win - dancing around the kitchen singing to Billie Joel, new shoes and family cinema trips with enough popcorn to have them both queasy. Got to know the lows of a big loss - holes in the wall, shouts heard through closed doors and cassette players turned up full, single slice sandwiches in that weeks lunch. That’s how it went, the good days never lasted long, the bad ones hanging over their heads in wait.
It’s why it’s no surprise when he transfers out, when they blow up in the squad-room, when the mystery shape between them is finally named Nicole. It’s why she never dares to cross that line, to pull him into the motel room, to put words to whats between them, to tell him what Bucci’s abduction had impressed upon her. Because nothing ever stays steady, the pendulum always swings too far.
Even with miles between Loganville and New York the cracks of her parents reflect still through her. She was the big sister, it fell to her, became her burden to carry - the ironing of uniforms and forging of signatures on permission slips and making of excuses for another absence, another missing plate at the bake-sale. And she just keeps waiting, for someone to come along and tell her that it’s alright, she can go back to being a kid, they’ve got it now.
Because she doesn’t. She’s been faking it for so long, stretching in an attempt to plug the gaps, and she just wants to take her hands off the wheel, unlock the door knowing whats on the other side, commit to excursions and not worry about where that money’s coming from. She’s not the grown-up, just the big sister trying to make do.
Except now she is the adult. She’s nearing forty, a mother to two girls she vows to protect from such turmoil. And she’s meant to have the answers, meant to know what to do.
“You’ve been the grown-up for a while now Amanda Rollins.”
His hand is warm and certain around hers, readjusting in its grip but not letting go. The truth of it drips sourly down her throat - she’s been playing at being the grown-up since Kim was born, somewhere along the way it became a permanent state, no one is coming to relieve her. But for the first time, someone’s telling her she’s got it. This time, she doesn’t have to do it all alone.