Part One
In my dream, I was knee deep in sea water, and right in front of me was a single door. My logical side told me to look for whatever was supporting and making it stand up, but pure instinct told me to open it.
The sky above me was streaked with cotton candy pink and a warm orange that sent goose bumps running up my chilled arms.
Dreams are the one place where I don't question things, where I feel no doubt whatsoever. So without another moment's hesitation, I reached for the golden crafted knob with intricate and elegant designs. I was surprised to find it blazing hot, but I did not remove my hand and as I twisted it, a soft sea breeze rolled through my snarls of tangled hair.
Behind me, I could hear someone calling for me, only they weren't using my name. Somehow, despite them not using my name, I knew that they were speaking to me. Still, I ignored them and lightly pushed the door open, immediately I was engulfed in light.
My eyes snapped open as if I was slapped and instantly I was hit with a wall of cold air and the distinct smell of burnt waffles wafting through the house. That was already a sure sign that I should've just crawled back under the blankets and conserved the little warmth that was left.
"Elena!" A small blonde head appeared around the corner from my bathroom. "Where's your straightener? This bathroom is a mess!" Pounding music shrouded her voice in a sort of haze.
"That's why it's my bathroom and not yours." I mumbled into the blankets.
"What was that?" She cocked a perfectly manicured eyebrow at me.
Kicking my feet out from underneath the blanket I glared at her. "Eden, you do know that the littlest sister is typically the one who steals from the older sister, not the other way around, right?"
Eden's expression was a challenge. "Don't start with me, Elena. It is way too early for that."
Eden was currently the oldest sister who still lived in the house but not the oldest out of all of us; that would be Eleanor. Eleanor was twenty two and in her final year of college. Then there was Eliza who was twenty one, Ella who was nineteen and Eloise who was eighteen and in her first year of college.
Then of course the sisters who still lived in the house starting with the lovely Eden who was a senior in high school and eighteen years old followed by Elizabeth who was seventeen and a Junior. Last but never least was me, Elena, the youngest. I had been alive for sixteen years with warm auburn hair and sea green eyes just like my mother had, which was a total contrast from the rest of my sisters who took after my father with their blonde hair and blue eyes. They all looked stunningly similar to him while I got my looks from my mother.
The thought made me sick with anguish.
"You have your own bathroom, you know." I shouted at her over the blaring music as I shed my pajamas and reached for a fresh pair of jeans.
Most of what she said back was muffled over the music and I was only able to make out the words, "too small." I shrugged into my favorite grey sweater while my eyes unconsciously traveled to the picture on the bedside table.
"Morning Mom." I whispered as the bedroom door clicked open.
"EDEN!" Elizabeth stomped through my room without a sideways glance in my direction. Her hand pounded against the locked bathroom door. "You stole my makeup AGAIN! How many times do I have to tell you-"
"I can't hear you!" Eden shouted back through the door.
"Maybe if you turned the down the music you would be able to!" Elizabeth snapped, her face growing redder with each word and her hands balled up into fists at her sides.
"Breakfast is ready!" I heard my Dad shout up and I moved towards my bedroom door. I figured I'd have better luck with getting breakfast than with getting into my bathroom.
I thumped down the stairs as slowly as possible. Along the walls surrounding the stairs were pictures. The right side had baby pictures while the left side had the most recent school picture of us, both sides starting with the oldest at the top and the youngest at the bottom. So for Eleanor, Eliza, Ella, and Eloise their most recent pictures were their high school graduation pictures. Mom always loved pictures. At the bottom of the stairs was a wall that faced them. Half of that wall was taken up by a photo of my Mom and Dad. Once upon a time I knew that photo like the back of my hand. But right then, I dropped my gaze and kept going towards the kitchen.
The first thing I saw was a cloud of smoke billowing from the toaster.
"Dad what did you do?!" I shouted as I wrenched the kitchen window open. I waved the cloud toward the wintry November scene outside and silently prayed it wouldn't set off the fire alarm. Dad didn't respond, just looked at the cloud in disbelief.
When I finally shut the window and turned around, I saw my father in a chair at the dining room table, his head in his hands.
"I can't even make waffles without almost burning down the house." He mumbled and my heart panged at the sight of him. In the last few months his hair had gone positively grey. The lines on his face had grown deeper and though he tried to hide it, his face was constantly shrouded in darkness. Something inside of me crumpled, but instead of showing it, I pasted a cheerful smile on my face, just like I did every other day.
"Daddy," I said, kneeling in front of him, "You are so wonderful. Sure cooking isn't your strong point but thankfully, that's what you have me for." I smiled lovingly at him and I knew for a fact that it was not entirely a fake one this time. He grabbed one of my hands and squeezed it.
"I sure am lucky to have you, Elena." A smile peeked out from the bare plains of his face.
"I'll handle breakfast." I promised him, turning towards the kitchen and letting my cheerful outside demeanor drop.
"Your mother was always the cook of the family, not me. I guess it's just another way you take after her." He said absently. It stopped me in my tracks.
"Yeah I know." I whispered, afraid that speaking too loudly would reveal how much my voice wavered. We didn't speak after that and I prepared breakfast for my father and sisters. I had suddenly lost my appetite so I didn't make anything for myself. When my sisters finally came down the stairs arguing, I took the opportunity to finish getting ready for school in peace.
I stood in front of the mirror, not seeing anything. My auburn waves had been pulled into a loose braid that fell to my chest. Everything was done; teeth brushed, face washed, deodorant applied. Yet I stood there, waiting for a wave that would take me away; something that would have let me crawl back into bed and forget everything. But nothing did. In a few minutes I would move out the door and towards the stairs. I'd kiss my father goodbye on the cheek and get into my sister's car. I'd breathe without breathing at all. I'd smile without any meaning and nod my head. The way I was supposed to.
It had been six months, sixteen days, and four hours since my mother died. That thought stayed with me as I begun another day; as I rounded the corner to the dining room and I put the most convincing smile I could manage onto my face.
