Chapter 3
Warnings for this chapter: Nothing really, just more angst and love love love!
Elsa is home when I get there. This is a surprise because usually she's out, but today she's home. And she's got a surprise for me. On the table in the kitchen sits a huge pumpkin and a pumpkin carving kit. Also on the table are four bags. I peek into them and want to run and hug her because she's gone to the grocery store too. I have to act surprised and ask her where on earth she got the money for all this, because she doesn't know that I know where she goes every night.
She dodges my question skillfully, as she often does, and I let it drop because I don't want her to know that I know. I'm working so hard to try and keep her from having to do that anymore. She doesn't need to know that I'm doing basically the same thing, although I'm willing to bet my gig is better paying than hers. It makes my throat burn to think of someone touching my beautiful sister like that, hurting her, but I have to tell myself that she won't do it much longer. Not if I can help it.
We carve the huge pumpkin, throwing pumpkin guts at each other like we did as kids. Elsa has pumpkin seeds in her hair and so do I but it's just so funny that we don't even care. We carve the most ridiculous looking face into the pumpkin and we both fall down laughing because Elsa says it looked like our downstairs neighbor when he gets mad at the garbage truck for running over his potted plants.
I keep thinking about the twenty dollar bills I have hidden in my purse in the closet. I can't make it obvious I have that much money; Elsa would be hella suspicious. I'm going to just use it, bit by bit, to take care of stuff and then it'll appear like I'm just getting little amounts of money at a time. Now I just have to come up with a lie about where I'm getting that money. Lying is so exhausting. I hate it.
I make grilled cheese sandwiches in our toaster oven and heat up soup in the microwave. The sandwiches smell good but I'm having trouble eating. Elsa asks me if I'm feeling okay and I lie (again) and tell her I'm fine, that I'm just probably coming down with a cold or something because I'm not that hungry. Elsa tells me I should eat because 'you're looking thin, Anna', and I almost laugh because has she looked in the mirror lately? I beg off and run to the shower.
When I'm done, it's Elsa's turn. I go back out to clean up the pumpkin mess before we go to sleep. When I get to the kitchen, I see the remnants of dinner on the countertop, and Elsa's sandwich is barely touched either.
—
By mid-November, I've come up with something to tell Elsa about where I'm getting money. I had to because when I got the heat turned back on she demanded answers. I finally admitted I'd gotten a job. But that was the extent of my truthfulness. I told her I was working for Hans' dad in his factory way out in North Plains, and that was why I had to leave so early. The bus schedules are a bitch to get out there.
Elsa smiles and hugs me, tells me she's happy for me, but I see a glimmer of pain in her blue eyes. She's wishing she had a factory job instead of working the streets like she does. I have to turn away because I'm afraid she'll see the lie written all over my face.
—
For Thanksgiving, we make our own feast. Neither of us are fans of turkey, so we go for chicken instead. Elsa cooks the chicken breast in the toaster oven, which makes me crack up laughing. I tell her I'm pretty positive that's not what it was intended for but she just shrugs and tells me that drastic times call for drastic measures. Between the microwave and the toaster oven, we manage to make everything except pie. That actually works out well because that is one thing we cannot agree on. I like pumpkin pie but Elsa only likes apple pie. We decide to just forget the whole pie thing and go for chocolate chip cookies instead. Elsa got the refrigerated dough and we planned to bake them in the toaster oven but we got lazy and now we're just eating the dough right out of the tube.
We sit on the floor in front of the fireplace, pelting each other with marshmallows that we didn't use on sweet potatoes. Elsa is cracking up and it's great but my heart aches because I miss when she used to laugh like this all the time. Her laugh is infectious and I really miss it. She doesn't laugh much anymore.
I'm having a hard time keeping my mouth shut. It's not that I want to tell Elsa what I really do for work. No way. It's that I want to tell her to stop doing what she's doing for work. I want to tell her that I can handle it. I can be our breadwinner. I can provide for us while she goes and looks for a real job. Hell, I'm going to make so much money she could even go back to school if she wants, as long as she does it one term at a time so that I can work extra to make enough for tuition and books. But I can't say that because I don't want her to know that I know. It would wreck her pride if she knew that I've known all along. My sister is very proud and her ego is fragile. I can't say that to her just outright like that. I have to come up with something.
—
By Christmas, not only is our heat back on but I've gotten our hot water tank fixed and the stove, too. We can now boil water properly and it's fantastic. Elsa hasn't asked much about that, I think she's content with the idea that I'm working for Hans' dad in the factory. I certainly come home tired enough. She's sometimes home when I get here and I quickly drag to the shower, telling her I'm covered in grime from the machines which thankfully she doesn't question.
She's still sneaking out at night but not every night. The mornings after she stays in, she wakes up before I do. Her eyes have this peace in them that I haven't seen in a long time. She doesn't know what I do for work, but she is feeling some relief.
Sometimes I think I should be jealous of her. She's pulling away from that kind of life, that kind of work, whereas I'm throwing myself even further into it but I just can't conjure up the jealousy. Actually, I'm the opposite — I'm relieved. She's always been so quick to fall in on herself. So quick to criticize herself. She doesn't stand up for herself, she never has. When we were little and Mom or Dad would be upset at her for something, I'd purposefully get myself in between her and them, buffering the fight, taking it myself instead of letting it get to Elsa. My personality has always been louder, bigger, stronger. I'm a big girl. I can handle it.
