“He’s my cousin,” Autumn said tightly, her eyes getting big and shiny. “I don’t have a brother. I don’t have anybody.” And then she drove her fist into the candy display next to the register, scaring the life out of the cashier.
I scrambled for the fallen candy while Ma put both hands on Autumn’s shoulders and pulled her away from the display. Her voice was light, like there was no meltdown happening anywhere near us. “Well, maybe now you have a brother and a cousin,” she said.
“A brousin,” I said, stuffing the candy bars back in all the wrong spots. And that made Autumn choke out a near laugh, so it stuck.
My cousin tosses me another PowerBar after I’ve polished off the first in three bites. “You working at the grocery store tonight?” she asks.
I take a huge bite before answering. “No, Garrett’s.” It’s my favorite job; a no-frills dive bar where I bus tables. “Where are you headed? Waitressing?”
“Murder van,” Autumn says. One of her jobs is working for Sorrento’s, a knife-sharpening company, which means she drives to restaurants all over greater Boston in a battered white van with a giant knife on one side. The nickname was a no-brainer.
“How are you getting there?” I ask. We only have one car, so transportation is a constant juggling act in our house.
“Gabe’s picking me up. He could probably drop you off at school if you want.”
“Hard pass.” I don’t bother hiding my grimace. Autumn knows I can’t stand her boyfriend. They started going out right before they graduated last spring, and I thought it wouldn’t last a week. Or maybe that’s just what I hoped. I’ve never cared for Gabe, but I took what Autumn calls an “irrational dislike” to him the first time I heard him answer his phone by saying “Dígame.” Which he still does, all the time.
“Why do you care?” she asks whenever I complain. “It’s just a greeting. Stop looking for reasons to hate people.”
It’s a poser move, is my point. He doesn’t even speak Spanish.
Gabe and my cousin don’t fit, unless you think of it in terms of balance: Autumn cares too much about everything, and Gabe doesn’t give a crap about anything. He used to head up the party crowd at Carlton High, and now he’s taking a “gap year.” As far as I can tell, that means he acts like he’s still in high school, minus the homework. He doesn’t have a job, but somehow still managed to buy himself a new Camaro that he revs obnoxiously in our driveway every time he comes to pick up Autumn.
Now, she folds her arms and cocks her head at me. “Fine. By all means, walk a mile when you don’t have to out of sheer spite and stubbornness.”
“I will,” I grumble, finishing my second PowerBar and tossing the wrapper into the garbage. Maybe I’m just jealous of Gabe. I have a chip on my shoulder, lately, for anyone who has more than they need and doesn’t have to work for it. I have two jobs, and Autumn, who graduated Carlton High last spring, has three. And it’s still not enough. Not since the one-two punch we got hit with.
I turn as Ma enters the kitchen, walking slowly and deliberately to avoid limping. Punch #1: in June she was diagnosed with osteoarthritis, a bullshit disease that messes with your joints and isn’t supposed to happen to people her age. She does physical therapy nonstop, but she can’t walk without pain unless she takes anti-inflammatory meds.
“How are you feeling, Aunt Elena?” Autumn asks in an overly bright tone.
“Great!” Ma says, sounding even more chipper. My cousin learned from the best. I clench my jaw and look away, because I can’t fake it like they do. Every single day, it’s like getting slammed in the head with a two-by-four to see my mother, who used to run 5Ks and play softball every weekend, strain to make it from the living room to the kitchen.
It’s not like I expect life to be fair. I learned it’s not seven years ago, when a drunk driver plowed into Autumn’s parents and walked away without a scratch. Still sucks, though.
Ma makes it to the kitchen island and leans against it. “Did you remember to pick up my prescription?” she asks Autumn.
“Yup. Right here.” Autumn roots through her backpack, pulling out a white pharmacy bag that she hands to my mother. My cousin’s eyes briefly meet mine, then drop as she reaches into the backpack again. “And here’s your change.”
“Change?” Ma’s eyebrows shoot up at the thick stack of twenties in Autumn’s hand. Those pills cost a fortune. “I wasn’t expecting change. How much?”
“Four hundred and eighty dollars,” Autumn says blandly.
“But how…” Ma looks totally lost. “Did you use my credit card?”
“No. The co-pay was only twenty bucks this time.” Ma still hasn’t made any move to take the money, so Autumn gets up and drops it onto the counter in front of her. Then she sits back down and picks up a scrunchie from the table. She starts pulling her hair into a ponytail, cool and casual. “The pharmacist said the formulary changed.”
“Changed?” Ma echoes. I stare at the floor, because I sure as hell can’t look at her.