Page 3 of Suits and Spark Plugs

I scoffed as I filled the final cup and picked up the tray. “You’ve been flirting with him ever since we graduated from high school.”

“True, but these past two months I’ve really stepped it up. Did you notice he’s been coming in almost every day since Halloween?”

“I can honestly say I haven’t.”

I took my drinks to the waiting customers, cleared a few tables, and totally stole a glance at Connor out of the corner of my eye as I made my deliveries. A few years older than Kelly and me, and admittedly good-looking, his unusually colored auburn hair and way of moving had caught our attention on the first day of our freshman year of high school. It had definitely helped that he was a senior and seemed impossibly grown up. We’d learned all about him as fast as we could, and none of it was good. He had his uses as a mechanic, and that was about all I had to say about him. I’d steered clear for years and wasn’t about to let my best friend get herself attached to that runaway train.

When our shift was over, Kelly and I met up in the employee lounge. It felt good to untie my apron and kick off my sensible work shoes. Kelly stood next to me, shaking her hair out of its ponytail and rubbing her scalp.

“Maybe Blaine has a cousin, or a college buddy, or a co-worker or something?” I said as I bent to retrieve my snow boots from my locker.

“Don’t take offense, Liv, but I don’t think anyone in Blaine’s world would be interested in dating me.” I gave her a startled look, which made her laugh. “I know what you’re thinking, and I’m so lucky to have a friend who thinks I’m awesome. The truth is that I’m a small town girl working in a diner. I’m not going to school and looking to the future like you are. I don’t want to leave this town the way you do.”

“You never know, Kelly. There might be something bigger and better out there.”

“There might be, yes. Or, I might have everything I need here.” She closed her locker and gave me a pat on the shoulder. “See you tomorrow?”

“Yep. Early shift.”

The drive home was so short that my car didn’t have a chance to heat up before I pulled into the cracked driveway. In the soft twilight glow the house looked warm and inviting, and rather than rush right in I turned off the car and sat for a moment, my artist eye catching the variations of whites and yellows glowing out of the front window. In this light the normally rough-looking exterior could hide its faults and appeared less run down, more how it had looked before Dad had...well...just before.

The cold eventually stole the moment and forced me to hustle across the crunchy snow and into the heat of the entryway. From there I could see into the front room, which looked the way it usually did when I returned from a shift.

Sadie, my seventeen-year-old sister, was sitting on the brown couch with the TV blaring, painting her fingernails a shocking lime green color. A few yellow and orange candy wrappers were scattered on the cushion next to her, but her face was hidden behind the waterfall of black hair draped over her shoulder.

For a moment I was struck by how much she’d grown up in the past year. We were seven years apart in age, which often meant I still struggled to see Sadie as the young woman she was. I wondered if I’d ever think of her as anything other than my baby sister.

My eyes took her in, thinking about how often people were surprised to find out we were sisters and not cousins. We had enough similar features to mark us as family but not quite enough to be sister-level related. Our hair was the same midnight black color, our eyes were the same hazel, and our noses were an exact match. That’s about where it ended, though. Sadie’s hair cascaded in perfect beach waves down her back. I, on the other hand, had chin-length ringlets that dashed all around my head like Medusa’s snakes. When I’d turned eighteen I’d decided to stop fighting the curls and let them be. Since then I’d grown to love my funky style, even if my side of the bathroom had double the hair products of Sadie’s. Curls are nothing if not finicky.

Sadie was also a full four inches taller than me, standing at five-foot-eight, which she liked to remind me of often. I definitely took after our mom’s side of the family, with less height and more curves. Sadie was a dead ringer for our father. Sometimes I could see a flash of him in her expression or the way she moved through a room, and it pinched a little. I tried my hardest to not let it affect the way I treated her, but I knew I failed on occasion.

“Hey, what’s for dinner?” Sadie asked when she spotted me.

“Never a, ‘Hi, Liv, how was work?’” I teased as I took off my coat and set my things on the front entrance table.

“Hi, Liv. Anyone choke to death today?” Sadie turned back to her nails.

“Nice.” I pursed my lips, instantly annoyed. “Did you do any cleaning or cooking today?”

“I’m on winter break,” she replied, just another in a long line of excuses about her unwillingness to pitch in. I made a noise as I headed into the kitchen, which had her look up to me again. “Even if I wanted to, I don’t know how to cook.”

I said nothing in return, just entered the kitchen, which was separate from the front room living area. Sadly, it was probably true that Sadie didn’t know how to cook. Sadie and I were being raised by the same mother but in two very different ways. A couple of years ago, Dad had left his job in Oak Hills and gone to work for an oil operation in North Dakota. It was supposed to be a big opportunity for our family, but instead it had become a big opportunity for him to start a new life.

The abandonment hadn’t been immediate, but over time he came home less, sent less money home, and called less and less. Mom eventually ended up taking a second job on nights and weekends to make ends meet. Gone was the home with two parents who’d been home every evening, working together, cooking, cleaning, talking, and supporting their daughters. It had been about six months now since I’d actually spoken to my father. I doubted Mom had spoken to him either in that time. It wasn’t something we talked about.

“Have you seen Mom?” I called to Sadie from the kitchen.

“She popped in about an hour ago, but she had to leave. She ate a sandwich, I think.”

I nodded even though Sadie couldn’t see me. Of course, Sadie had opted to wait for me to come home and cook her something rather than eating a sandwich with Mom.

I whipped up a salad and spaghetti, which we ate silently while watchingJeopardy—the curse of people who had to rely on antenna TV and reruns. Afterward I made my way up to my room. Entering my bedroom was my favorite part of the day. It was my own private oasis. I’d decorated it in whites and creams and then accented it with colors. It always felt peaceful and inviting, a place of refuge in my crazy life. I went upstairs with the intention to study, but the sight of a fresh canvas waiting for me near the window proved to be more of a pull than I could resist.

I’d discovered oil painting in middle school, and it was my secret passion. I walked across the room to where the canvas was sitting to the side of my north facing window and ran light fingertips over it, allowing my mind to run free, pondering what I could bring to life with brushes and a free spot of time.

When I’d been picking up groceries a few days before, I’d noticed the way icicles were hanging from the light pole out front. It had captured my imagination, and I’d taken a photo on my phone. Now I reached into my back pocket, intent on looking at the picture, but my shoulders drooped in defeat when I unlocked it and saw the time. Already after 8:00pm. The painting would have to wait. It was study time.

As my family had begun to show the cracks, I’d resolved to make a brighter future for myself and had started online schooling to work toward a nursing degree. Nursing, I believed, would provide some flexibility as a career. I’d be able to work just about anywhere and would make enough money that I would never need to depend on another person for my well-being. I was determined that my life would never look like my mother’s.

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