Page 14 of Mommy

She doesn’t have a routine for her meals, and therefore she simply forgets to eat?

Cringing at that, I shake my head. I don’t know if that’s really the reason behind her behaviour, but I’ll find out regardless of what it is…

It will have to change.

Chapter nine

Ivory

When I wake the next day, the first emotion I feel is comfort. Quickly followed by deep confusion, because I don’t think I’m ever comfortable when I sleep.

Neither my own bed at home is comfortable, nor the mattress I sometimes sleep at when I sneak into Viv’s kennel.

Maybe I’m still dreaming.

Not opening my eyes, I let myself sink into the soft cushion underneath my head, and let out a content sigh. There must be clouds inside the bedding because I feel like I’m sleeping on nothing else. Also there is a slightly cold breeze that brushes over my face every now and then. Not chilling my skin, but slowly carrying the last of my sleepiness away.

Popping my eyes open, I sit up straight.

I’m not dreaming. And I have no clue where I’m at.

My hoodie is folded on a little stool next to the nightstand and when I pick it up, a clean scent tickles my nose.

While I pull it over me, the pictures from last night return.

I went home with Derek. I thought he had offered to drop me off at my home and instead he had taken me to his.

And he asked if I wanted to play house.

What does that even mean?

Of course I remember the game from when I was younger. It has always been my favorite. Pretending to be a happy family in a comfortable house had provided the best escape for the broken home I had actually come from.

My outfit completed by my hoodie—that I now realize Derek must have washed for me while I was sleeping—I make my way out of the room and down the stairs.

I don’t remember any of this. Not the wide stairwell or the ton of empty frames on the walls.

Everything is clean; from the wooden railing to the little rug at the bottom of the stairs. I think even the tiny edges of the panels on the walls are dusted.

Our house sees a vacuum maybe once every month or two. And only if I manage to sniff out the day where mom is doing well. The dirt that lives rent free in our entry way could fill a bathtub. Not, that we have one.

Following the only noise in the house, I find Derek in the kitchen.

It’s an open living concept. I think. Or at least, the kitchen and living room appear to be one. There is no table for eating though.

It’s in another room.

I remember going there yesterday because Derek wanted me to eat something. The growling in my stomach suggests that I must have fallen asleep before that happened.

“Good morning, Mommy.” The mock in his voice is subtle, but the nickname still drags heat into my cheeks.

Not coming up with a reply I just take a seat on one of the bar stools on the other side of the kitchen island.

Derek looks up from his pan and nods to the side of the kitchen.

“I got coffee ready but I wasn’t sure how you like yours, so—” he leaves the sentence unfinished, focusing back on his task. I think he’s making some sort of scrambled eggs, just without actual scrambling. Whatever it is, it smells delicious. Unlike the smell of coffee. I’ve never liked the smell of that and over the years watching my mom drink it as if her life depended on it, my fondness hasn’t grown.

When I don’t move, Derek looks up again.