It's tough going to a home that's not really yours. I love my mom and everything, but my relationship with her is very different from Lila's. I remember spending weeks in Minnesota as a teenager during the summer, resentful about being away from home and my friends, having to eat the food she cooked, sleep in a guest room, and only having my sister as company. I guess some things never change, since I've only got myself as company, and I am my sister. What a joke.
As soon as that became optional, I opted not to. Mom and I became a bit distant, and Lila and I did too until she got a bit older and reached out to me. They've moved at least once or twice since I've been to Minnesota. Things are different. It's a nice big house, and as Lila, I have a real "room." (I don't judge, lots of 20-somethings live with their parents.) They live with Mom's boyfriend or fiance or whatever, Arno. I know jack-all about him.
In the summers, Lila works as a lifeguard. She's a really strong swimmer. The joke gets better: I'll be spending the better part of the summer in a swimsuit. I used to lifeguard, too, but I haven't brushed up lately. So while I could technically perform this job without much problem, I should probably take a refresher course on the downlow so that I don't accidentally let anyone get killed. Mostly the job is just sitting in the high chair and blowing the whistle when anyone runs or rough houses. But you never know when it could get serious.
I'm not in any serious trouble, I don't think. Out of everyone I know, I probably have the least serious situation (even Lila, as me, might have things more difficult.) But at the end of a very trying week, I am still frustrated and embarrassed to be rifling through my sister's clothes for something I can dress this body in so I can go out and get a drink, or drive around looking for anything to do, because I just can't face up to being under the same roof as Mom and Arno for a night. Not yet. I hope I can get there someday, but so far... I just need space.
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