They Never Picked Up My Calls, So I Made Dolls That Answer novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: Good Seams

Elsie reads Mom's margin note aloud to the whole party and blocks all four numbers; back at the studio the sober neighbor who once pounded on her door fishes her dolls out of the dumpster, and a notice says her lease ends in nine days.

I looked down at the note.

"Admissions loves a survivor."

My hands were steady.

That surprised me.

I flipped to page two.

"For a year I lived in fear of my sister's grades. She never had to say a word. Her perfection did it for her."

Mom had drawn a red star next to that line.

I put the sewing tin under one arm and the essay in my other hand.

Then I walked back into the living room.

Gracie was unwrapping the first gift. A gold bracelet.

Mom was clapping.

"Who wrote this?" I said.

Everyone turned.

Gracie saw the pages and went white.

"That's private," she said. "You went through my desk?"

"It was sitting on my desk. In my room. With my name on it."

I held up page one.

"More about the window," I read out loud. "Admissions loves a survivor."

The words sounded worse in the air.

Drew stopped scrolling.

Colby looked at Gracie, then at Mom.

Mom stood up slowly and smoothed her cardigan.

"I helped your sister with an essay. That's what mothers do."

"You helped her write that I broke her."

"You did break her," Mom said. "We all watched it happen."

"Then tell me what I did."

The room stayed quiet.

"Tell me one thing I said to her. One thing I did."

Nobody did.

Gracie started to cry.

Big quiet tears, the kind that made everyone in a room move toward her.

Colby moved first.

He sat beside her and put his arm around her shoulders.

"Seriously, Els? Today? She worked so hard for this score."

"I worked for mine in a room with no air."

"Not everything is about you," he said.

Dad got up from his chair.

"That's enough. Give your sister her essay and go."

"Dad."

"Go, Elsie. You've done enough to this family."

I looked at Drew.

My big brother. He'd taught me to ride a bike in the parking garage.

He looked at the carpet.

Something in my chest went very quiet.

I set the essay on the coffee table, right side up, Mom's red ink facing the ceiling.

Then I took out my phone.

I blocked Mom's number while she watched.

Then Dad's.

Then Drew's.

Colby's thumb was already moving on his own screen, texting someone.

I blocked his last.

"There," I said. "My number won't upset anybody now."

Mom's mouth opened.

The elevator doors closed on it.

I didn't cry in the rideshare.

I didn't cry on the stairs.

The studio was ninety-one degrees.

The air conditioner had died while I was gone.

I stood in front of the couch.

Four button faces looked up at me every night for a year.

I scooped them into a grocery bag.

Down three flights. Out the back door. Into the alley.

The dumpster lid banged against the brick.

I threw the bag in.

Then I sat down on the back step with Grandma's tin in my lap and finally cried.

I don't know how long it was.

The light in the alley changed.

A shadow fell over me.

A big man in a flannel shirt was standing by the dumpster.

Gray crew cut. Reading glasses hanging on a cord around his neck.

The man from next door.

I'd heard his voice through the wall for a year. His TV, his cough, his radio on Sunday mornings.

I'd never once looked at his face.

He reached into the dumpster and lifted out my grocery bag.

"Hey," I said. "That's mine."

"Says you threw it out."

He pulled the Dad doll halfway out and turned it over in his huge, cracked hands.

He ran a thumb along the seam of the gray suit.

"Who did these?"

"Me."

"These are good seams. Tight. Even." He looked at me over the doll. "You don't throw out work like this."

"It's not work. It's my family."

He was quiet for a second.

Then he set the bag down next to me very carefully.

"I'm Gus," he said. "I owe you an apology. A year late."

I knew what for.

"The first night," I said.

He nodded. His ears went red.

"I was drunk. I thought it was my door. My wife had died that spring, and I was doing a bad job with it." He looked at the gravel. "I'm nine months sober now. I heard you crying through the wall that night. I've heard you some nights since. I never knew how to knock."

I didn't know what to say.

"Your air's broke," he said. "I can hear it groaning from my side. Wait here."

He came back with a box fan and two glasses of iced tea with lemon.

He plugged the fan into an outlet by the back door with an extension cord and aimed it at me.

The cold air hit my wet face.

I almost started crying again.

We drank the tea on the step without talking.

It was the first time anyone had sat with me in a year.

When I finally climbed the stairs, a sheet of paper was taped to my door.

NOTICE TO VACATE.

Lease term ends October 31. Rent not renewed by leaseholder.

The leaseholder was my mother.

October 31 was nine days away.

← Chapter 1 · All chapters · Chapter 3 →

Want to keep talking to characters like these? Chat with AI romance characters: AI Boyfriend · AI Girlfriend · Dark Romance · Fantasy Romance · BL (Boys’ Love) · Billionaire Boyfriend · Mafia Boyfriend · Possessive Boyfriend · Hockey Boyfriend · Older Boyfriend · K-Drama Boyfriend · Anime Boyfriend · Vampire Boyfriend · Werewolf Boyfriend · Demon Boyfriend · Fae Romance · GL (Girls’ Love) · Anime Girlfriend · Goth & Alt Girlfriend · Gamer Girlfriend · Tsundere Girlfriend · Fantasy Girlfriend