Mom snatched the bottle and shook it under the light.
"So dramatic. This young and already popping pills—the richer you get, the more you cling to life!"
With a casual flick, the bottle arced through the air and landed in the trash.
"If you're eating, eat. Don't pull out these unlucky things and embarrass yourself!"
I froze, staring at the trash can.
That was sertraline.
I closed my eyes.
Twenty-nine days left.
Hang in there, Georgia. Soon it won't hurt anymore.
Early the next morning, noise from the living room woke me. The hangover and withdrawal made my head pound, my chest tight.
When I pushed the door open, Carrie was sprawled on the couch in my silk pajamas, ordering Dylan to peel oranges for her.
Colin had those custom-made. Now there was a grease stain smeared across them.
"Awake?"
Mom came out of the kitchen with hot milk and handed it straight to Carrie.
"Drink it while it's hot. I added red dates—good for your energy."
I stood to the side.
"Mom, I'm hungry."
She glanced at me and pointed toward the kitchen.
"There's leftover porridge in the pot. Heat it up yourself. You're grown—do I still need to wait on you?"
The red date milk was freshly made. The porridge was sour.
"Sis, your pajamas are pretty comfortable. Give them to me?"
Carrie tugged at the collar.
"You have tons of clothes anyway. Dylan and I just got back and our luggage got lost—we don't have anything clean to change into."
I walked over and stared at that pajama set.
"Take them off."
The room went still. Carrie froze, her eyes welling up as she looked at Mom.
"Mom… look at her! She won't even part with one old piece of clothing!"
"What the hell is wrong with you, Georgia?"
Mom threw down the rag and jabbed a finger at my face.
"What's the big deal if your sister wears one of your outfits? You're exactly like that dead grandma of yours! Selfish!"
"This was an engagement gift from Colin."
I stared at Carrie.
"Take them off. Don't make me say it a third time."
She shrank back under my gaze.
"Fine, I'll take them off. What's the big deal."
She yanked off the pajamas and threw them on the floor.
"There! Reeks of money anyway. I don't even want them!"
She changed back into her own clothes and hooked her arm through Dylan's.
"Dylan's the best—he may not have money, but he has talent. That's pure art!"
"Not like certain people, selling themselves to tacky businessmen for cash, then putting on airs at home."