Not in this family 

Gayle held the pot to her abdomen as she stood in the middle of the front garden.

“How about here, Sophie? What do you think?”

Sophie contorted her mouth and looked down at the gravel space that was plugged with tufts of grass. Then she shrugged.

“Okay.”

“I think this is a good spot,” added Gayle. “It’ll get plenty of light.” She bent down slowly, her hands trembling a little under the weight. But she managed to set the plant down and then straighten up. Only then did she realise she had broken a sweat across her forehead.

“Mum,” uttered Jane, by her side. “You should’ve just let me…”

Gayle hissed and backhanded the air as if preventing the words from ever arriving. Jane shrunk and Gayle had to bite down on the scorn that threatened to leave her lips. Was she ever going to toughen up?

Gayle returned her attention to Sophie.

“You must remember to water it everyday, especially when it’s hot. Then, one day it will grow into a bright, yellow sunflower.”

“Say thank you, Grandma,” murmured Jane.

“Thank you,” replied Sophie, twisting on the ball of her foot and breaking into a grin.

Gayle looked at her fresh, sun-blushed face and then to the gap in her lower front teeth, which Sophie tongued habitually as if it was the source of some new and delightful flavour.

Jane smiled back, feeling satisfied. It seemed the spirit had merely skipped a generation.

“Well, it should brighten things up a bit,” said Jane, with a sigh.

Her gaze wandered upwards to the gritty facade of the new house and suddenly, Gayle wanted to tell her how it was so much more. How the flower was a symbol of hope, of a new beginning and soon, how it would be something to remember her by once the thing or things, growing inside her, took hold.

But she didn’t, of course. It wasn’t the way. Not in this family. She could only give her doe-eyed daughter a hard look as she turned to her, side on.

“Cup of tea?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

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You and me

I wake to gentle little grunts and turn over to see you restless and stirring, your eyes still closed, as if in a bad dream.

Outside, the sky has barely begun to turn blue. Is it always the crack of dawn with you?

I get some warm water and drag you out of bed. It’s not as bad as I imagine, but why does it have to smell so much?

You start to thrash around and your finger goes to your mouth. Just hold on, I say, hold on. You’re into full throttle now and I can’t believe the noise that can come from such tiny lungs.

The hum of the microwave calms you down and I wait with powder in hand while the horizon turns pink across the rooftops.

Familiar questions enter my head, urgent and painful. Still no answers. Just you and me.