I printed out a calendar of December and already have two stars to mark the two days I’ve been here. I could technically give myself a third since it’s well after midnight. But I can only give myself a star in the evenings. I have to survive the day.

Even though the month is halfway through, all the little squares that still need to be filled make me think getting through the next twelve days until Marian arrives will be impossible.

I can’t even bear to think about next year.

Yeah … So much for counting sheep.

My mind wanders to an image of a young, crying Paula.

If Dad had been caught when he first took me, she would’ve had time to mold me into the image she’s had in her head this entire time. I’d be a younger version of her with my hair and makeup always done. Stylish, or at least caring about style. Maybe we’d spend our weekends at the mall. Maybe I’d be a Buccaneers fan with Craig.

It’s easier to picture the person I’d be on the outside. It’s difficult to grasp the person I’d be inside. Would I really be that different?

How could I not?

But I like the person I am. Or I was.

I flip over yet again. I move my pillows around and try to get comfortable.

Even as I toss around some more, I know that becoming comfortable is never going to happen.

I’m still awake hours later as Paula calls down the hallway, “Breakfast! Come and get it while it’s hot!”

I open the bedroom door right as Sarah opens hers.

“Morning,” I say with a hesitant smile.

“Morning,” she says, returning the smile. It’s a small gesture, but I’ll take it. “Just know this is all for you. We usually fend for ourselves for breakfast.”

“That’s not true,” Paula yells out.

Sarah rolls her eyes, and I can’t help but laugh. The one thing that I always envied about people who had sisters was not just the sibling bond but that you had someone in the battle against parental embarrassments.

The dining room table is set like in a magazine. There are place mats, and fancy cloth napkins set on top of blue-and-yellow plates. Everything is color coordinated. There’s a large bowl of fruit placed in the middle of the table, surrounded by pancakes, an assortment of bagels and cream cheese, and hash browns.

“We’re eating in the dining room?” Sarah asks. She turns to me. “Usually we eat at the kitchen counter.”

“Stop making us sound like barbarians,” Paula playfully scolds Sarah.

“I’m telling it like it is.” Sarah sits down and immediately dives into the bagels.