I jumped at Mamma Mia blaring from my phone.

“Hey, Mom.”

“Hey, sweetheart. My shift’s about to start, but I wanted you to know there’s a plate—”

“For me in the fridge. I know, Mom. We’ve been doing this for months now. Even if you didn’t have dinner for me, I can make it myself. College is less than six months away.” Six long months.

“Why are you reminding me? Are you trying to kill me?”

“Think of the freedom when I’m not around to keep you tied to this place.”

“It’ll just make the house emptier. What are your plans for tonight?”

“Homework. Maybe watch some TV.” Guilt banged in my chest, but I kept my voice steady.

“It sounds like you’re outside.”

Dammit, caught. “I had to take out the trash.”

“Okay.” She drew out the word like I’d crack if she made it three syllables long. “Be safe and make sure you—”

“Lock up before I go to bed. Yes, mom. I know. I’ll be on my own next year. You don’t have to worry. Have a good shift and I’ll see you in the morning. Love you.”

“Love you.”

There was an edge of suspicion in her voice. Getting caught coming home at 3am six months ago might’ve had something to do with it. It was my fault; I never left before eleven pm anymore. If there was an issue with her shift, it always happened before then. So waiting meant less chance of getting caught. It also meant sometimes I turned up to school looking baked and barely coherent. I’d been lucky none of my teachers had sent me to the counselor’s office for a talk.

We’d both had to adapt to the new life we found ourselves living in a new state without my dad. And we were still adapting. The never-ending challenge of figuring out what the hell this life was hadn’t slowed down one bit. Four moves in four years. At least I’d stayed in the same school for the last three moves crisscrossing town. I still wasn’t sure if it was a blessing or a curse. At least the new house cut the trip down to forty minutes when I snuck out. I’d been grounded twice, but it wouldn’t stop me. Especially since I felt on the edge of a breakthrough. I was so close to finally overcoming the stalled sounds that caught in my throat before I swallowed them back down again.

“Love you too, sweetheart.”

Guilt gnawed at my chest like a feral badger. My fingers slid across the strings, bringing out that squeaking twang.

I tugged my sleeves further down, covering most of my hands. With the sun disappeared behind my house, the evening chill seeped in even colder.

The picture frames hung on the wall by the door. In this house there was enough room to display them all and the landlord had been cool with nail holes.

In the first cherry wood frame were me and my parents. They’d made me wear a pink cone party hat, even though I’d been turning thirteen. We’d recreated the picture every year since. The one below it is just me and Mom with two giant cakes in the shape of a one and an eight. Our theater director had poked fun at me for showing up with a giant eight cake. But everyone in the stage crew and drama club had devoured it in minutes.