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I Just Don't Know

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It's not like we're normal.

No, we're really not. I used to mind, when I was young. Dad spotted it— the way he spots things you didn't think he would or could— and so he started buying me pretty dresses. I puffed up, is all I can say. I loved pretending to be a princess.

Sam wears my dresses now. Looks cuter than I ever did in them. It's good for business, you know? People trust little girls; people trust daddies with two cute little daughters he obviously loves enough to be toting them around with him.

Mom's not good for business. Not drinking that stuff, she isn't. Not drinking that stuff, she's worse, like a needy alley cat scratching away at you until you throw it something. It's horrible watching her sometimes, because I remember how she used to be before she took the fall for Dad. She used to be hard— a theiving, lying bitch, with eyes like ATMs. She used to count the money best.

Now, she buries it.

I thought she'd changed. When she said we weren't taking back the money. I know? Maybe she was getting better. That's how she used to sound. Decisive. Now, she sounds...crazy. I don't know.

I just don't know.