"My dad works nights," I make up a story. Leaving her in the dark, about my mom, my brother - everyone in this aspect of my life - has allowed me to transform into someone who doesn't have to deal with my problems. Lila doesn't know much about me and it's how I want it. "I'm not sure," I avoid the truth, because he's probably at the bar. "So where's your dad?" Lila wonders as we climb up the stairs. In the living room, the aged plaid sofa is vacant, and the ash tray on the coffee table is spilling over with cigarette butts. The house smells like rotten food and smoke. My older brother moved out as soon as he graduated." I adjust the handle of my bag and head for the stairway. "So just your dad lives here?" Lila circles the small kitchen and her gaze lingers on the countertop next to the kitchen sink where empty bottles are lining the wall. It looks the same seventies themed colors, wicker chairs around the glass table, and yellow and brown countertops.
"Yep, that would be Micha." I kick a box across the stained linoleum floor and flip the light on. "I take it that's Micha?" Lila wanders around my kitchen as she tightens a loose ribbon on the waist of her floral dress.
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