The Least Amount Of Awful

THE LEAST AMOUNT OF AWFUL JENNIFER MILLIKIN Copyright © 2023 by Jennifer Millikin All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, or locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. JNM, LLC ISBN: 979-8-9868099-5-3 www.jennifermillikinwrites.com Cover by Okay Creations Editing by Emerald Edits Proofreading by Sisters Get Lit.erary Author Services For Tary, the original Buttercup. Supporter, role model, mother figure, aunt, friend. CONTENTS Prologue 1. Colbie 2. Colbie 3. Colbie 4. Colbie 5. Jake 6. Colbie 7. Jake 8. Colbie 9. Jake 10. Colbie 11. Jake 12. Colbie 13. Jake 14. Colbie 15. Jake 16. Colbie 17. Colbie 18. Jake 19. Colbie 20. Jake 21. Colbie 22. Colbie 23. Jake 24. Colbie 25. Jake 26. Colbie 27. Colbie 28. Jake 29. Colbie 30. Colbie 31. Jake 32. Colbie 33. Jake 34. Colbie 35. Colbie 36. Colbie 37. Jake 38. Jake 39. Colbie 40. Jake 41. Colbie 42. Colbie 43. Jake 44. Colbie 45. Jake 46. Colbie 47. Jake 48. Colbie 49. Jake 50. Jake 51. Colbie 52. Jake 53. Jake 54. Colbie 55. Colbie Epilogue Also by Jennifer Millikin Acknowledgments About the Author PROLOGUE Colbie Seven years old “That man is a child.” My mom hurries into the kitchen, wearing a look on her face like she’s forgotten something. It’s me. I’ve slipped her mind. That’s what happens when she fights with my dad. An hour seems like a long time to forget your own daughter. An hour seems like a long time for grown-ups to fight, too, but that’s what my mom and dad were doing. I know, because they yelled so much it made my tummy hurt, and I started looking at the time on the microwave clock. Keeping track of how long they’d been fighting made me forget about being forgotten. Sort of. Today Mom’s wearing her fancy-lady lawyer clothes, and the black high heels I sneak into her closet and try on. She stomps across the tile floor, and the clicking of her heels hurts my ears. She wrenches open the cupboard door, knocking aside the coffee can, the packets of sugar, the flavored syrup. She’s angrier than usual, but I know what’s coming, and there’s comfort in that. I stay quiet, seated at the small table in the kitchen, and wait. “Your father,” she starts, placing emphasis on the word your in a way that always makes me feel like it’s my fault, “never takes anything seriously. Thinks life is a game, a party.” She turns her fierce gaze on me. “Well, it’s not. Life is hard, and sometimes we have to make difficult choices.” Her fingers drum the countertop. Ba-da-dum. Ba-da-dum. “That man is not a good partner. He quit his job, and for what? Because it’s not fun. He doesn’t like it.” My dad quit his job? Will there be enough money? Yesterday Angela came to school wearing new sneakers that lit up when she walked. I was going to ask for them, but now I won’t. Mom keeps going, lowering her voice so she sounds like Dad. “All those small towns up north are about to boom. I could start my own business.” I can tell she’s making fun of him, and that makes me sad. And mad. She makes a face, and now she sounds like herself again. “Ok, sure. It’s just that easy.” She snaps her fingers and says, “Bam. Done. I wished it, and it appeared.” Now she’s shaking her head. “He’s a dreamer, and dreams get crushed. I should’ve known better. That man was a mistake from the beginning.” My belly feels really yucky now. I love my dad. He has smiles that stretch across his face, and freckles on his earlobes. He tells jokes and he swings me around and he calls me Sugar Bear. He’s not a mistake. I take a bite of my toast with strawberry jelly, hoping my stomach will stop hurting. Mom didn’t approve when Dad taught me how to use the toaster, but he did it anyway. I’d asked him what happens if you touch the red coils where the bread goes. He said it would burn me. I told him it didn’t look like fire. He put his big hand on the top of my head and said, “If you’re hankering to see if it’s hot, I’m not going to stop you. It’ll burn you, not kill you. Life is short, Sugar Bear. Take chances.” Then he winked. I didn’t touch the red coils. Mom bends down so she can look me in the eyes. She’s so pretty. I have her dark brown hair and eyes, and, as she likes to say, her ‘can-do attitude’. I don’t know what that means, but I like it because her voice sounds proud when she says it. Mom’s eyebrows pinch together with determination. “You’re my responsibility, Colbie. When you were born, I made a promise to myself to keep you safe, and protected.” I don’t like her words. I don’t like them at all. “Where’s Daddy?” She thumbs a smear of jelly from the corner of my mouth. “He left.” “When is he coming back?” “He’s not.” I don’t understand. Daddy loves me. I’m his sugar bear. “Never?” “We’re going to work something out. He’ll see you, but he will not live here anymore.” I start to cry. Mom firmly tells me to toughen up. I wish she’d cry for once, because this seems like a good time to cry, but she doesn’t. She never cries. “You’re going to be ok.” She pulls me into a hug, and the silkiness of her blouse and the familiar smell of her hairspray makes me feel a tiny bit better.