Total pages in book: 157
Estimated words: 150968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 755(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 150968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 755(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
“You won’t speak to me, huh?” I ask, as a prompt. She only has to say the word “no” and that will be more than enough for the rest of my miserable life.
She pushes her hand forward, waving her hair tie in my face. As in to ask, “Are you going to do my braids or no?”
Such an impatient, sassy little thing.
“Come here. I’m ever at your service, Your Highness.” I pat the spot in front of my crossed legs, and wait for her to sit down. Once she is tucked against my legs, I hand her Mr. Snuggles, the teddy bear. Mr. Snuggles was mine when I was her age. And it was my first present to Naomi when she was born. The only real ‘present’ I could ever give her. The teddy bear has been washed countless times now, and the color has faded to something dull and lifeless. But Naomi is super attached to it. I don’t have the heart to take it away, and I don’t think I’ll be able to afford to buy her another.
Naomi gives me a little excited wiggle, signaling me to start. “Yes, yes. Patience is a virtue, Your Majesty.”
There’s a breathy laughter from my sister, and my heart expands ten times bigger. Goddamn it, I love her little giggles. I want to bottle them up and keep them somewhere safe.
I grab the wide-toothed hair comb and start on the top of her head. Her hair feels like fluffy cotton: thick and soft. Naomi was born with a head full of beautiful black hair, and as she grew, so did her hair. There are no defined curled patterns; it’s just fluff everywhere.
While my mother used to say that I’m a perfect mix of her and my father, Naomi is a carbon copy of our mother. With her round face, rich cinnamon skin and her dark hair. She even has our mother’s nose and eyebrows. But her eyes — she got her silver-blue eyes from our father.
A father she has never met.
But I don’t think she cares or feels his loss. Naomi has me…and for a while, I think that’s enough for her.
She has seen pictures of him, photo frames that are now lost somewhere in the small living space. The last time I saw my father, Naomi was two months old. That was four years ago. He’s never been around much since I was a kid, but this has been the longest stretch since he disappeared.
I comb through Naomi’s hair, carefully detangling any knots I find. There is so much hair, sometimes I don’t know what to do with all these beautiful curls.
After combing through the strands, I reach for the spray bottle, but Naomi is already grabbing it and handing it to me. “Why thank you, little Miss Helper.”
I can’t see her expression, but I know my sister is preening at the praise. She loves compliments, as much as she loves marshmallows.
In the bottle, I mixed water, conditioner, and coconut oil together. It’s like a natural styling spray and damn, it saved my struggling ass many times. What do I know about styling little girls’ hair? Not much. But I’m learning.
Especially with a demanding princess like my baby sister. She keeps me on my toes, wanting new hairstyles every now and then. And I can’t say no to a pouty Naomi.
Naomi is four years old, and she has never spoken a word to us. I would have thought she was mute, if I hadn’t caught her speaking quietly to her dolls one day. It was a one-time thing, though, and it never happened again. But it was enough to let me know that my sister can speak. She just chooses not to.
So, every day, I try to get her to speak. Whether it’s striking up random conversations, or bribing her with marshmallows. For some reason, Naomi thinks she can’t speak in front of me or our mother.
“I’ll do two pigtails today, okay?”
She nods silently, and I continue with my task. Naomi opens her storybook over her lap and after scanning over the pictures and words, she turns the page. “Do you want me to read you the story?”
She lets out a quiet exhale, which only I know is a happy sigh in her language. She goes back to the first page, and I start with the story, while continuing to style her hair.
I don’t have to look at the pages. I have the story memorized by heart, since I’ve been reading it to her since she was a year old. The Princess and the Pea. It’s her favorite story, along with The Little Mermaid.
They were her bedtime stories, as she cried through the night, and the only thing that ever soothed her was me reading to her. Our mother once said that Naomi must have found my voice calming. I like that idea.