DUTTON BOOKS
An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC, New York
![First published in the United States of America by Dutton Books an imprint of - photo 3](/uploads/posts/book/325565/images/page_vi.jpg)
First published in the United States of America by Dutton Books,
an imprint of Penguin Random House LLC, 2022
Copyright 2022 by Candice Iloh
Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.
Dutton is a registered trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.
Visit us online at penguinrandomhouse.com.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.
Ebook ISBN 9780525556244
Cover designed by Yazmin Monet Butcher
Art Direction by Anna Booth
Design by Anna Booth, adapted for ebook by Michelle Quintero
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the authors imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
pid_prh_6.0_140105734_c0_r0
For Mom
Dear Reader,
A lot of us are taught that if a feeling is too ugly or too loud, we should make sure we hide it. That there are things we shouldnt admit to, because what would they say about us? What would it say about us if we are angry at someone we love? If we cursed something or someone we are supposed to fear or respect, what kind of person would that make us? We are told a lot of things about how we should feel or behave when something bad happens. When the unexpected suddenly changes our lives, there seem to be all these rules about how to deal with it. But heres the thing: No one even knows what theyre talking about. Not really. At least not about you. We all deal with it all differently.
The truth is I wrote this book to say the things Im not supposed to say. I wanted to tell a story where the person in pain doesnt pretend. And I wanted to explore what it looks like to feel all these things at the same time: joy, love, rage. All of it.
I say all this to say, this book is going to get super real. And a little reckless. As you read it, some hard things may come up. You might experience some intense feelings. Particularly about death and existence. Youll probably laugh at some strange things too. But because I dont know you personally, I cant tell you what you can or cant handle. Only you can do that. Im just here to say, take good care of yourself, friend. And whenever you need it, take breaks.
Thanks for being here. Youre in for a wild ride.
With love,
Candice
Promise that you will
sing
about me.
KENDRICK LAMAR
PROLOGUE
A rumor about Obsidian, Michigan, goes like this:
There once were two girls who broke things. But not in the way that anyone might think. The girls didnt break regular things like glass or nails or bones. The girls broke bigger thingsthings they said could never work for them in the first place. At least not after everything that happened. Not after so much changed. At first, they broke promises theyd made to each other. Next, it was their bond. Then, it was the belief that anything could last forever or come back. Because look at us, they thought. Look at this family. Look at this place. The girls grew so used to things being broken that trying to fix them became the greatest chaos of all.
At first.
BREAK
ONE
Aye, Pop. you stink.
Hello to you, too, Minah, Pop says, cutting me off with an eye roll right before mushing a kiss into my forehead. I catch a whiff of stale cow blood before he continues past me into the kitchen. RelaxIm on my way to the shower already. Aint gotta say that shit to me every day. Cant expect your pop to quit his job just cause you protesting dead animals now.
Everything about me that Pop and I disagree on he calls a protest. Us new-grade young peopleas he labels usalways gotta be hollerin about something that worked just fine back when he was a teenager, and the problem with us is that we got too many feelings about things that are simple, like food and the moon. According to Pop, we spend too much time fussing over everybody needing to be vegetarians when what we need to be doing is training our ears to be able to hear real music again.
First of all, the showers that way. Thats the fridge, just in case you got a little confused. Second, aint nobody protesting. Just think they prolly should have showers in that death chamber you workin at, bro. I dont understand how a person can live with themselves after spending they whole day slaughtering everything that bleeds and then selling it to somebody on a foam plate and wrapped in plastic to take home to they families. I mean, it used to be nearly impossible for me to walk past Shake Shack without gettin got just last summer, but still. Ive been delivered from my ignorance.
All right, tell me something, bro, he says, pulling off his pit-stained white tee, now turned a dingy yellow. How could a place that pays for all of this, he says, pausing to look around the house like its the second coming of the Trump Towers, be a death chamber? He waits for the gulp of beer to slosh down his throat before flashing his gotcha smile. He wouldnt be himself if he didnt pause for dramatic effect when hes tryna prove that hes right.
Now, you know all of this dont mean nothin in Crown Heights. We live in a box, Pop. And Im pretty sure killing all gods animal children every day and calling yourself a butcher classifies it as peak chamber of deaths. Like, by definition. A vision of the Trump Towers flashes before my eyes in my imaginary Google search for American Chamber of Deaths before I shake it away to finish closing the deal. But Ill say a special prayer for your soul if I can get ten bucks.
You aint no real vegan, he says, tossing me a sweaty, crumpled twenty from his jeans pocket. Ill believe that holistic mess you into now when you stop taking all my damn money. Shouldnt your no-waste lifestyle be costing me less... or something like that? Get me two gallons of water and a bag of them plantain chips. The garlic kind. Pop always gives me more than I ask for with a side of fake complaints. He puts on this act every time I ask for a little change to go to the store, but hes always telling me that this is what hes here for. And hes always been here.
Damn, Pop. Wasnt tryna do all that. I was just tryna get something to drink.
Damn, Pop! His over-the-top impressions of me be having me weak. It doesnt matter that my voice is almost as deep as his or that raising me aint like raising those other girls I go to school with. I always sound like a spoiled, whiny-ass chick who hangs out at the mall all day with Daddys credit card when Pop spits back the things I say at me. Full-on squeak mode.
Firstly, watch your mouth. Nothings free, Minah. Plus, what you need a whole ten dollars for when you know all you bout to get is some orange juice and coconut water? Fancy-ass bodega-snacks tax? he says, scrunching up his face in disgust at the latter. Youre welcome. He finally turns his back down the hall toward the bathroom.