‘Ah. Open up.’

Mama spoon feeds nectar into Lissy’s mouth. Golden goop drips down her chin while she giggles and chirps. Mama laughs, scooping precious syrup off babies’ skin and into her little mouth.

Dale is next. He slips the spoon between cherry lips and smacks them thrice. He gives a gummy grin. ‘Gone!’

Mama smiles. Then, she turns to me. 

‘Eat it. Now.’

I do what I’m told. The spoon is filled with purple slime that wriggles and spills. It slides down my throat, sweet on my tongue.

Mama takes the spoon away and does not look at me again.

I get ready for school while Mama takes Dale and Lissy by their hands. My mouth feels dry, a sickly tang lingering on my cheeks. I swallow, try to wet my mouth and pick up my bag.

I turn to say goodbye, except words don’t come out. Just a gurgle, a little like the ones Lissy makes.

Mama does not give me her usual goodbye.

* * *

‘What did your mama give you?’

I look in Arabelle’s lunchbox and see the petal of a rose. It’s pink, dripping in dew and sugared with beads of white.

I wonder if mama gave me a petal today, too.

When I open my lunchbox, I see a leaf. It’s green and normal and without sugar, but it’s mine. Mama gave it to me, so it must be good.

I lift the leaf to my mouth and chew. A bitter taste skips over my tongue and becomes mush between my teeth.

I swallow. When will mama let me have a petal like the one Arabelle gets?

* * *

I stumble through the door.

‘You ‘kay?’

I hear the voice after a second, beneath the bubble of mama’s laughter from the kitchen. I blink once, twice, a blur of the sun’s dust still gathered in my eyes. I see Dale, staring up at me from his perch on the stairs.

‘I’m fine,’ I want to say, but the words won’t come out. My tongue pulses and swells, a heartbeat in my mouth. I shrug.

‘Eyes big,’ says Dale, little hands pink and white with his face pressed between the stair’s rails. ‘Like balloon.’

Mama’s laughter rises. She’s in the living room, now. Lissy babbles, happy and bright. She catches me through the doorway, squeals and waves. Mama looks up.

Her laughter dies.

‘You’re home,’ she says, gruff. Annoyed. ‘Go drink your syrup.’

She turns back to Lissy and picks her up. Pudgy arms wrap around mama’s neck, a gummy grin forming on dribble-slick lips.

I drop my bag next to the stairs and walk through the living room. My shoulder bangs into the doorframe while mama kisses Lissy.

‘Watch it,’ mama snaps. ‘I didn’t see it,’ I want to say.

My tongue throbs. I step into the kitchen and a crackle of pain skims across my forehead. It’s too bright. Why didn’t mama close the curtains?

I go to the cupboard where my syrup is kept. It sits above the microwave; I am tall enough to reach it, now. Old enough to measure my own syrup.

My bottle sits behind mama’s whinberry syrup. The little one’s honeysuckle goop sits in the fridge. ‘Tastes better cold,’ mama said.

I grab my bottle, look down at the label and squint.

NECTAR OF BELLADONNA FLOWER – DO NOT INGEST

Some of the words have scratched off. It’s the bottle papa used; he never got to finish it.

I unscrew the cap and get a spoon from the drawer. Purple liquid spills out, dripping onto the floor. Mama won’t be happy if it leaves a stain.

I bring the spoon to my lips, and swallow.