"I'm not spending the night there," I said to Aunt Marla, who was sitting on the couch scrolling through her phone. Though she was my mom's sister, they were worlds apart. Mom was always the soft, princess type, while Aunt Marla was more rugged. She was bigger, with a deep voice and a tough, no-nonsense attitude. They shared the same blue eyes and brown hair, but Marla’s skin was a shade darker, her big lips set in a serious expression, and her nose neither wide nor thin—just right for her face.
She had arrived a while ago. My mom must have called her, thinking I needed a break, which I definitely did.
"Her meds are in the bottom drawer—one tablet each," I said, sitting down beside her on the couch and glancing at my watch. 5:27 p.m.