Mothered (24)

Grace turned her head from side to side, examining herself in the mirror. It wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t a disaster; at least she hadn’t hacked it off close to her scalp. She’d fix it later, after she was fully awake. For now, she grabbed a wad of toilet paper and scooped the pink bits out of the sink.

It was earlier than she usually got up, barely past seven, but the day was already unseasonably warm. She threw on an old halter-style maxi dress and headed downstairs. Her mother, as always, was puttering in the kitchen. Grace stopped at the threshold, grabbing it for support so she wouldn’t topple over.

“What are you doing?” she gasped.

Her mother was holding Miguel’s wilting bouquet like an ice cream cone, eating the dying flowers. For a second the air looked hazy. Grace had the odd sensation that her brain was spinning around inside her skull. Jackie turned to her, nonchalant.

“Throwing these away.” She pulled the garbage can out from beneath the sink. Petals dropped onto the floor. “They’re past their prime.”

“Oh.”

Her mother stared at her, a what’s-wrong-with-you-now scowl on her face. Sarcastically, Jackie added, “Did you want to keep them?”

More petals rained down as she held out the bouquet.

Grace shook her head, embarrassed. She was certain—in an irrational, brain-fogged kind of way—that Jackie was somehow to blame for all this. For messing up her friendship with Miguel and messing with her head. There were reasons Grace kept Hope out of sight and out of mind, and she hadn’t dreamed about her sister in years, not even during the early days of the pandemic.

It wouldn’t help to talk to Jackie now, this instant, when Grace’s reality felt off kilter, like a camera image that wouldn’t settle into focus. But soon she and her mother needed to have a talk. In that blurry state, Grace considered it highly likely that Jackie had brought a ghost with her. Maybe it lives behind one of the pictures, or in the little box. If they couldn’t find a way to quell its unruly spirit, her mother might have to find a new place to live.





16


Grace bypassed her mom’s offer of a healthy shake and went straight for the coffee. Jackie took up entirely too much space as she swept up debris from the flower arrangement, forcing Grace to step around her as she would a sinkhole. Everything felt weird, and even the coffee machine was in on the conspiracy, brewing extra slowly, teasing her with that tantalizing smell. Grace crossed her arms and stared at nothing, pretending she couldn’t see in her peripheral vision as Jackie began rearranging the drawers to find room for her new kitchen gadgets. The new juicer was plugged in next to the stove, but a box from the Home Shopping Network was sitting on the counter, unopened. Jackie seemed aware, on some level, of Grace’s dark mood and didn’t try to engage her in further morning banter.

After a while the aroma and comforting gurgle of the coffee machine was enough to mollify the worst of Grace’s crankiness, even as questions remained. What if she had cut off her own ear? Could she do other terrible things in her sleep?

“Gray? I think your coffee’s ready.”

How long had she spaced out? Grace filled her favorite mug—a silly gift from Barbara with Mister Rogers in a jacket that turned into a cardigan when warmed by a hot beverage—and retreated to the living room. For now, curled up on the couch, she didn’t even care that her mother was messing up the kitchen again. And maybe she should just let Jackie have the kitchen as her domain; it wasn’t as if Grace ever made proper use of it. She sipped her coffee slowly but methodically.

As her head started to clear, Grace became more aware of the growing list of things that were troubling her. The easiest one was staring her in the face. Grace never lowered the blinds on the big window that looked out over the backyard. The window let in the best light in the house, and the trees in the rear neighbor’s yard, especially now that they were in full leaf, gave her sufficient privacy. But the blind was down.

She drank a good three-quarters of her coffee before she felt rejuvenated enough to get up and deal with it. Grace strode to the window and raised the blind. The view was golden, with the sun heading toward its favorite perch in the sky and dandelions sprouting happily across the small lawn. Just as she was relaxing into a smile—

“Whaddyou do that for?” Her mother abruptly appeared in the entryway, clutching a new bouquet—this one of brightly colored utensils that looked like oversize toys.

“It’s a beautiful day,” said Grace.

“It’s gonna be hot,” said the sourpuss. “If you keep the blinds down, it’ll stay cooler.”

“I don’t want to keep the blinds down. We don’t get enough sunny days.”

“But you only have the two air-conditioning units.”

Grace hadn’t been in the house long enough to know how hot it might get inside or how well the AC units worked—one in the dining room and one in her bedroom. She’d tested them after moving in, and her first impression was they were loud and she’d rather use fans. Jackie might be used to Florida with its central AC, but she’d also been spoiled by an abundance of sunshiny days. Today Grace needed the sun more than she cared about how it was going to heat up the house.

“What are those?” Her mother looked ridiculous with her pink spatula and baby-blue ladle and lime-green whisk.