Mothered (28)

“I’ll figure it out.”

“Well, the food’s ready when you get hungry. And I’ll clean this up—it looks worse than it is.”

“Okay.” Her mother’s shopping addiction didn’t even register on Grace’s list of concerns. Though she did wonder . . . “How did all this get here so fast?”

“I ordered some of it before I left Florida.” She radiated pride for such foresight. “Not all the Pyrex—I hadn’t realized you were still using plastic. But it seemed silly to pack up drawers full of grubby kitchen stuff. New kitchen, new start.”

Grace nodded, less than impressed. She trudged up to her room and shut the door.

It wasn’t hot like it had been in recent days, but Grace turned on the air conditioner before flopping onto her bed. She’d discovered that she liked the drone of the AC: it blotted out the sounds of her mother’s presence in the house. With her weary body pressed against the smooth sheets, she sank into the memory foam mattress and let the cool air caress her skin.

There was a fly in her room, buzzing around. It was stuck in an unfortunate pattern, flying in a circle and then bashing itself against the window. She sympathized with it; she wanted out too.





18


Seventeen-year-old Erika sat on the sofa, painting her nails. Grace relaxed into the threadbare overstuffed chair—her favorite place in the house—and did her homework. Mommy always complained about the chair, said it wasn’t fit for a junkyard but she couldn’t afford to replace it. Grace loved sinking into it, and loved how the cushions always felt warm. Sometimes she imagined it was a living animal, a giant cat with a furry belly, and she was its little kitten, snuggled safely near her mommy-cat’s heart.

At this time of day, the sun streamed through the windows on the other side of the house, making silhouettes of Hope and her physical therapist on the dining room’s curtained partition. Grace could hear the therapist gently encouraging Hope—“just a few more” or “let’s try again”—and Hope grunting as if the entire hour of manipulating her limbs was nothing short of torture. Grace loved these afternoons when a therapist came and she had a whole hour to herself. And she didn’t worry that Hope was really in pain, as she always rebounded in high spirits the instant the session was finished.

Soon (too soon), the therapist pulled the curtain aside and Hope zipped out in her chair.

“Nice to see you, Grace,” said the therapist on her way out. “You girls be good.”

“We will,” Hope and Grace said together. Erika flapped her hands, either waving goodbye or drying her nails.

With the therapist’s departure, they didn’t need to pretend anymore that Hope and Grace were being properly supervised. Erika got to her feet. “Later, brats. Tell your mom she still owes me twenty-four dollars.”

“Okay,” Grace replied as Erika let herself out.

Now that they were alone, Hope rammed her power chair into Grace’s comfy mommy-cat chair.

“Hey! Stop it.”

“I’m hungry.” Hope sneezed, spraying Grace with spittle.

“Gross! Cover your mouth.”

“I’m hungry.”

“I’m busy.”

Hope started to back away and Grace thought she’d head into the kitchen, but no, Hope bulldozed the chair again.

“Hope, stop it! I’m sure there’s a banana in the kitchen—go get it if you’re so hungry.”

“Open a can of soup.”

“We don’t have any.”

“I’m getting a sinus infection.”

“Well you’re not gonna die before I’m done with my homework.” Grace rolled her eyes.

Per usual, Hope didn’t want to wait. She kept reversing and steering her bulky chair into Grace’s, again and again. Grace started to imagine how bruised her poor mommy-cat chair was going to be if this went on much longer, so she flung herself over the back of it and stormed upstairs, where her sister couldn’t follow her.

“Hey!” Hope shrieked as Grace pounded up the stairs.

“Give me ten minutes!”

Behind her, Hope made an audible growling noise. She was getting worse, Grace thought. Worse as in an intolerable, grumpy pain in her ass. Hope wasn’t quite this bad when Mommy was around, though she bossed and sassed Mommy a lot too. Grace’s room was tiny, just big enough for a twin bed and a battered old dresser. But more and more, she was thankful for their two-story house. Mommy talked all the time about buying or renting something without stairs, but in their hilly city, that was a challenge, and Mommy didn’t want to move farther away from her job. Grace launched herself onto her bed. Her pillow smelled like dirty hair.

From downstairs, she heard as Hope coughed and then banged her wheelchair against the screen door as she went out onto the porch. She liked to sit out there. Having recently mastered the art of humming a melody, Hope did it all the time now and was humming a favorite pop song. Grace returned to her math book but soon became aware that her sister’s voice was getting quieter, as if she was moving away . . .

Suddenly Grace understood that Hope had driven herself down the short ramp to the front walk. She dashed to her window just in time to see Hope turn onto the sidewalk.

“Where are you going?” Grace yelled through the window screen. They both knew that Mommy didn’t want Hope wandering the neighborhood by herself.