Mothered (84)

Jackie plodded down the stairs. Her nightgown looked misshapen, stretched, like a monster had tried to crawl out of it.

Though nothing between them was really okay, Grace was eager to tell her mother what she’d done. It would probably only earn her some snarky remarks, but Grace was bursting to share her sense of victory. She hadn’t ever thought of her hobby as a burden, but she felt so relieved to be free of it; maybe it had hampered her more than she’d realized.

Her mother was in her own little world and rounded the corner into the dining room without acknowledging Grace in any way. A moment later she heard the clattering of knives. The thump of the cutting board landing on the counter. Realizing what was about to happen, Grace raced into the kitchen. As Jackie reached for the refrigerator door, Grace threw herself in front of it, blocking her mother’s way.

“Can’t open that yet!”

“Get out of the way—I’m starving.”

“I can’t.”

“You’re starving me! You haven’t given me anything to eat in days!”

“Mom, the power’s only been back for a minute, let the refrigerator get cold again. Ten more minutes.”

Jackie glared at her, moved in close so they were nose to nose. Her mother’s eyes looked cloudier than ever. Her breath stank. How long had it been since she’d brushed her teeth? Grace flattened herself against the door, turning her head aside, but couldn’t escape the smell.

“Look at me, Grace. I’m wasting away.”

“Why don’t you brush your teeth,” she suggested. “Wash up a little. And then we can fix a meal.”

“You don’t want me to eat,” her mother snarled. “You don’t want me to get better.”

“That isn’t true. Mom . . .” Grace eased out from under her mother’s imprisoning closeness. She gripped Jackie’s shoulders, turning her toward the center of the kitchen. “There’s something I want to tell you—I think you’ll be pleased.”

Jackie’s demeanor softened. A fluttery smile brightened her pallid face. “Oh? Yes?”

“I told them. All of them. All the women I was lying to. I confessed to them. I told them who I really was. And I apologized.” It felt good to say it aloud. First came the words in her notebook, and then DMs to her damsels. But saying it aloud felt like a necessary step toward absolution, like standing up at a twelve-step meeting to admit your addiction.

Her mother’s face flickered between hope and confusion. “And?”

“And . . . I needed to do that. To come clean. Start fresh. This is the beginning of a whole new stage in my life.”

For a long moment Jackie stood there silently judging her. It didn’t dampen Grace’s sense of accomplishment; she wasn’t expecting her congratulations. She had told her mother because she needed to tell her, not because Jackie wanted to hear it. Grace’s joy didn’t start to wither until her mother’s features crawled downward. Something trembled beneath her skin. She took in a breath, but instead of speaking—or unleashing a cacophony of insults—Jackie spit in her face.

Grace stood there with her mouth agape.

“You’re not my daughter.” The words came loaded with wrath.

“What—” She smeared the putrid goo off her cheek and nose.

“You think that’s what I wanted to hear? You think I came all this way, spent all this energy, gave you all this time—time to sort out your feelings, your thoughts—for that? You’re pathetic. Pathetic. My God what did I do to deserve a child like you.” She turned away, lurched toward the sink. Grace thought Jackie was about to vomit.

“Mom . . .” And then it hit her, the only confession her mother wanted to hear. Hope.

A sound emerged: a spark igniting a fuel source. The sound of a burner on a gas stove, whooshing to life, but it came from inside her. The blaze was building. Grace saw herself on a pyre, flames engulfing her feet, climbing upward, scorching her skin. “I didn’t . . . ! I’m not going to admit to something that isn’t true.”

Jackie spun, her gaze steely. “But you know it is true.”

“I don’t know that! You’ve been fucking with me!” Grace screeched. “Brainwashing me! Hypnotizing me!”

With a show of dignity, Jackie squared her bony shoulders and stepped toward Grace. “I gave you the truth. It was a gift. A gift you can’t accept. But it’s a gift you can’t give back.”

“Mother, you didn’t give me a gift. You’re fucking with my head!” Grace pounded her own skull as she said it.

“You’re unstable, Grace—you’re a fucking mess.”

“You did this to me!”

“I’ve known it since the night your sister died.”

“Maybe she moved the pillow—did you ever think of that? She had a convulsion and—”

“JUST TELL ME WHY YOU DID IT!” her mother screamed, full throttle. “Just tell me, so I know! Was she bossing you around? Teasing you? I know how she was, Grace—it’s the reason I could forgive you, because I shouldn’t have let it go on like that, leaving her with you. But I deserve to know what happened! What was the last straw?”

Grace felt herself slithering out of her body, elongating, transforming into a two-dimensional wraith.