The Distance Between Us(5)

“My mother thanks you for that.”

Mrs. Dalton laughs. She gets my jokes. Maybe because she’s a little dry herself.

“She’s the only girl so I spoil her rotten.”

“What tradition do you have for the boys?”

“A kick in the pants.”

“That’s a great tradition. I think you should get them dolls for their birthdays, too. They probably feel left out.”

She laughs. “I might have to try that.” She sad-eyes the binder on the counter like she wishes the date would magically change and her doll would be here now. She opens her purse and starts digging through it. “How’s Susan doing?”

I glance toward the back like my mom will come down the stairs at the mere mention of her name. “She’s good.”

She pulls out a little red book and starts flipping through it. “Tomorrow afternoon, you said?”

I nod.

“Oh no, that won’t do. I have a hair appointment.”

“That’s okay. We’ll hold it in the back until you come. You can get it Wednesday or really any day this week. Whatever works best.”

She picks up the black pen on the counter and writes something in her book. “Maybe I’ll send someone to get it for me. Would that work?”

“Of course.”

“His name is Alex.”

I write the name Alex next to the pickup line. “Sounds good.”

She grabs my hand and squeezes it with both of hers. “You’re such a good girl, Caymen. I’m glad you’re here for your mom.”

Sometimes I wonder just how much these ladies talk to my mom. What did they know about our history? Did they know about my father? As the spoiled kid of a wealthy family, he ran before my mom could finish saying, “I’m pregnant. What should we do?” His parents made her sign papers she didn’t understand that virtually said she could never go after him for child support. They gave her hush money that eventually became the start-up funds for the doll store. And this is why I have absolutely no desire to meet my gem of a father. Not that he’s tried.

Okay, so maybe I have a small desire. But after what he did to my mother it feels wrong.

I squeeze Mrs. Dalton’s hand. “Oh, you know me, I’m competing for a Best Daughter in the Universe award. I hear this year it comes with a mug.”

She smiles. “I think you already won it.”

I roll my eyes. She pats my hand and then takes her time leaving the doll store, studying dolls as she goes.

I settle back onto the stool and read some more. When seven o’clock rolls around I glance at the stairs for what seems like the gazillionth time. My mom never came down. That’s weird. She rarely makes me stay down here alone if she’s actually here. After locking up, lowering the blinds, and turning out the lights, I grab the stack of mail and go upstairs.

The house smells amazing. Like sweet cooked carrots and mashed potatoes with gravy.

My mom is standing at the stove stirring gravy. Just as I’m about to greet her, she says, “I know. And that’s the problem.”

I realize she’s on the phone, so I head to my bedroom to put my shoes away. Halfway down the hall I hear her say, “Oh please. They don’t live here to mingle with normal society.”

She must be talking to her best friend. She doesn’t know I’ve overheard many conversations like this but I have. I kick off my shoes in my room and head back to the kitchen.

“Smells good, Mom,” I say.

She jumps and then says, “Well, Caymen just walked in. I’d better go.” She laughs at something her friend says. Her laugh is like a melodic song.

The kitchen doesn’t like two people in it at once so it constantly shoves counter edges and drawer handles into my hips and lower back. I soon abandon the idea that we can both fit, and I step around the counter to the small dining area.

“Sorry I didn’t join you downstairs,” she says after hanging up the phone. “I thought I’d make us a hot dinner. It’s been a while.”

I sit down and flip through the mail I had brought up. “Is there an occasion?”

“Nope. Just for fun.”

“Thanks, Mom.” I hold up the electricity bill in a pink envelope. I have no idea why pink is chosen for lateness. Is it really the color that announces to the world (or at least the mail carrier): “These people are irresponsible failures?” I’d think puke yellow would do a better job at that announcement. “Forty-eight-hours notice.”

“Ugh. Is that the only one?”

“Looks like it.”

“Okay. I’ll pay it online later. Just set it on the counter.”

I don’t even have to stand up to reach the counter. It’s less than an arm’s length away from the table. My mom carries over two plates of steaming food and sets one in front of me. We talk as we eat.

“Oh, Mom, I forgot to tell you about the guy who came into the store the other day.”

“Oh yeah?”

“He beckoned me.”

“I’m sure he was just trying to get your attention.”

I keep going. “Also, nobody taught him how to smile, and there was a lip curl at one point.”

“Well, I hope you kept these thoughts to yourself.” She takes a bite of her potatoes.