The Music of What Happens(64)

I’m used to trash talk, but for some reason this hits me hard in the chest. Like a sucker punch. I clench my teeth and avert my eyes so I don’t say something I can’t take back later. They don’t seem to notice my reaction. Kayla kind of looks at me for a second and I wonder if she’s going to apologize. But then she doesn’t. At all.

“Let’s do another makeover,” Kayla says. “You’re not as white as usual. Probably because of the food truck and you being outside so much. Plus we need to find you food truck chic.”

Pam says, “Yes. That.”

I stand then, because I’m so not in the mood.

“Pass,” I say.

Kayla laughs. “Pass? You can’t pass.”

“Queer card,” I mumble, but I’m over it.

She says, “Overruled. White girl card.”

And for once in my life, I say no to Kayla.

“Overruled. Human,” I say, barely choking the words out. “Taking an Uber home. Bye.”



I ignore texts from Kayla and Pam as I wait for the Uber. While I wait, I get a crazy idea. I tell the driver to take me to Whole Foods instead of home. I know it’s expensive, but enough is enough. The Go-Gurt episode really bothered me. I need to help Mom eat healthier.

So even though we’re at a money deficit with the truck I buy loads of fruit and vegetables, and stuff like unsweetened almond milk, and boneless, skinless chicken breasts and things I can use to make a marinade, because I’ve been watching Max for the past few weeks and we have a grill and I’m going to use it from now on. I don’t buy anything frozen. I don’t buy her cereal or snacks. Just real food, and when I wait for my Uber home, with my two bags of groceries that cost $115 (I know, right?), I feel good about myself.

There are texts from Pam and Kayla.

Pam: K, so … we talked about it, and you get a pass on being RUDE because we were bein kinda shitty. Sorry. U okay? We’re worried about you. Your different.

Kayla: I’m sorry too, sweetie

Me: Thanks. I love you. Sorry for walking out. I’m changing and I kinda like it, ok?

Pam: That’s cool

Kayla: Yup

Me: Thx

Kayla: And your really not having sex and hiding it from us?

Me: I would not do that. Srsly

Pam: Cool. We’ll stop messing with u about it

Me: No you wont <smiley face>

Kayla: (After sending a meme of an actress dramatically blowing a kiss) Prolly not luvu

Me: (After sending a meme of an actor catching a kiss) Luvu

Pam: (After sending a meme of a big woman kissing a camera lens, leaving a lipstick mark) Luvu

I smile in the back of the Uber. I’m growing up. I’m asserting myself with Kayla and Pam. I’m gonna start taking better care of my mom. It’s all good.

When I get home and start unpacking groceries, Mom is on the couch, watching House Hunters with a Diet Pepsi and a Twinkie. Meal of champions. Dorcas is on her lap. So much for her being a person who does things.

“Ooh, Whole Foods,” she says. “Food truck stuff? How fancy.”

“Nope,” I say, opening the refrigerator and putting everything away. “This is for us. Like the Greek yogurt you wanted. I thought I’d go the next step. More vegetables and fruit, less prepared meals and crap.”

She laughs.

“Why are you laughing?”

“That’s really sweet, but. You don’t get to decide what I eat. I don’t like vegetables. You know that.”

I shut the refrigerator. “You said you were going to do better. I’m just trying to keep you accountable, like you asked —”

“Vegetables are awful,” she says. “They grow in dirt, Jordan.”

I crack up. “We should sell that slogan to the vegetable lobby.”

“Seriously,” she says. “I’m not doing green stuff. There’s only so much change I can take, okay?”

She takes a bite of her Twinkie, and a twinge of something goes through my chest. “That crap will kill you,” I say.

She exaggeratedly lies back and rolls her eyes back into her head like she’s becoming a corpse. “Well hurry up Twinkie,” she says.

“Mom,” I say. “That’s so not funny.”

“Oh my God!” she shouts, and I am stunned frozen. “I get it! You’re perfect. I’m a total fuckup. I am so far below acceptable and there’s about zero chance that will ever change. I get it, okay?”

The energy in the room shifts, lightning fast. Dorcas barks and scurries out the dog door, like she feels it. I stare at my mom with my mouth open. Words do not come out. I don’t even have a coherent thought of how to respond to that.

She sighs dramatically. Herstrionically. “Forget it,” she says. “Forget I said anything. I’m not me, okay? I’m not myself. I don’t remember the last fuckin’ time I was myself but it was no time in recent history.”

She closes her eyes, throws the remaining bites of the Twinkie down on the plate in front of her, and stands. “Excuse me. I just need to —” And she walks away toward her bedroom. Moments later, I hear her door close softly.

I stand, stare toward the hallway, and then sit down in her spot on the couch. It’s still warm from her body, and instead of her usual blueberries and shea butter scent, it’s just a little sour, like yeah, no shower today for sure. How do I fix my mom? How do I do what my dad asked me to do?