I exhale a raspberry. Erik gives me an odd look, settling back in his chair.
“You know I tend to go where I’m not supposed to. Your mom will tell you that,” he says. “But tell me something. What kind of person is Mrs. Lapin?”
“For one, she creates these great big fictions about herself. Like she claims she was a catwalk model in her teens and twenties. Except it’s a total lie. She was in department store ads and local pageants. Liv outed her once to me, when we were nosing around her room, looking at all her creepy dried flowers and sashes. This was back when Liv could laugh about her mother. It’s different now,” I say.
Erik nods. “I think I get the picture. I need to ask you a question. Has Liv ever complained about her mother abusing her?”
“As in hitting?”
“There are other forms.”
“If Liv was being abused, why wouldn’t she talk to me about it?” I ask.
“I have no experience in psychology beyond college intro courses. But from what I remember, Liv’s mother’s abusiveness may be part of a lifelong campaign of control. And because people with narcissistic personality disorders are careful to rationalize their abuse, it’s tough to explain to other people what’s so bad about them.” He rushes to add, “That is not to say I’m diagnosing a woman I’ve never met.”
I smile. “I like when you ‘go there,’ Erik. You should go there more often.”
The slider behind us grates open and Mom pops her head out. “Something warm to drink?” Erik checks his technical-looking watch and says he’s due to call the lab.
I crank my head around to watch him angle through the door. “So it’s never really about the kid? When couples don’t make it, I mean?” I call to him.
He freezes in place and looks at my mother, then me. “No. It’s always about the parents. And anyone who says otherwise is not telling the truth.”
Erik disappears upstairs and Mom steps onto the deck holding out a steaming mug of ginseng tea. I cradle it in my hands, and she slips into Erik’s chair with a mug for herself.
“People are forever offering me something warm to drink. Why is that?” I ask.
“I don’t know.” She presses her own mug to her nose. “Maybe because you always used to seem cold.”
A breeze rustles the tree line and dips low, swirling the crisp leaves at our feet. I pull the blanket up from my legs and stand, wrapping it around my shoulders. “Thanks for the tea. It was nice of you. But I’m taking a walk.”
She puts her mug down fast on the deck plank and stiffens, probably preparing to tent-hug, inject me with a sedative, or both. Then I realize: she’s upset. I just talked to Erik three times as much as I’ve spoken with her in the past week.
“It’s not you,” I say softly. “I just want to be alone.”
Her shoulders relax and she sinks back into her chair. “For the best, probably. There are things I should be better about doing, now that we have a guest.” She lifts her mug and draws it close to her chest. “Dinner, and such.”
I descend the deck stairs and cross the lawn, taking long, glidy steps. I must look dramatic to Mom from behind, I think, my hair blowing straight back like a cape at my shoulders, a heroine crossing the dark moor. At the edge of the tree line, I inhale deeply. Though Mom is still a pindot on the deck, it feels good to be mostly alone. It even feels good to be outside. I wonder about the serpent in my belly, if it went away, slipped out of me when it was no longer needed. Or did it keep rising after I left WFYT, to enervate my whole being? That feels more likely.
chat, play, more
I step more deeply into the swath of wooded land that abuts our yard. I like to be alone with my screams. Branches scatter the ground, snapped off by the heavy rain. I pick one up and walk in deeper. Another, then another, gathering twigs as I go. I don’t know why. The sky is the color of eggplant, and the November air smells of early snow. I come upon a patch of ice needles pushing through the soil in a half horseshoe, short, beautiful shards. Deeper still, on a log, a frost flower blooms, long petals of ice extruding from some plant. Frost flowers are rarely seen; I know this from freshman geology. Am I really seeing these things at all?
chat, play, more