“Things are hard right now.”
It felt like I hadn’t talked to my mom in a long time. She was always so angry or exhausted. “Why don’t you try cooking again? You could easily snag a good job.”
Rather than snapping at me like usual, she took a hit off the joint and held the smoke in for what felt like forever. When she exhaled, it was like she’d blown the last dusty remnants of her hope out with it. “I can’t do that anymore, Henry.”
“Why not? Your food is amazing, and you love cooking.” The pot loosened my tongue, gave me the courage to be honest. “You haven’t been the same since Dad took off.”
Mom sniffed and then giggled; I couldn’t tell whether she was crying or laughing. “Your father took the best parts of me when he left.”
“That’s not true, and you know it.”
“You don’t understand, Henry.”
“Don’t bullshit me, Mom.”
“Watch your mouth.” Mom scowled and flicked the joint into the grass. I’d seen Nana use the same look. It was probably passed from mother to daughter like that horrible meatloaf recipe.
It killed me to think Mom was so willing to give up because Dad had disappeared. If the world was going to end in sixty-six days, she deserved to enjoy every last one of them. “Dad might have helped you see the best parts of yourself, but they were always there, and no one can take them away.”
Mom clenched her jaw, and I swore for a moment she was going to slap me or start sobbing or shut down completely and never leave the driveway. Instead she said, “If that’s true, how am I supposed to see them now that he’s gone?”
“Get a mirror.”
“Chain of Fools” played on the radio, and I crawled around the side of the car to crank it up. Mom didn’t sing, but I leaned my head on her shoulder as we sat in the driveway and listened together.
26 November 2015
My Thanksgiving nightmare began with family pictures.
Mom forced me and Charlie to wear white button-down oxford shirts tucked into jeans, while she, Nana, and Zooey wore white sundresses. We looked like a cult on our way to the beach, where Mom was convinced we’d find the perfect backdrop somewhere among the dunes. I spent the entire walk trying to devise an excuse to escape family dinner so I could go to Diego’s barbecue. He’d sent me a couple of texts, but I hadn’t written back.
“Why are we doing this again?” I asked.
“Because I want a nice photo of us all together.” Mom had been chain-smoking all morning, puffing and ashing with violent flicks. Bonding over illegal drugs hadn’t magically solved our problems. Mom hadn’t woken up the next day and decided to quit waitressing. However, she had planned a more elaborate Thanksgiving dinner than usual, so maybe that was something.
“Well, I think this is really special,” Zooey said. She carried her sandals dangling from the ends of her fingers. “And when we take this picture next year, we’ll have little Milo or Mia with us.”
“Mia or Milo? Please don’t saddle your child with either of those names. It’s already starting at a disadvantage having Charlie as a father.”
Charlie lunged at me, but I hopped out of the way. Zooey chuckled. “We’re only trying out names to see how they fit. Nothing is certain.”
Nothing was certain. Not even that we’d be alive next year. Last night I dreamed I was on the ship, but rather than aliens, I was surrounded by Mom, Nana, Charlie and Zooey, Audrey, Diego, Marcus. Even Officer Sandoval was there. They were screaming at me to press the button, but none of them could offer a convincing reason why I should. And we were all speaking Latin because, apparently, I’m fluent in Latin in my dreams.
After walking for twenty minutes, Mom finally found her perfect spot. Tufts of sea oats waved gently in the breeze, and the blue sky was smeared with white clouds to match our outfits.
“Mother, I want you in front.” Mom directed us into position as she set up the tripod and camera. When Charlie attempted to help her, she snapped at him. “And Henry, don’t forget to put your tongue behind your teeth when you smile; otherwise, you look goofy.”
“Where’s your father?” Nana squawked, and each time she did, Charlie whispered something into her ear to calm her, but it never stuck. Nana was lost in time, and I wished I could have traveled with her. Sometimes her ignorance of the present was a blessing, whether she knew it or not.
“Ready? Let’s try not to screw this up.” Mom pressed the timer on the camera and dashed to take her place between me and Charlie.
“Say ‘cruel and unusual punishment,’” I muttered.
Charlie laughed and ruined the picture, and Mom dressed me down in front of the strangers who’d gathered to witness our group humiliation.