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“Brynley Elizabeth.”
It’s my turn to present a toothy smile. “Just because you can forgive and fuck off, doesn’t mean I can.”
“Forgive and forget.”
“I will never forgive or forget what that long lost Lethean did to you.”
“She understands.” Mom resumes the unpacking of the dishes from the nearby box on the floor. “However, she did give me yours and Wes’s handwritten amends letters when I met them for dinner on our final night.” The unwrapping of an object begins. “I’ll hand them over whenever you’re ready.”
“Did you have someone scan them for anthrax or other Poison Ivy approved toxins?”
Another reprimanding head tilt is given.
She acts like I’m kidding.
I’m not.
Maybe that crazy cuntcake is healed or on the right meds or praying to a new spirit animal or whatever.
And maybe she isn’t the chick she was a year ago.
But neither am I.
I trust even less than I used to.
Which says a shit ton.
“Back to you not eating.” An odd shaped mosaic vase is revealed to be underneath the brown paper. “And I know it’s not just the chocolate you haven’t been having.”
“How?”
“Mom instincts are tingling.”
“You might wanna get those checked.” I casually inspect the little brown squares in front of me. “Pretty sure there’s a cream for that now.”
“You haven’t been eating or sleeping enough.”
“I mean…I’m sleeping…a little…less?” Diverting my attention back to her is accompanied by a small pursing of my lips. “But like that shit is normal all things considered.”
She quirks an argumentative eyebrow.
“It is! With work, traveling for work, Wes’s work, these damn rich people parties that are social work, and trying to plan a wedding which is its own special brand of hellish work – seriously how many pre-nup documents do I have to read and sign – of course, I’m sleeping a little less than I was as a cigar girl living off of hopelessness and semi stale hoagies.”
“What about headaches?” Mom tosses the crinkled paper into the pile on the right-hand side of the room near the fridge. “Or dizziness?”
“My fucking boss lives to give me headaches and Evie’s compliments to criticism back to compliments gives me enough whiplash to cause the dizzy spells.”
“Hm.” Her contemplative hum ceases her actions once more. “Have you considered that you might be pregnant?”
“Why would you put a hex on your only child?!” Horror hops onto my face. “Your only blood child. Your new redheaded step one doesn’t count.”
“Bryn.”
“You can hex her all you want.”
“Bryn.”
“Cast whatever spell that witch from Beauty and the Beast used to turn her into a mop bucket or watering can.”
