Page 45 of Every Beautiful Mile

Tears never come, and sadness doesn’t lurch in the shadows that night. For the first night in a very long time, I’m not only without grief—I’m happy. Really happy.

When I fall asleep, it’s with a smile on my face and the muffled sounds of laughter around the campfire as my lullaby.

Eighteen

“How do you look like you were made for every place we’ve gone to with your outfits?” I ask Marin between bites of my scone.

Finn is spending the day kayaking with the California boys, so she and I opt for breakfast in town.

Her short blonde hair is tied back in a colorful vintage scarf, and an oversized cream-colored sweater hangs loosely from her slim shoulders while her slouchy jeans are rolled up just enough to showcase bright red rubber boots. She is somehow functional and trendy, and it’s an anomaly that we’re related.

“It’s a gift!” She smiles and puts a hand under her chin as if posing for a photo. When her eyes drop to my outfit, her face puckers.

“You know, Mom, we don’t live in traditional Italy or wherever it is where grieving wives are bound by duty to wear black for the rest of their lives after their husbands die. I watched this girl on YouTube say that black is very unflattering for women in their 40s because it showcases the unevenness of their skin.”

She delivers the words without an ounce of concern for my feelings, then licks the icing off her fingers.

“Hey!” It’s the only argument I make as I look down at my clothes and frown.

Gray sweatshirt, black leggings, black rubber ankle boots.

I’m the embodiment of depression.

“And when’s the last time you had a haircut? It’s a bit…” She picks up my faded braid between her fingers and drops it like a hot potato. “Dull.”

“What I love about you, Marin, is that you really know how to crush a woman’s ego in a deceivingly sweet voice.” My voice is flat as I bring my coffee to my lips.

“Mom, that’s what all this whole trip is about, right? You starting a life after Dad or whatever? Well, if you want to start any kind of life that has people in it who aren’t perpetually crying, you need to look the part. You have sad vibes, Mommy dearest, very very sad vibes.”

“Thanks,” I deadpan.

She wipes her hands together and crumbs drop to the table.

“All I’m saying is, I can help you. I saw a fun thrift store on our walk here and a salon I’m sure in a town this size can take you as a walk in. We could give you a makeover. You’re beautiful, Mother, but you’re letting all this sadness hide it. Then you’re really going to be sad when you wake up an old lady one day and realize you spent the best years of your sexual energy wearing black and moping.”

“What the hell, Mar! What do you know about sexual energy?!” I hiss, leaning over the table toward her.

A woman with young kids shoots me a glare from the next table, and I make a face I hope translates as an apology.

Marin rolls her eyes. “I read. A lot. I know many women have the best sex in their forties, which means you are in the thick of it, but as far as I can tell, doing nothing about it.”

She shrugs. As if she isn’t giving her mother sex advice.

What the actual hell is happening?

“Okay, so we are not talking about this.” I hold my hands up in protest. “But I’ll let you take me shopping if it will make you happy. God forbid I continue to walk around radiating my sad vibes.”

“Oh please, Penelope,” she says. “It will make you happy.”

***

Marin hates every item I pick out at Lucy’s Closet. After too many you aren’t eighty, you look like a sack of potatoes, and my personal favorite— gross— I relent and let her take charge.

“Mom, you have a great body, but you pick clothes that hide it like you are covered in weird lumps and boils.” She hands me a low-neck sweater.

“It’s called being age appropriate,” I argue, balking at the sweater.

“You kiss your mother with that mouth?” She scoffs. “I’m disappointed in you.”

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