Page 3 of Make Me Bee-lieve

“Kittens are not a substitute for flesh and blood human babies,” Mom admonishes. I don’t agree with her about that. Kids have never been my thing. But I wouldn’t mind having a litter of kittens around to take care of. Maybe once Bonnet’s gone, I’ll think about fostering some.

She pats me on the cheek and gives me the look. The one that says she isn’t going to let up until I literally push her out the door. Then she foists the bag of peas back onto me, and I cringe.

“I can’t afford a town house,” I say, setting the bag of peas down on the table next to my tea.

Mom looks past me and sneers at the painting again like it personally insulted her and stole all of her bingo money.

I sigh. “Mom. It’s not gaudy. It’s an impressionist painting.”

This should be the point in the conversation where she leaves, but then she says, “Elvis told me he wants you to call him. Has something he needs.”

I let out a groan. Elvis, my younger brother, always seems to need something from me. It’s the only time he talks to me these days. We were never close. The second he hit puberty, he went in an entirely different direction in his life and never looked back. I was happy for him when he got that job at Fletcher & Sons, a prestigious financial firm in the city, but I swear it made him into an even bigger asshat than he already was.

“Fine,” I grind out. If it’ll get her to relax for two seconds, I’ll do it. “I’ll call him.”

“You know I hate it when my babies aren’t getting along,” Mom murmurs. Here we go again. This is more exhausting than usual, probably because of the day I had. She’ll leave, eventually. She has to. At some point, she’ll get hungry and realize there’s nothing here for her to cook with and move on. Right? Right?

“Your babies are thirty-three and twenty-eight. We aren’t not getting along. We’re just … busy with our own lives.” I sigh. No. She’s right. We aren’t getting along, but it’s not like it’s a new development. She should be used to this by now.

Mom clucks like a chicken again and fiddles with the ends of her dress sleeves. Maybe I can beat her at her own game.

“Hey, Mom, it’s a million degrees out. Why are you still wearing your winter dresses? Where’s the new one I bought you two weeks ago?” I ask, hopeful she’ll take the bait.

“Don’t change the subject,” she scolds. So much for that. “I want you and El to come by this Friday for supper. We haven’t had a family dinner in years.”

We haven’t had a family dinner since Dad died from a stroke. I guess he was holding the family together, because once he was gone, everything seemed to fall apart. Not in an earth-shattering, cataclysmic way but the kind of falling apart that’s slow and imperceptible, at least at first. Missed dinners, re-scheduled outings. Promises of tomorrows that never came. Until one day, we all just sort of … stopped trying. Except for Mom, of course, who has always tried to hold on to the past like it's sand sifting through her fingers.

I won’t lie. I’ve felt guilty for years over letting everything just sort of die the way it has. This is important to her.

“Okay,” I say, sitting upright and mustering a smile for her. It doesn’t reach my eyes, I know that, but she doesn’t notice. She grabs the bag of peas and places it down into my lap. “Mom, seriously.”

“Keep the peas on your crotch, sweetheart. It’ll help,” she says. Again. At this point I’d be happy to never see another frozen vegetable as long as I live.

“Look, I’ll call Elvis and get him to come for dinner on Friday if you agree to never, ever speak of this again, okay?” I get up from the sofa, make my way into the kitchen, and drop the bag of peas back onto the counter. I’m going to toss these in the trash once she leaves, of course.

“Fine, fine,” Mom says as she waves her hands at me, then passes by the bed to scratch Bonnet between the ears. Honestly, she’s so hot and cold with animals that it takes me a second to realize she isn’t hurting Bonnet, but rather petting her.

“Bye-bye to you, too, Tansy,” she coos.

I pinch the spot between my brows. “Mom, that’s Bonnet. Tansy passed away five years ago.”

Then Mom stops in front of the doorway, like she’s forgotten something but can’t remember what. I frown as I loom behind her.

“Mom…?” My hand hovers over her shoulder. She whirls around and smiles at me, but it’s like she’s a million miles away on her own private island. I kiss her on the cheek. “Get home safely. Text me when you get there, okay?”

“Sure, sweetheart,” she says, her voice light and melodic. “I’ll do that. Love you.”

“I love you, too, Mom,” I say, and hold the door open for her.

Then she heads out, leaving me and Bonnet to fend for ourselves for dinner. Thank god for that. I slide my phone out of my back jeans pocket and smile down at the cat.

“What do you want to order?” I ask. “Pizza?”

Bonnet blinks slowly at me, and I blink back. Maybe Mom’s right. It’s not healthy for me to be living alone with only the cat for company. But until they invent a dating app that doesn’t actually suck, Bonnet is all I have for now.

“Okay. Can of tuna, it is,” I say, and grab my wallet and glasses from the coffee table. I toss the peas into the trash can before heading out into the sweltering, soup-like air to find us both some dinner.

CALVIN

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