Page 10 of Spades

I felt something similar right before my final recital at Northwestern. My lastrealperformance, where I felt like an artist. Not just a girl who plays the flute for a couple of bucks here and there.

I’ve never felt this way because of a man.

He’s so well-dressed. Well-groomed. Most of the men I’ve dated would live in athletic shorts and hoodies if given the chance.

Tonight, he was wearing a magnificent cream cable-knit sweater over tailored navy slacks. When he completed the look with the scarf, olive overcoat, and that dark-gray fedora, it was all I could do to not lick my lips.

I noticed a pile ofGQmagazines strewn across a coffee table near the chairs where we had tea. He probably keeps up with all the latest fashions. Makes sure that he presents the best possible version of himself to the world.

Then a brick hits my gut.

What if he’stoopreoccupied with his appearance? With appearances in general?

What if that’s all he cares about?

My mother… She was like that.

And she was awful.

* * *

I love being outside.The backyard of our family’s townhome in Brixton is small, but I love to spend the spring afternoons out here, soaking up the sun as I read a book.

It rained this morning. I love the smell it leaves behind. It’s the smell of earth, the smell of life.

Mummy is inside cleaning. She cleans every day. Daddy says that cleaning makes her happy. That dirt makes her sad.

I just want her to be happy.

I’ve been outside playing for a little while now. The sun is getting warm, almost too warm. I need a drink of water.

I walk inside. Our back door leads straight into our kitchen. I grab a step stool and get a cup, take it to the freezer for some ice, and then fill it from the sink.

I take my cup of water, careful not to spill any, and take it back outside, where I sit on the concrete stoop and sip it slowly, letting the cool water wash away the heat of the sun from my skin.

A few minutes later, I hear my mother shouting. “Alissa!”

I rush back into the kitchen and place my glass of water on the table. “What is it, Mummy?”

Her face is dark pink, and her eyes so wide it’s scary. She points to the floor, where muddy footprints lead from the back door to the kitchen. “Alissa, did you do this?”

My lips tremble. “I’m sorry, Mummy. I didn’t think?—”

“It rained last night, Alissa.” She takes a step toward me, eyeing my shoes. “You should have wiped your feet before coming back in the house. Better yet, you should have taken your shoes off completely.”

I start crying. “I’m sorry, Mummy. It was an accident.”

Her eyes begin to twitch. “This isn’t the first time this has happened, Alissa. You know how much Mummy hates a dirty house.”

“I was so thirsty. I wasn’t thinking.”

Mummy stares at me. “Did you at least place your drink on a coaster?”

I take a step back, widening my eyes. “I can’t remember.”

Mummy rushes past me to the kitchen table, where my half-empty glass of water is still sitting. She picks it up, staring at the circle of water that has formed at its bottom. “A ring, Alissa! Are you trying to ruin Mummy’s nice kitchen table?”

“You can just wipe it off with a towel, Mummy.”

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