Page 42 of How to Kiss a Hawthorne Brother
Kate
I’m sitting in themiddle of my grandmother’s bedroom.
Boxes are everywhere.Stuffis everywhere. When I say stuff, I really meanstuff.Like the most random stuff you could possibly imagine. Mom did try to warn me, but I had no idea what I was in for. She probably breathed the biggest sigh of relief when I agreed to come.
As if she can sense me thinking about her, my phone rings and my screen lights up with my mother’s picture.
I brace myself like I always do for our chats and answer the call. “Hi, Mom,” I say, infusing my voice with false cheer.
“How’s it going?” she asks. “Have you met with the realtor yet?”
“Nice to talk to you too,” I say. “How’s Florida?”
She sighs. “Hot, like always. Sorry. I didn’t mean to be short. How are things going?”
“They’re...going,” I say. “I just found a new-in-the-box wooden moose that poops M&Ms when you lift his tail.”
“I wish I could tell you that’s going to be the weirdest thing you’ll find.”
“It’s almost as weird as the breast pillow,” I say. “Listen to this.” I reach across the couch and pick up the box, reading from the side. “Are you a side sleeper? Does the weight of one breast falling onto the other get you down? Then this pillow is for you.”
“Well that doesn’t make sense. Your grandmother’s boobs looked like tube socks with pennies at the bottom.”
“Mom, gross. I do not need that visual.”
“So I take it you’re not in the talking with the realtor stage yet?”
“Not even close,” I say. “Mom, there’s stuff here that was ordered years ago. Decades, even. How did I not realize all of this was happening?”
“She always loved the Home Shopping Network. You remember all her jewelry, and that rhinestone tracksuit she used to wear everywhere. She ordered that off the television. Maybe you were too busy with your friends to notice.”
I take a deep breath, slow and easy.
“It didn’t get really bad until after you left home,” Mom adds as if to soften her earlier comment. This is the way she tends to roll. It feels like our relationship is a constant push and pull of her luring me closer only to knock me upside the head with one of her snide remarks, then soothe the wound with more kindness. It feels like whiplash.
“Mom, I know you said I should sell some of this stuff, but I don’t even know where I’d start. I’m just going to donate it. Is that okay? Selling it feels like a lot of work. This isn’t pawn shop kind of stuff.”
“How about the internet? One man’s trash is another man’s treasure. Isn’t that what they say? You do owe me this, Katherine.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose and silently count to five. “Okay, Mom. I’ll do the best I can.”
“Good. But save the moose. Freemont might like it.”
I still haven’t met mom’s new husband in person. I’ve heard him in the background of our phone conversations a few times and seen the pictures that Mom has put on Facebook. I know he’s a retired commercial real estate agent, he has three grown children who live in Florida but has no grandchildren, he has a bad—and I meanbad—combover, and he drives a bright red Miata that, at least in pictures, looks much too small for his lanky frame. And apparently, he likes moose. Or candy? Maybe both?
I give my head a little shake. I’m giving this way too much thought.
“I’ll save the moose for Freemont,” I say. “Mom, can I ask you a question?”
I give myself a mental pat on the back. I’m being direct. I’m asking questions. I’m engaging in conversation instead of making assumptions.
“All right,” Mom says.
“Why did you leave Silver Creek? I thought you loved it here.”
She immediately scoffs. “Well, that’s a funny question coming from you, Miss I-don’t-need-this-town-and-I-don’t-need-you.Youleft everything behind. Why shouldn’t I?”
I shake my head. “Mom, that’s not—” I take another deep breath. “You know what? Never mind. Forget I asked.”
