Page 14 of Falling Backwards
Yeah, aside from me despising the idea of being like my dad, she really is the reason I’m on a good path.She taught me compassion and respect, taught me to be responsible.She didn’t hound me to do this or that in my life—all she has ever wanted for me is happiness and peace, like she said.I’m not perfect, but I try to be better the older I get because she passed so much of the importance of that on to me.
Indeed, if she did learn about me and Maggie being at such odds, she wouldn’t approve of that girl’s actions any more than she’d approve of mine.She’d give both of us a talking-to, not just me.
The knowledge makes me chuckle, honestly.
M A G G I E
It’s been nearly three years since my parents moved away, but I’ve done a pretty good job of taking care of the certain things I kept of theirs.Especially Mom’s.I use more of her old stuff than I do Dad’s, I guess because she’s a woman too.
She’s so beautiful.She’s curvy, and everything she wears either looks comfortable or striking on her.She has always proudly said motherhood was the biggest contributing factor to her shape, and my dad has always brazenly said he’ll never be able to repay me for somehow making her even sexier than she was before I came along.
When I was younger, that made me cringe.Who wants to hear their parents call each other sexy?Now I think it’s one of the sweetest things in the world that Dad respected the changes in her body so much.
Although it’s become apparent that I inherited some of Mom’s hourglass features, she’s still a couple sizes bigger than I am, and it’s perfect for things like sweaters.Ilovesome of the sweaters she used to wear before she left for California.They were absolute yeses when I had to choose what I wanted to keep so it didn’t get donated away—certain other things were, too, but those sweaters sat at the top of the list.
Today, I put on the dark pink knit turtleneck, and I feel the warmth of her smile.She loved this sweater, from the color to its fit on her.I wish it were as loose on me as it used to be, because noticing that I’ve been filling out the soft fabric more and more over time has made me feel…I don’t know…not clunky, but not gorgeous like her.I still think it looks pretty good, though, and the love it reminds me of definitelyfeelsgood.
I pair it with leggings, flats, and a three-in-one necklace Mom gave me that is so cute you would think I borrowed it from Joy.Then I nod at my reflection in the full-length mirror on my closet door.I’m disappointed I can’t wear this outfit all day; I have to work soon, so more sophisticated black clothes lie in my future.But I’m ready for a late breakfast at Mellow Burger with the girls.
In fact, as Joy always does when she sees this necklace, she comments that she adores it.Then she adds with a groan, “I miss your mom!She is so fun!”
Emma agrees from the front door, where she’s pulling on her black ankle boots.
Yeah, I haven’t loved being separated from my parents either.We were always close.I wanted them to be their happiest selves, though, and that apparently involves being in California.Plus, I’m an adult, and it’s not like I never talk to them.
I know if Mom saw me in this outfit, she’d say I look awesome.
‘Like mother, like daughter,’I’d say back, and she’d get the sweetest look of delight on her face.
“Sweet potato fries?”Emma asks now.
Those aren’t Joy’s favorite, so she asks, “Loaded fries?”
Those aren’tmyfavorite, so I ask, “Spicy fries?”
Then we all say together, “Fries.”
I don’t know when we started using this as our way of checking if we’re ready to go to Mellow Burger, but we’ve been doing it for a while now, and it’s fun.So we get going, our stomachs growling and our moods happy.
It isn’t long before we’re breezing through the entrance of the place, greeted by the chatter of other brunchy patrons and the aromas of grilled and fried foods.Some sort of rock music plays overhead.We get in the ordering line, which isn’t too lengthy for now; there’s no way this place won’t be packed in another half hour or so.
I know good and well that Joy doesn’t need to consult the large chalkboard menu hung up behind the counter, but she still gazes at it and does her decision dance to the beat of the song.
Emma and I also don’t need it, so we talk between ourselves about her sister, who called this morning to say she’s engaged.It’s great news.She and her boyfriend have seemed really happy over the last couple years.
Joy stops dancing long enough to turn and say, just like she did when the call came, “I cannotwaitto see Kennedy’s dress!”
Emma snickers.“Oh, we know.AndIcan’t wait to see the catering.”
I nod and add, “I hope their wedding cake isn’t a carrot cake, though.”
“Right?Barf!How does she like that better thanevery other kindof cake there is?”
For another minute, we speculate about what the wedding might be like.Then it’s time to order our food.It’s quick and smooth except for me getting drowned out twice by the loud people who’ve gotten in line behind us.
Such is the life of anyone who doesn’t have a bubbly, confident, resonant voice.I still cringe when I think back on the public speaking classes I took in school.
But what matters most is that we’re soon claiming a table.We check our order numbers so we’ll know when we’re being called back to the counter, and then Joy brings up another exciting topic: her birthday.It’s in four days, on Wednesday, and she still hasn’t decided when or how she’d like to celebrate.
