Page 111 of All You Want
“Welcome to my tea party, sweet Tami Tutu.” The melodious and deep female voice draws chills down my back.
It’s impossible, unless Mooma has a twin sister.
“Do you remember me?” Her two moving hands swirl over and around the crystal ball. “I missed you so very much.”
Justin gives me a gentle push forward. “Go ahead, don’t be afraid. You were her favorite.”
I look back at him. “I thought she passed away.”
“As you can see, I’m here, alive and well,” Mooma says. “Welcome, sweet Tami Tutu, to my tea party. Shall we sip a merry cup?”
I’m frozen to the spot, observing her movements. She seems real, and her voice is definitely familiar.
She lights a circle of candles, one by one, and her features come to life. Older with more wrinkles, and her nose is thinner, but the eyes, the dark-brown eyes with barely any white around the edges take me in, drawing me down a deep pool so that I feel like I’m drowning.
I gasp, sucking in a noisy breath of air, and put my hand over my chest, hoping to calm my spasming heart.
“Do you have anything to say to me, Tami Tutu? Before you marry my son?” Mooma’s voice takes on the mesmerizing quality that always drew me to her. “I forgive you for poisoning me. Are you happy to see me?”
“Yes, I am,” I mutter. “I’m so sorry, because I didn’t mean to poison you.”
“I know you didn’t, but you were careless. Do you remember the big chestnuts you found in the yard?” Mooma’s teeth gleam sharp inside her wide mouth. “Remember what I told you?”
I nod, stunned that she has a pile of horse chestnuts in front of the crystal ball. Why is she rubbing my face in my mistake? She was the one who told me to collect them to make chestnut tea. If she had roasted them and then ground them up, how could it have been my fault?
“I now know that horse chestnuts are poisonous. But I didn’t know back then.” I cover my mouth and blink back tears. “Were you very sick? Did you almost die?”
From the corner of my eye, I notice the red light of a video camera recording all of this.
Mooma comes around the table. She’s wearing the same furry spider costume she wore on that fateful night, including the blue gingham apron. She’s even painted her nose black to make it look like it doesn’t exist, and she has black triangles underneath her eyes, sort of like the greasepaint football players use.
“They say horse chestnuts keep spiders away,” she says. “Were you trying to get rid of me? Or maybe you were jealous of Bum-Bum.”
“No, I liked you and Bum-Bum. I missed you.” Especially since her Bum-Bum didn’t fart so much back then thanks to her healthful cooking.
“That’s good, because we’re going to all be together from now on.” I flinch when she cups her white-gloved hands around my face. “Dear little Tami Tutu. Your father knows the price he has to pay to keep you out of prison. He also knows how close he came to losing his daughter.”
I blink at her, wondering exactly how her threats could compel my father to pay.
“I was only a child,” I explain. “Certainly, no one can say I mixed horse chestnuts into the tea maliciously.”
She kisses my nose and grins. “You might not have had a motive, but your father had good reason to knock me out—maybe not enough for a lethal blow, but enough to do mischief.”
I push myself away from her embrace. “My dad doesn’t even do tea parties. He was busy at the barbecue pit. How can you make baseless accusations?”
“He knew what was growing inside of me, and he didn’t like it.” Mooma gestures for me to take a seat in front of the dark wooden table.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Although I can guess the implications, now that I’m older.
Mooma waves her hand, and the parlor door opens. “I’d like you to meet someone, and then you’ll understand everything.”
Whoever is recording the video is still holding the red light steady, but my eyes are glued to the doorway.
A holographic image flits toward me—ghostly and pale. She’s me when I was ten, twirling around in a frilly white dress.
The image comes closer, almost to my face. I reach for her, and my hand goes through the hologram. She stares at me, unseeing, and then she smiles, big and wide, but her nose remains pinched and sharp.
“That’s not me.” I touch the wide nose I got from my mother. “She’s got my father’s narrow nose.”
