P. Hoover - Solstice

“Of course, Piper. But he won’t give up.” Her voice shakes as she talks. “He’ll keep coming back because he thinks he has some right to be with you.”

“But why?” I ask.

My mom throws her hands up in the air. “I don’t know. I just don’t. He showed up here and said he was supposed to take you away. And I can’t let that happen.”

“Who am I, Mom?” I have to ask the question even though it sounds absurd to my ears.

My mom doesn’t even hesitate. “You’re my daughter, that’s who you are.”

I shake my head because her answer’s just so frustrating. “No, really. Who am I? There has to be something else.”

My mom comes over and pats my shoulder. “Piper, you’re beautiful and you’re smart and to me, you’re the most perfect thing this world has ever created. But that’s it. That’s all you are.”

“No,” I say. “There has to be something else. Something special.”

She looks at me like she feels sorry for me. “There’s nothing else, Piper. There’s nothing special about you at all.”

Her words sting. I feel them like worms digging into my heart. If she notices she’s hurt me, she doesn’t show it.

“We need to move. To go away,” she says.

“No.” I don’t raise my voice or argue or even try to make it sound like a compromise. I’m not moving. Not again. If I move anywhere, it’s going to be away from my mom—alone.

“Yes,” she says. “Your father will find you otherwise.”

“The dome shattered,” I say because I don’t want to talk about moving.

My mom stares at me a second, and I finally let my eyes meet hers. And then she pulls me into a hug. I don’t break away, but I don’t hug her back.

“I was so worried about you, Piper.” She puts a hand on my cheek, and the tears in her eyes tell me how much she loves me.

“I was fine,” I say.

“You were out there in the storm. Councilman Rendon called a council meeting to tell us about his plans. He’d gone ahead and activated one of the domes. He said there was a hurricane approaching Austin.” She shudders like even the memory is too hard to live with.

“I went to Chloe’s.”

“The council had a virtual meeting; he said he was going to activate all the domes.”

“The glass shattered,” I say. “It was everywhere.”

Anger flashes into my mom’s eyes. “It didn’t have time to regenerate. How does he think the glass will sustain a hurricane when the growth proteins haven’t had time to bond?”

I don’t answer because there’s nothing I can really say.

“He’s killing the city,” my mom says. “He’s killing the world. He’s pulling it apart with everything he tries.”

I know it’s true, but it seems a little unfair. “It’s not like he started the Global Heating Crisis.”

My mom’s nostrils flare. “No, he didn’t. It doesn’t matter at this point how it started, just how we get past it.”

I’m not sure I agree, but my mom doesn’t leave it open for debate. We head upstairs and flip on the tube. Reports of damage from the hurricane are still coming in. I try to zone out because most of the images they’re showing are horrific. People are dead everywhere. The shattered glass from the dome Chloe lives in caused so much destruction, they estimate it will take weeks to clean up. Councilman Rendon is scheduled to give a speech in a half hour to talk about the tragedy. I text Chloe to make sure she’s okay, but she doesn’t answer, so I call her mom who tells me they’re all fine, that aside from some missing roof tiles and the broken window, they got off lucky. I assure her I got home safely and am with my mom.

I attempt to go about my normal routine until the news conference starts. Changing my clothes. Brushing my teeth. It’s only when I pick up a comb and begin to yank it through the blond snarls that my mom comes over. She takes the comb from me and sits me down, pulling each and every tangle out one by one until they’re all gone.

“Maybe I should get a tattoo, also.”

Her words catch me halfway into a trance state. I’m sure I’ve heard wrong. “What?”

“A tattoo.” She touches it. “We could both have one.”

I laugh at the absurdity of my mother getting a tattoo. I wonder how overprotective would be spelled in ancient Greek anyway. But maybe the time away from my mom was a good thing. Maybe she’s starting to relax. To be less protective.

“Maybe we could get matching ones. Mother and daughter. Together forever.”

All hopes of my mom relaxing disappear. “That sounds more like something saved for couples,” I say. “Not mother and daughter.”

She holds the comb steady, feeling each tine with her fingers. “We’re an exception, Piper. You’ll always be my little girl.”

“I’m eighteen now, Mom.”

She moves the comb to her own head and runs it through her hair. Even when it catches on a tangle, she keeps her eyes on me. “Eighteen is only the beginning, Piper. We have our whole lives to be together.”

I decide not to respond. There’s nothing I can say to agree with her. I want my own life, but the impasse is she wants it, too. My silence prompts her to kiss me on the forehead and turn back to the tube. The news conference will start in minutes. But there’s something I need to ask my mom.

“Mom, do you know what a phoenix is?”

She freezes, and I see she’s stopped breathing. She knows. As surely as I know Randy Conner’s death is my fault, she knows what a phoenix is.

“It’s a bird.” She makes it sound casual like everyone in the world should know.

“What kind of bird?”

“A bird that only exists in legends, Piper.”

I don’t get a chance to say anything else, because, at that moment, the news conference starts. My teeth grit when Councilman Rendon comes on, standing at a makeshift podium there in Chloe’s dome. He’s supposed to give some speech about how the domes were activated by accident which I know is a lie. If there was any devastation behind him, it’s gone now. The area is lit up like midday, and new trees are planted in the ground. He gives his signature smile and motions with his hand for the crowd to be quiet. He announces he’s going to be speaking and won’t be taking any questions. Of course, questions come anyway.

“Councilman, how could the domes be accidentally activated?”

“Is it true growth materials were refilled today?”

I think of the sand I saw being poured into the metal struts.

“What’s being done to remove the glass from the domes that didn’t shatter?”

The news reports showed these domes. Chloe’s was the only one to crack and fall, but the other operational domes only grew about one-third of the way closed. If I lived under that glass, I’d be freaked out, too. One gust of wind, and the glass could all come crashing down.

My mom’s staring intently at the tube next to me. Her lips are pressed thin, and I think she hates this man.

He starts a prepared speech, but when the questions don’t stop, he gives up and starts with the answers.

“The accidental activation occurred due to a programming error,” he says. “I can assure you it won’t happen again.”

My mom stiffens next to me. “Lies,” she says. “Flat out lies.”

He goes on to deny growth materials being refilled today even though I myself saw the work crews dumping the sand. But his last lie is the worst.

“I can assure the city of Austin with all faith that there is no risk of glass shards continuing to rain down on the city. Sealant has been sprayed from above.” He gives a small laugh like he’s trying to win over the crowd. “The real question will be: how do we get the glass down now that it’s up?”