Kristan Higgins - Now That You Mention It

Yes. My mother was hugging a human. It was a long hug, too. “You’re a good person,” she said. “You’re a nice girl.”

Actually, Amy had been a raging bitch—Queen of the Cheetos—who’d made my mother’s daughter utterly wretched, but hey. Maybe people changed. Probably not, but still.

They were still hugging. Amy was getting more affection in this hug than I’d gotten from my mother in the past twenty years. Was I jealous? You bet your life I was.

“What’s her deal?” I whispered to the dog. He didn’t know, either.

Mom released her, and Amy sniffled and moved toward the kitchen.

Next up was Mr. Dobbins. “Bawb. You’re a good man. You have a good haht.” He bent down to hug my sturdy mother, and she hugged him tenderly, firmly.

This was really freaky. Maybe it was the Vicodin. Maybe I should cough up twenty bucks and get a hug, too.

I looked at Boomer, who lowered his head to lick my hand. Nah. Who needed a mother when I had the male version of Nana from Peter Pan? Plus, I was pretty sure that somewhere in the mother’s handbook, it said your kids shouldn’t have to bribe you to get hugged.

My mother moved through the crowd, hugging people and telling them nice things. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and texted Roseline that I was either hallucinating on painkillers, or my mother was offering hugs for twenty dollars apiece in our living room.

Video or it didn’t happen, was her answer.

Mr. Dobbins came back for another.

Yep. My mother needed a man. It seemed very clear. Maybe this was for her sake, too. Alone all these years (Hello, guilt, how’ve you been?). And since I was here on the island for the summer, I might as well find her someone. Why not, right? Another text to Roseline. Am going to find my mother a boyfriend.

Don’t make rash decisions while on powerful narcotics, she responded. Go to bed.

I was pretty dizzy. And while I did want to see my mother tuck some people in with blankies on our old couch and chairs, I also knew I was too jealous to watch.

7

The day after hug therapy, I took a little crutch walk, as I’d been doing, a little farther every day. The sun was hard and bright, the oak trees topped with fuzzy, pale green buds, and the salty air filled my lungs and woke parts of my soul I’d forgotten about. Sure, Boston was on the water, but it wasn’t like this. Here, the air was both clean and alive with scents, sometimes thick with the promise of rain, sometimes carrying smells of pipe tobacco—presumably from Burke Hollawell, a lobsterman from my childhood (and potential bae for my mother?). Last week, I got a whiff of blueberries—somewhere, a pie was fresh out of the oven. And always, the smell of pine.

I hobbled to a rock at the shore and sat down to catch my breath. Boomer ran up, smiling his doggy grin, and dropped a pinecone at my feet. “Oh, good boy!” I said and threw it. He bounded off, forgot his mission and chased a squirrel into a tree.

I slid out of the backpack straps, took out my water bottle and drank. Then I dug out a notebook and pen and started writing to my sister.

Dear Lily,

I hope things are going okay for you. I don’t know if Mom or Poe told you, but I’m back on the island for a while after I had a little accident. Poe and I are sharing our old room. You’ve done an amazing job raising her. She’s really great and smart, and I love talking to her.

Well, that would be a lie. I tore off the sheet, crumpled it up and stuck it in my bag.

Dear Lily,

I’m back on the island for a while, and I want you to know I’ll try to keep an eye out for Poe. Even though you stopped answering my emails and texts and letters, I still love you and will try to help Poe in any way I can.

Too condescending, with that healthy slosh o’ bitterness. I crumpled up that one, too.

Dear Lily,

You’ll never guess where I’m sitting right now. Lookout Rock. I’m back on Scupper for a while and will probably spend a few months here; I took a leave from the hospital after I got banged up in a car accident. Home is the same. Mom’s bird is trying to kill me. Kind of creepy, the love they share.

A cormorant just popped up in front of me, then slipped back under the water. The ocean is choppy today, making lots of noise against the shore.

Mom and Poe are doing well. I hope you are, too.

Love,

Nora

That one I could send. At least I had an address for her now. Washington State Women’s Correctional Facility.

For reasons unknown, my sister had given me up long ago. Granted, I hadn’t been a whole lotta fun after Dad left, but neither had she. Why didn’t we become even closer after his desertion? God knows I wanted to. But sisters who didn’t get along was hardly an original problem. There was the ugly sister/beautiful sister thing, of course. The fat/thin issue. There was the fact that I made it off the island into a better future, and she’d made it off into...well, single motherhood, borderline poverty and now jail.

She did have Poe. From what I’d been able to tell on the few visits I was granted, my sister loved her child.

That night, as Poe and I were lying in our beds, I decided to go for it. It was dark, and the night was cold and clear. Through the skylight, I could see the thick, brilliant smear of the Milky Way.

“Have you talked to your mom recently?” I asked.

Poe didn’t answer for a minute. “What’s it to you?”

“Just wondering how she is.”

“She’s fine.” Poe rolled over to face the wall.

“If you ever want to talk about it, I’m here, honey.”

She muttered something.

“What’s that?”

“I don’t need to talk to you,” she said, enunciating clearly, her voice loud, as if talking to a room full of slightly deaf simpletons. “Though my circumstances are challenging, I am quite well-adjusted.”

“That’s great,” I said. “I’m glad.” I took a long, slow breath, still staring at the stars. “Your mom and I were really close once.”

“Whatever.”

“I loved her more than I loved anyone.”

“Hooray for her.”

“And I love you, no matter what. I would love to be closer, and I’d—”

“Could you shut up now? I’m trying to sleep.”

I reached down to pet Boomer, who slept next to me, since we both couldn’t fit on the twin bed. His tail thumped, letting me know I was loved. God, grant me the serenity to not tell my niece she’s a royal pain in the ass. “Good night, Poe. Sleep well.”

* * *

The second weekend after I returned to Scupper Island, my mom asked if I wanted anything in town. It was Saturday, her day to do the grocery shopping.

“Can I come with you? Please? Please?”

“Sure, but only if you calm down.” She kissed Tweety on the beak—I suppressed my scream—and went to the bottom of the stairs. “Poe, you need anything?”

“No.”

“Text me if you think of anything.”

There was no answer.

“Give me a few minutes,” I told my mom. “I need to brush my hair.” And change and put on makeup. Without a doubt, I’d run into someone I knew.

Half an hour later, I was shiny and clean and ready to go. “Go see Poe,” I told my dog. Given time, I knew he’d win her over. He obeyed, galumphing up the stairs, the genius.

I’d graduated to a plain old runner’s brace, which made my knee look lumpy but was a vast improvement over the soft cast. My mom was waiting by the front door, puss on her face, arms crossed.

We drove into town, my mom grumbling about the “crowds” that would be at the market, now that it was 10:00 a.m. By crowds, she meant four to six people.

We pulled into the store’s parking lot. “I think I’ll take a hobble around, if that’s okay with you,” I said.