Lost in Seattle (The Miss Apple Pants series, #2)

by Charlotte Roth

  “Ah, you are so silly, you two. I’m perfectly capable of walking myself home. I may be old, but I’m still a grownup,” she had argued, tapping on her purse. Mom made a face at me and smiled. “Well, you are definitely old,” she said, laughing, kissing Miss T on top of her gray hair.

  “What, dear?” Miss T had said, jumping up and down, trying to reach for her keychain, hanging from the hook by the front door. Mom finally handed it to her with a wide grin on her face. “But, grown up? I’m not so sure about that.”

  “Oh, you silly goose,” Miss T had said with a cheerful voice.

  “Now, Ella, take this midget home,” Mom had demanded.

  “Your mom is in one of her weird overly tired moods, and I think it’s safer to leave before she explodes.”

  “Oh yeah? Oh yeah?” Mom had started singing, pretending to play, what I believed to be, a solo on her air guitar.

  And Miss T and I had hurried out the door, giggling all the way to Miss T’s house.

  “I REMEMBER,” I SAID, almost smiling at the memory, “but my most precious moment was just the other night, walking home with her and Keitel. The night before she, um, died,” I whispered.

  “You never told me this.” Mom kicked off her slippers and made herself comfortable on the bed. “What happened?”

  “Well, we were walking home with Keitel and all of her stuff, and Miss T told me about the time when she went to see Up. Remember Up?”

  “Do I?” she said, widening her eyes. “We practically bawled our eyes out, making everyone in the front seats turn their heads. Remember? I think I cried in my sleep that night.”

  “Mom, she went to see it right after Georgie died. Could you even imagine what that would’ve been like?” I leaned over and reached for a Kleenex. The box was almost empty.

  “Oh, no,” she gasped. “The part where he’s sitting with the book his wife made for him with ... all the pictures of their lives together and, and, and—”

  “—Exactly.”

  “But how could she go see a movie like that right after her husband had just died?” She leaned over and grabbed the box of Kleenex from me “Poor woman,” she said, and sobbed.

  “That’s what I said.” I suddenly remembered how she had looked at me with that sad look on her face, her little cold fingers wrapped around mine. I could almost still feel her skin on me. I took a deep breath and leaned against the wall. I could already feel the tears well up inside of me again, but I wanted to tell Mom. It was such a precious moment, and as it turned out, our last.

  “She said ... um ... she said it made her appreciate life even more—appreciate the moments we have. Together.” I took another deep breath and looked up at the ceiling. A few tears dripped on the back of my ears. “She-she-she said, I reminded her of that little chubby Boy Scout be-be-because of the special bond we had.” I paused and looked at Mom. “And then she told me that she, um, that she loved me,” I cried, throwing myself at Mom once again.

  “Oh, baby, come here.” She wrapped her arms tight around me and cradled. “She was right you know, baby,” Mom said, looking down at me with her red, swollen eyes. “When a person dies, that’s all we have, memories. And that Up-moment with Miss T... in a few months you’ll be happy that you have that; it’s a very precious memory to have.” She smiled.

  “I’ll miss her so bad,” I whispered into Mom’s belly.

  “I know. I know. Me too.” She moved back a little and grabbed a Kleenex from the box. “We’ll have to go to Dallas for the funeral,” she said, and blew her nose.

  “Dallas?”

  “Yes. The lawyer is taking her ashes down there to be spread somewhere.” She looked down and touched my face. “It’s surreal to even think about it, right?”

  I nodded. Miss T had gone from laughing, eating Cheerios out of the box, watching Tarantino movies, reading letters out loud, and driving hopeless pregnant teenagers home in her Porsche, to a box of ashes. “It is,” I whispered.

  Mom nodded with her eyes closed. “I’m so sorry, honey,” she said, all a sudden laughing hysterically. “I’m so sorry, but I can’t help it. I guess I’m just so overwhelmed or nervous or I don’t know, and I know, it’s not funny. Not funny at all! But I can’t help thinking about the poor paramedics and the look on their faces when they saw her. I mean, she was the size of a twelve-year-old and then to find a little old wrinkled woman in her pantyhose.” She looked down at me with a flushed face. “I didn’t mean to laugh, Ella. I swear. I’m so sorry,” she whispered still not able to wipe that smile off her face.

  “It’s okay,” I assured her, suddenly unable to hide my smile too. How could we laugh at a time like this—with splintered hearts, swollen eyes, and a Kleenex box down to its last tissue? Maybe Mom was right; maybe it was all just nerves. “She sure liked those panty hoses.”

  “She sure did,” Mom agreed, still smiling, “she sure did.”

  I sat up and grabbed a pillow for my feet. “Mom, maybe we should wear some at the funeral in her honor. Maybe it would make her feel less alone leaving this earth?”

  She nodded. “We most definitely should.”

  “We should,” I echoed.

  “We will.”

  “We will.”

  She made a move to get up. “Well, it’s getting late...” She looked at the big piles of tissues scattered around the floor.

  I grabbed a few tissues next to me and placed them on top of the piles. “But Mom, how did Miss T’s sister find you?”

  “She didn’t. Miss T’s lawyer did—the lawyer who called me earlier today.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Well, he had this delivered to me immediately after.” She bent down next to the sofa bed and grabbed something from behind the door. “This!” she said without looking at me.

  It was Miss T’s purse, her favorite one, the little red Coach purse with little white dots on it. Miss T had been carrying it with her the last time I had been with her, going to Federal Way, Everett, and back.

  “She had a, um, our name and contact info was in there.” Mom held up the purse and looked at it. “It’s actually quite nice.”

  “But why?” I scooted to the edge of the bed and looked at Mom and the purse.

  “Why what?” Mom said, still looking at the purse.

  “Why was she going to Austin with our name and number in there?” I pointed at the purse.

  “Maybe we should just...” Her voice trailed off. She looked like she was about to say something, but then decided against it. “Baby, it doesn’t really matter right now,” she whispered and tossed the bag over her right shoulder.

  “Maybe she had our number in there in case something like this happened?” I suggested.

  “Maybe. Maybe,” she whispered. She got down on her knees and grabbed all the tissues and stuffed them into the empty box of Kleenex. “You know where I am, okay?” she said as she headed for the door.

  I nodded. “Mom?”

  She turned around and looked at me.

  “Mom, I can’t believe she’s no longer with us.”

  “I know, but I also know we’ll feel a lot better in the morning, okay?” She smiled.

  “Okay,” I said, and sighed.

  “Goodnight,” she whispered.

  I turned on my back and closed my eyes and pictured myself on a hot summer day, walking in the high grass with Miss T. She was laughing, eating cereal right out of the box. She was so happy, so alive. When she turned around and looked at me, I suddenly knew what Mom had meant all those years ago when she had lost a baby.

  This was how it felt to die a little.

  Betrayed by a Post-it note

  “Morning, honey.” Dad was sitting five feet away from the table, facing the hallway. They had probably been waiting all morning for me to get up, sharing at least one pot of coffee between them.

  “Morning,” Mom echoed from the kitchen as she saw me coming down the hallway wrapped in my duvet cover.

  “Morning,” I muttered as I sat do
wn next to Dad.

  “Feeling better?” Dad scooted his chair closer to the table and looked up at Mom standing by the counter.

  I nodded. “I guess. I can’t believe I actually managed to sleep all night.”

  “You did?” Dad reached for his cup, nodding.

  “Uh-huh. I slept like a baby.” I looked down at the table. A Freudian slip, Miss Kim probably would have said.

  “Coffee?” Mom said with her back to me. She already had her hand on the coffee maker.

  “No thanks,” I managed to say trying to swallow hard at the same time. The whole house smelled of newly brewed coffee, and it was already making me nauseated. I guess it wasn’t called morning sickness for nothing.

  Dad cleared his throat and looked at me. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here last night.” He placed his hand on top of mine and smiled. “Mom told me about the terrible accident when I got home. It was pretty late.”

  I nodded and looked up at Mom. She leaned against the counter, staring at a spot on the wall. A pair of dark circles had been added to her red, swollen eyes, and she looked like she hadn’t closed either of them all night. “You okay, Mom?”

  She nodded and sipped her coffee. “Nothing a gallon of coffee can’t cure,” she joked.

  Dad got up. “I promise, when I get back from work tonight, we’ll all sit down together as a family. With a bottle of Chianti,” he said in Mom’s direction. “I know, I’ve been very busy lately, and I know I’ve skipped a few algebra nights with my favorite daughter, but after today, I’ll have a lot more time.” He grabbed his laptop from the table and kissed the top of my head. I looked up at him. He was wearing a suit, a crisp white shirt, and an air of cologne and professionalism. “You look good, very polished,” I teased. “Right?” I looked at Mom.

  “Uh-huh,” she mumbled like she was somewhere else.

  “You too,” he replied, looking at the both of us. I knew he was lying. He walked over to Mom and pulled her into a hug. “Get some sleep,” he demanded as he reached for the door, leaving two sad-looking women behind.

  Mom grabbed her cup and sat down next to me. “You know, he was really upset when he heard about Miss T last night. But as he said, she was kinda old and in that sense it really isn’t a tragedy. Not that it isn’t sad; it is, but it’s not really a tragedy, you know.”

  “I know.” I looked down at my hands. I could still feel Dad’s hand on top of mine, still smell the cologne in the air. I missed him.

  Mom sipped her coffee in silence and looked out the window. It was one of those dark and wet mornings as in I-just-wanna-stay-in-bed-and-pull-a-blanket-over-my-head.

  “Depressing, huh?” I looked out at the heavy raindrops on the windows. I got up and grabbed a box of Cheerios from the cabinet. When I looked at the heart-shaped Cheerios bowl on the front of box, an instant heaviness consumed my chest. “Can you imagine she never had a single one?”

  “What?” Mom looked up, but I could tell her thoughts were somewhere else.

  “Never mind.” I grabbed a bowl and sat down.

  Mom sipped her coffee again and took a long deep breath. “Ella,” she said with a nervous voice. “I promised myself I would wait ... to give you some time and space to deal with the whole Miss T thing but...” She stopped midsentence and took another deep breath. “But I can’t. I need to know.” She looked straight at me without blinking, making me feel all nervous as well. “You know that lawyer who called me? Well, it was because there was something in her purse with your name on it.”

  “Mine? With my name on it?”

  “Yes. Your name. And it looks like it’s quite a long story, and I was hoping you could help me fill in a few blanks.” She leaned back in her chair and grabbed something from her housecoat pocket. “This! Your name was on this.” She tossed the “something” on the table.

  Shit! My name, not ours, but my name. I didn’t need to look at it. I knew exactly what it was; it was the pamphlet Miss Dexter had handed me right before we left. It said: “IS ABORTION THE RIGHT CHOICE FOR YOU?” in big capital letters. Miss Dexter had stapled her business card to it and on top of the card there was, of all things, a Post-it note that read, “Eleanor. Call me anytime,” and the shape of a heart. A Post-it note! Betrayed by my own freedom of speech!

  “Is there something we need to talk about?”

  Too embarrassed to face Mom, I looked down at the pamphlet right in front of me. There was a young girl on the front cover, standing next to what appeared to be some kind of doctor or counselor. The girl was no older than Stella. I took a deep breath and wrapped my fingers around the cold cereal bowl. My hands and cheeks were already burning up.

  “Ella?”

  Slowly, my eyes met with hers. She looked disturbingly calm, still sipping her coffee like she had all the time in the world.

  “I... I... I’ve tried to tell you so many times, Mom. I just couldn’t.” I looked out the kitchen window. It was raining hard now, and I wondered whether Harvey was out there, sitting on Miss T’s porch again, waiting for her to come home. I took a deep breath and looked at Mom. The thought of disappointing her and making her sad was actually more painful than I had imagined, and once again, I felt that weird numbness sensation slowly taking over my entire body. “Mom?” I said, still looking at the raindrops, “I’m so-so-so sorry, Mom. I wanted to tell you, and then the other night when Dad was out playing tennis till midnight, and I-I-I...” I stopped talking and looked at her. Even with dark circles under her bloodshot eyes, she was still the most beautiful mom in the entire world. “Even more beautiful than Cinderella” I used to tell her when she would play dress up with me, wearing my tiaras and ten-times-too-small plastic slippers. How could I not have told her?

  “Go on,” she said all calm, eyeing the pamphlet on the table.

  “I almost told you, but then I chickened out when Dad came home, I guess.” I grabbed the pamphlet from the table. “I got this the other day, when I went down there and talked with this Miss Dexter. Miss T was with me. I kinda ambushed her to come with me, and when she realized where we were going, she got really mad at me. Because of you.”

  At the mentioning of Miss T, Mom looked up with confusion in her green eyes, but still, she didn’t say a word. She just looked at me and waited.

  “Mom, please, please say something,” I begged her, “Please! Tell me I’m still your little princess, your little bunny, your little Miss Apple Pants. Please, tell me!”

  Slowly, she turned in her seat and looked out the damp window. She took a deep breath and exhaled through her nose at a careful pace, making her nostrils vibrate. On any other day that would have made the both of us laugh.

  “How could you not tell me?” she said, still watching the window. “I mean, why didn’t you come to me right away?” Her voice was harsh. “I thought we trusted each other. Haven't we always said that you can come to us no matter what? No matter what!” When she finally faced me, her eyes flashed with anger. “No matter freaking what!” she repeated.

  I nodded as I felt the tears coming. I didn’t know which was harder; finally telling her my secret or confessing that I had kept a secret like this from her. The look on her face, so full of hurt, said it louder than words. I should have told her.

  “I’m so, s-s-sorry,” I sobbed not knowing whether I should get down on my knees and beg for her forgiveness or just hit myself really hard in the face with half a bowl of soaked cereal. Why the hell hadn’t I just turned to her in the first place? She had been right here all the time.

  Miss T, Miss Dexter, and the Universe had been right; I should have told her right away. I grabbed onto the edge of the table as I felt that same weird sensation from yesterday; the feeling of something weighing down on me, pulling me harder and harder against the kitchen floor. I looked down at my hands; my knuckles had turned all white, and I wasn’t able to hold on much longer. I closed my eyes and tried to tell myself that it was all in my head. That no one or nothing was pulling me down. I was just scared and p
anicking. All I had to do was sit up, breathe, and let it go. Let it all go. Three-two-one. Carefully, I let go of the table and opened my eyes. So far, so good. I was still here. I was still in the kitchen with Mom.

  “But, how could I?” I cried. “How in the hell could I tell you about me being pregnant. Just like that.” I snapped my fingers and continued with a lowered voice. “When all you ever wanted, all of those years, was a pregnancy that never happened. I mean, how could I?” I looked down at my hands, which were still shaking.

  Mom turned her face away from me and wiped away what I believed to be tears before she spoke. “Ella, this isn’t about me,” she said, still looking away. “This is about you. Why in the hell didn’t you just tell me right away?” She finally turned and looked at me. Tears dribbled down her cheeks. I wanted to reach out and wipe them off. I wanted to grab her in my arms and never let go, but I was afraid to touch her. She was too mad right now.

  “But it is,” I whispered, “don't you get it? It is about you too. As long as I can remember, you’ve always wanted another baby. You’ve either been pregnant and happy or not and unhappy. That’s why I couldn’t tell you. How could I? I have sex once and, may I add, protected sex, and I end up being the one pregnant in this family. It’s not fair. This is not how it’s supposed to be.” My hands continued to tremble at those words.

  “Let's not worry about me right now,” she snapped. “I’m fine, Ella. All this is behind me. But tell me, honey,” she continued in a much softer voice, “what happened?” She scooted over next to me and grabbed my moist and shaky hand.

  I looked up. Her breathing had almost returned to a calm pace and her big green eyes were back to their normal setting on “nice.” The worst part was over. The peace squad had moved in. Mom was already on my team, even though it was the losing team. So, with a combination of relief, shame, and embarrassment, I told her everything about the night with Hans—not even leaving out the most embarrassing parts. I mean, how could I, when it all boiled down to having sex with an apparently old (or broken, or nonfunctioning, or all of the above) condom? When I was done embarrassing myself, blushing and crying at the same time, she just smiled.