by Shana Norris
“Tons of salt,” I told her. “Don’t you already have high blood pressure?”
Corrie shot me an annoyed look. “You’re not a doctor yet, Avery. If you hope to live long enough to become one, you’ll stay out of my way when it comes to hot pretzels.” She wagged a finger at me in warning.
Molly and Corrie pointed out random things as we walked through the mall. They were a lot alike, both easily distracted by food or shiny objects. I couldn’t help thinking about my own mom as I watched Molly with hers. My mom loved to shop, back before she began spending days and weeks in bed. We used to come out to the mall almost every weekend, sometimes to browse the newest sales without buying anything. Other times we’d leave with bags loaded down with new clothes.
The last outing my mom and I had gone on together before she left was to the mall, three weeks before she took off. I didn’t realize until years later after reading my medical books that her behavior change indicated some type of depression. I only knew at twelve years old that she didn’t act like my mom anymore and I wanted her back. The mall was the only place I could think of that might bring back the person I’d always known.
But it hadn’t worked. She had been like a zombie that day, shuffling through the stores without really looking at anything. And now I hated coming to this place. The sights and sounds and smells assaulted my senses, making me feel sick. My stomach churned and my head reeled.
Molly paused outside the electronics store when I pulled away from her and turned to look back at me. “You coming?” she asked.
Corrie and Molly were like the mother and sister I didn’t have. Molly’s mom had accepted me warmly into their life and home from the first day Molly invited me over. But today it hurt too much to be around them.
“I’m going to wait out here.” I gestured toward an empty bench behind me.
Molly studied me for a moment. “You okay?”
I nodded, waving a hand to brush off her concern. “It’s allergies or something. Too much going on in here all at once.”
Corrie dug around inside her giant purse before coming up with a bottle of antihistamines. “Here you go,” she said, tossing the bottle toward me. “These always help me. I couldn’t function day to day without them. My little lifesavers.”
I curled my fist around the small bottle and forced a smile. “Thanks. You guys go ahead, I’ll be right here.”
“I’ll try to keep her browsing to under an hour,” Corrie told me, winking as she followed Molly inside the store.
I sat with my head bent down for a while, listening to the sounds of life all around me. No one paid much attention to the girl sitting by herself. Everyone moved past on their way to clothing stores or toy stores or the food court. There was a card shop across from the electronics store Molly and Corrie had disappeared into. A sign hanging in the window reminded the shoppers passing by that Mother’s Day was only a couple of weeks away.
The bright colors drew me into the floral scented store. I slipped between the aisles, strolling past ridiculous displays of delicate crystal roses and teddy bears clutching “I LUV U!” hearts. Turning a corner, I found the card aisle and a huge selection of Mother’s Day cards glared down at me. My eyes scanned over the happy, sappy cards, but nothing felt right. Where were the Mother’s Day cards for the mother who had taken off and abandoned your entire family?
A familiar voice in the next aisle caught my attention and I peeked over the top of the card display to see the back of Hannah Cohen’s dark brown hair. She studied a shelf of Mother’s Day gifts while a saleswoman pointed out a few of the items.
“What about this?” the saleswoman asked, picking up a beautiful flower suspended in a glass globe.
Hannah barely glanced at it. “No, my mother says lilies are the poor man’s rose.” She let out a long sigh as she studied the rest of the offerings. “None of these are right.”
The saleswoman looked frustrated. Hannah had probably turned down everything else in the store. “Perhaps you’d like to take a look at our catalog? You may find something in there you could order.”
“My mother doesn’t order things from catalogs,” Hannah snapped. She smoothed down the front of her blouse. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude, but you don’t know my mother.”
I knew Mrs. Cohen, or at least I’d known her back when Hannah and I were kids. Even before the Cohens had suddenly found themselves teetering on the upper class wealth level, she had always wanted the best of everything. “The image you project to society says everything people need to know about you,” Mrs. Cohen used to tell Hannah and me as we watched her scrub the dust off the top of the kitchen cabinets, the part no one ever saw. “Your life can fall into ruins, but if you look like you have everything in control, you will be in control.”
Hannah smoothed out a wrinkle in her blouse again, as if she too could hear her mother’s words echo in her head. It had always been a habit she had, automatically making sure everything about her appearance was in place and orderly. I didn’t think she even realized how often she did it.
“Any Mother’s Day gift I give my mother has to be perfect,” Hannah told the saleswoman.
“I’m sure your mom will love anything you give her,” the saleswoman offered helpfully, giving Hannah a wide smile.
But Hannah’s shoulders tensed and she sighed. “Honestly, nothing here is good enough. No offense intended.”
“Maybe you should try Annabelle’s?” the woman asked, naming a high end boutique a few blocks away.
Hannah turned and I quickly stepped backward so she couldn’t see me, slipping around the corner of the card display. My back collided with a solid form behind me and I heard a muffled, “Oof!”
I spun around to find myself face-to-face with my brother.
“What are you doing here?” Ian and I asked each other at the same time.
“Nothing,” we said in unison.
Ian stood in front of the display of crystal roses, his hands shoved deep into his pockets and his face bright pink. He looked like I’d caught him red-handed doing something he should be ashamed of.
I narrowed my eyes. “What are you really doing here?”
Ian shrugged. “Nothing. Shopping.”
“Since when do you shop at Leila’s Cards and Gifts?” I asked.
“Since when do you?”
“I’m not shopping. I’m waiting for Molly and her mom. They’re in the electronics store.”
“Well, maybe I’m waiting for someone too.” But his ears were now as red as his hair and I wasn’t buying it.
I crossed my arms. “Spill, or else I’m telling Dad I caught you shoplifting.”
Ian’s mouth dropped open and his eyes bugged out at me. “I am not!”
“That’s what it looks like to me. You’re skulking around a store you never go into, near a case of crystal roses. What else could it be?”
He bent his head down and mumbled something I couldn’t understand.
“What was that?” I asked, leaning toward him.
“I said I was buying a Mother’s Day present.”
My back snapped up straight. My mouth opened, but at first no sound came out. It took me a moment to find my voice again.
“We don’t have a mother,” I said.
Ian glared up at me through the fringe of hair that had fallen into his eyes. “I know that,” he growled.
“Then what possible reason do you have for buying a gift for a mom that isn’t around anymore?”
“It’s not for her. It’s for...for Trisha.”
“What?” I screeched.
A few shoppers nearby turned to look at us. I grabbed Ian by the arm and dragged him out of the store and into the corridor, where our conversation would blend in with the rest of the noise of the mall. We sat down on the bench where I’d been sitting a few minutes ago.
“Why on earth would you want to buy a Mother’s Day gift for Trisha?” I hissed.
Ian shrugged, looking like the little boy he tried
to pretend he wasn’t. He didn’t meet my gaze as he spoke. “I thought it would be nice.”
“Trisha is not our mother.”
“I know that.”
A woman walked by, pushing a stroller with a chubby baby inside. The baby gurgled happily as his mom beamed down at him.
I let out a long sigh. “She’s not...She’s not coming back, you know. If she was, she would have by now.”
Ian picked at a hangnail on his thumb. “I know.”
“But we’ve done good without her. We’re a team, you and me and Dad. We’ve managed to take care of each other.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a candy bar. He started to unwrap it, but I snatched it away.
“Hey,” he said, reaching for it.
I held him back. “Don’t expect Trisha to come into our lives and fix everything. Because she can’t do that. She’s not Mom, she doesn’t have the answers.”
“I don’t expect her to fix everything!” Ian’s eyes became glassy with tears and he made another grab for the chocolate.
“We don’t need anyone else, okay? Tell me you understand. We don’t need a new mom, we’re fine without one.”
It was very important that Ian understand this. The two of us were a team as well. When Dad lost himself in self-help books and singles meetings, Ian and I were the ones who kept each other grounded and sane. We had endured everything together.
But my brother’s expression was hardened by years of disappointment. Our team had fallen apart sometime when I wasn’t paying close attention.
“What’s wrong with wanting things to change?” Ian’s question surprised me so much he was able to grab the candy bar from my hand. He stood up, glaring down at me as he clutched his chocolate in his fist. “You don’t have all the answers either, Avery. Maybe we need someone else to fix things for us once in a while.”
Before I could say anything in response, my brother spun on his heel and ran down the corridor, leaving me stunned on the bench while life continued on around me.
Chapter 12
The headlights of my car illuminated a lone, dark figure walking down the sidewalk as I drove home from Diggity Dog House. I could only see his back, but he and the dirty orange backpack slung over one shoulder looked familiar, so I slowed down a bit.
I stopped a few feet ahead and pushed the button to roll down the passenger window.
“Why are you walking at this time of night?” I asked when Zac caught up to me and leaned down to look in the window. The bright blue numbers on my dashboard clock read 10:17.
“I had to work tonight,” Zac said. “My dad wasn’t ready to leave yet and I didn’t want to wait for him, so I decided to walk.”
“But you have a car,” I pointed out.
“Not today. My mom’s car is in the shop and so she’s driving mine. Hannah dropped me off at work this afternoon and she was supposed to come pick me up. But then she couldn’t.” He shrugged. “Really heavy study session or whatever.”
I waved a hand at the empty passenger seat. “Would you like a ride? Or do you prefer walking in the dark?”
Zac grinned. “Walking does help burn off my excess energy. But I think I’ve burned off plenty of energy working, so yes, I’d love a ride.” He opened the door and plopped down into the seat, tossing his backpack to the floor under his feet. I cringed when I remembered how dirty his shoes were. Would all the neighbors kill me if I vacuumed my car at midnight?
I pulled away from the curb as Zac looked around my Honda, inspecting the gleaming interior and plastic seat covers.
“How long have you had this car?” Zac asked.
“Since I got my license last year,” I said. “It’s used, but it’s in pretty good condition.”
“It’s in perfect condition. It still has that new car smell.”
“Oh, I clean it a lot,” I said, shrugging. “It didn’t look this good when I bought it.”
Zac tapped the seat cover. “Let me guess, the plastic is your doing?” I glanced over and saw him grinning impishly at me.
“I don’t want anyone spilling stuff on my seats,” I said. “You can never be too careful. And on that note, eating and drinking inside the car is strictly prohibited. That’s rule number one for all passengers in my car.”
“You should live a little.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Taking the plastic off my seats and risking stains is living a little?”
“Stains tell a story,” Zac said, waving his arms as he spoke. “My car is full of random stains.”
This I didn’t doubt at all. I could imagine the mess that must have been Zac Greeley’s car.
“There’s this stain on my driver’s seat from the day I had the best cherry-lime-grape slushie ever.”
“Cherry-lime-grape?” I asked, shuddering. “Sounds disgusting.”
“Not if I make it. It’s an art and you have to have the right amount of cherry to lime to grape ratio. Anyway, I spilled some of it in my lap on my way back home and that stain is there to remind me every day of how awesome that particular slushie was.”
I wrinkled my nose. “You may like your belongings stained and dirty, but I value cleanliness and organization. I’ll keep my car slushie-free, thank you.”
There were only a few cars on the road as I turned a corner and pulled into the subdivision where Zac lived. The streetlights every few yards cast shadows across the dashboard as I drove, illuminating Zac’s face in the corner of my eye for a moment.
“Let me guess, you were the kid all the other parents told their kids to be more like, right?” Zac asked me. “You had the perfectly clean room, with all your toys put away as soon as you were done playing, and you happily did all your chores.”
My hands tightened on the steering wheel and I stared straight ahead as I drove. The sting in the corners of my eyes warned me not to look at Zac or risk letting him see my weakness. “Actually no. I used to be messy and disorganized. My dad always threatened to throw out all of my toys if I didn’t clean my room up every now and then.”
I could feel Zac’s eyes on me, as if he didn’t believe that and was looking for a sign that I was lying.
“What happened?” he asked after a moment. He patted my shoulder. “Brain transplant, right?”
My laugh came out like a snort. “That’s not even possible outside of science fiction.”
“You never know what secrets the government is hiding from us. So, really, what happened to the messy Avery of yesteryear?”
“Well...my mom left.”
Zac sucked in a deep breath. “Oh,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
I was thankful for the darkness. At least that way I didn’t have to see the look of pity I knew he was giving me right then. Everyone gave me that look, which was why I never talked about my mom except when necessary.
“It’s fine,” I told him. “But when she left, I started cleaning and organizing. And then I figured out that made me feel better.”
Zac’s fingers tapped out a soft beat on his knee. “You felt in control,” he said. “You couldn’t control your mom’s leaving, so organizing everything else in your life gave you some back.”
I sucked my lower lip between my teeth, silent for a moment as I drove on. Who knew Zac Greeley was an amateur psychologist in disguise?
“Yeah, I guess so,” I said at last.
The conversation was getting too heavy for my comfort. I needed to turn the focus away from me. “So, what’s the deal with your job? Your dad wants you to take over the business, but you don’t want to?”
Zac’s fingers stopped tapping and lay still on his knee. “That’s basically the deal. My grandfather started Greeley Lock and Key like fifty years ago. My dad runs it now and his dream is to pass it on to me because I got lucky enough to be born his only son. So I have to work there a few days a week after school and on weekends. My dad hopes if he forces me to spend time there, eventually I’ll grow to love it.”
“But you don’t want to be a locksmith,
” I said. “What do you want to do?”
“I don’t want to tell you,” Zac said, leaning his head back against the seat.
“Why not?”
“Because you’ll think it’s stupid. Hannah thinks it’s stupid.”
Being compared to Hannah felt like a punch to the gut. “I promise I won’t think it’s stupid.”
He extended his right hand toward me, pinky out. “Pinky swear?”
“You seriously want me to pinky swear?”
“Yes, or else I’m not telling you a thing.”
I lifted one hand from the steering wheel to hook pinkies. “I haven’t done this since like the fourth grade, you know.”
“Pinky swears are still one of the last bonds people know not to break,” Zac told me. “Think about it. Have you ever broken a pinky swear?”
I could only remember one major pinky swear, between Hannah, Elliott, and me. When we were six, we pinky swore to always be best friends and tell each other everything.
“Not that I recall,” I said, pushing the memory away. “Now quit changing the subject. What is this top secret dream of yours?”
He sucked in a deep breath before saying quickly, “I want to be a comedian.”
I glanced over to find him looking at me. “Seriously?” I asked.
“There’s nothing serious about a comedian,” Zac said. “That’s against the rules of comedy. But yeah, that’s what I want to do. I even do a few routines down at the Rose Castle. My dad would not approve, which is why he doesn’t know about it.”
“I didn’t know the Rose Castle had a comedy show.”
Zac nodded. “Oh, yeah. Every Saturday night.”
How was it possible I didn’t know this about a place that I went to often?
“Are you going to keep it a secret forever?” I asked. “You don’t exactly look happy working in a locksmith store.”
“Maybe not forever,” Zac admitted, “but for the next forty years or so, yes. My dad’s under a lot of stress. The store isn’t doing well and he’s been getting these offers from developers wanting to buy out the land and tear down the shop.”