“I know he said the timing wasn’t right, that he has a family, a house, a drooling mess of a dog that needs to be bathed three times a week, blah blah blah. But let me tell YOU something. I DON’T GIVE A DAMN. He and I have a connection, a deep, powerful spiritual bond. I can’t let it go. I won’t. I’ll fight for his love if I have to. I’ll even kill for it if that means we can be—"
Maud flipped off the television and sat up in her recliner. She recognized the sound of her daughter’s footsteps coming down the stairs. The girl dropped off the last step and landed on the floor with a thud.
“What were you watching? I heard yelling.”
“Girl mind your business. I wasn’t watching anything,” Maud shifted around in her recliner. “What have you been doing all day? I haven’t heard one peep out of ya since you got home from school…Better not have been talking to that little boyfriend of yours.”
“Eww. He’s not my boyfriend. He’s just a boy that’s a friend, that’s all.”
Maud snorted.
“Sure he is. Well, he ain’t much of a friend if he lets you eat how you do. Only boy who tolerate behavior like that is one who’s trying to get under your shirt.”
Her daughter shrieked.
“Oh my god, woman! Why do you have to be so cruel? He doesn’t like me like that. He’s just really nice to me. Probably the only person in this world that cares whether I’m alive or dead…which is more than I can say about you.”
“Girl, you better—"
“I read him my poetry, we talk about movies, he shows me his drawings! And you know what else? He doesn’t make me feel bad about what I eat!
Maud rolled her eyes and felt for the remote, but this only worked the girl up more. She was flush with rage.
“You’re just jealous! Jealous because nobody will ever want your ugly ass again. If you were so perfect, I’d have a dad to talk to instead of YOU.”
Maud didn’t flinch. She just stared at her daughter, the room was still and quiet.
“My ugly ass? You mean the ugly ass that puts food on the damn table? The ugly ass who keeps the sweet stuff in that round belly of yours? Darling, you better apologize and change your tone or else I’m locking your nymphet fanny up in the shed. You want to get wise at me? I’ll beat those gangly limbs of yours until they’re as tender as a stewed tomato.”
Silence. And then a sniffle. And finally, the girl wilted to the floor alongside her mother’s recliner. She let out a sob.
“Mama, I didn’t mean it. I know how much you do for me,” she was struggling to choke back the tears. “I also know I embarrass you and cost you lots of money we don’t have. I understand the doctors are expensive. I wish I could stop doing it. I would literally do anything to just be normal.”
Maud’s sour scowl turned sweet. Suddenly, she was reminded of a similar screaming match with her own mother. Twelve is a difficult age for a little lady.
“Aww sugar. Mama knows you’re trying. Just keep—”
“I am, though! I’m trying hard,” she burst out. “Some people just take longer to figure things out. That’s what the last doctor told me. And he actually really helped, I think. He told me about this one technique where you imagine your mind is like a sieve and all the bad thoughts fall through, and your just left with the happy feelings. I’m going to try it tomorrow!”
“That’s good, honey. I’m proud of you. You are my only daughter after all. It’s just us two against all the good-for-nothing bastards out there.”
She stared off dreamily for a moment before returning to the present. “Are you hungry, baby? It’s close enough to dinner time.”
Her daughter couldn’t help but nod enthusiastically. Maud hoisted herself from the recliner and struggled for a few seconds to get her balance. She looked down at her daughter and smiled. The two of them marched into the kitchen, and her daughter took a seat at the table.
Maud grabbed a big, round ceramic plate from the cabinet above the sink and gave it a quick wipe with the dishtowel. She dug into the fridge and emerged cradling a stack of plastic containers. On to the plate she spooned last night’s green beans, a dry piece of chicken breast, and a solidified scoop of mashed potatoes. She threw the plate in the microwave and filled a glass with water. All was silent except for the hum of the microwave. Maud stood and stared at it, quietly hypnotized by the plate as it rotated round and round.
Finally, it beeped.
She grabbed the hot plate from the microwave with her bare hands and stuck her middle finger deep into the mound of lumpy potatoes.
“Needs another 30 seconds. Potatoes still cold,” she said before turning her full attention on her daughter. “So, is this boy you’re talking to…is he cute at all? You’re using mama’s phone minutes, so she’s got a right to know who this mystery man really is.”
“Oh, mama. He’s not that mysterious. He’s just a boy. Likes to ride his bike around, sometimes he looks for fossils; he also plays the piano and…”
Before she could finish the microwave beeped again. Maud popped open the door and grabbed the plate before quickly placing it back on the counter.
“How sweet are you feeling today, darlin?”
The girl was happy the conversation shifted back to food.
“I’m feeling pretty sweet today, mama. I’m sorry I know that’s not what you wanted to hear. It’s just hard for me to get it down otherwise.”
Maud turned away from the counter and faced her daughter.
“It’s okay baby girl. At least you’re not giving in without thrashing around a bit. As long as you’re trying. I have a feeling that soon you’ll…”
“Actually,” the girl interrupted, “I think I’m feeling only sorta sweet. I think sorta sweet will do tonight. See, mama! Progress! Just like you asked.”
Maud smiled lovingly at her daughter.
“That’s wonderful, child. That is music to my one good ear. Remember, you’re my flesh and blood. We come from tough stock. Bunch of gritty women. Your grandma worked in the tin mines. Spent eight years pulling that metal out of the dirt. I swear I came out of her belly with crud under my nails…But, boy, she woulda got a kick out of you.”
Maud went back to preparing dinner. The food was already starting to cool. She shuffled over to the pantry and had to stand on her tippy toes to pluck a fresh bottle off the top shelf. Quickly she unscrewed the cap and flipped the whole bottle upside-down, dousing the green beans, roast chicken, and mashed potatoes in a pool of sticky, sickly-sweet maple syrup. With only a quarter of the bottle left, Maud squeezed the remaining glugs into her baby girl’s water and give it a quick stir with the handle of the fork.
She carried the plate to the table and set it down softly, presenting it with the elegance of a sommelier exhibiting their best Boudreaux. But her daughter eyed it skeptically. A reservoir of syrup had congealed around the mounds of potato, and a trickle of green bean juice had made the whole plate soggy. The girl prodded the food with her fork before eventually chiseling away a small chunk of potato and bringing it to her pouty lips. Maud watched eagerly.
“What do we think, sugar? Taste okay?”
“Mama,” she paused, “it tastes delicious, really delicious. Just how I like them.”
She smiled at her baby girl.
“But mama,” her daughter asked sheepishly, “do you think I can I just have a few more drops on my mashed potatoes. They’re a little lumpy.”