“Oh, honey. I can imagine. Jet lag can do such terrible things to your stomach.” She smiles at Niki, the real estate agent who’s joined us with a tablet to show us houses that she thinks would be a good fit for me. “When I was jet-lagged with Ziggy, I wanted avocado and peanut butter almost every day. The peanut butter, we could afford. The avocados, not as much.”
Niki, a kind woman in her mid-forties, blinks slowly at Mom but doesn’t question whyjet lagwould cause stomach problems and cravings. Or how one can bejet-laggedwith someone else.
It’s a rule in places like this.
You don’t question what the eccentric rich lady says.
Right now, I wish Mom wasn’t the eccentric rich lady. I wish we hadn’t moved into Roland’s swanky Heartwood Valley mansion. That I hadn’t met Abby Nora. That Mom and I still lived in our one-bedroom apartment in the Warehouse District.
But wishing Roland out of Mom’s life is awful and makes me feel guilty.
He makes her happy. Their life together makes her happy.
Just like I get to find what makes me happy.
Maybe I don’t need a house.
Maybe I need a one-bedroom apartment in the Warehouse District.
“I was on an overnight flight once where beets caused a large problem,” Niki says.
I’ve asked my family to please not tellanyoneabout my pregnancy until I’m at least into my second trimester, and yes, I continued the excuse of letting Abby Nora have the pregnancy spotlight as the reason.Jet lagis Mom’s code wordtoday, and Niki clearly thinks we’re actually talking about travel.
Necessary.
She runs into Abby Nora’s in-laws all the time. Real estate circles and all that.
Mom swirls her chardonnay and smiles at Niki. “I love beets. We used to grow them in a community garden.”
Niki turns to me. “Do you have any interest in gardening, Ziggy?”
I swallow another potato.
Why do rosemary potato cubes taste like heaven? I’m not even jealous that my mom is having wine and I’m not. That’s how good this potato is.
“I have interest, but I don’t know if I have the time or energy.”
“That’ll come and go for the next few years.” Mom’s face freezes. “As you get over jet lag.”
This was a terrible idea.
“It’s a lot of work to start over when you have big dreams,” I say. “Even when you have support.”
“Yes! That’s what I meant. You’ll have a lot on your plate the next few years while you pursue your…big dreams.” She fiddles with one of her earrings as she smiles at Niki again. “We should make sure to limit our search to the Belmont District or here in Heartwood Valley. Guaranteed yard space for gardens for when Ziggy has the energy and time for it.”
A blond head catches my eye behind Mom, and I flinch.
Abby Nora’s here.
Here.
With her mother.
Being escorted to a table near the windows overlooking the golf course lake.
It’s the first time I’ve seen her in person since I was home on a break in early January, and the grief hits me hard and fast at knowing I can’t leap up, run across the room, and hug her like I used to.
My former best friend is in a navy-blue dress that shows off her baby bump, doing the full belly-waddle of an almost-nine-months-pregnant woman. Her due date is early August, but she’s far enough along that she could give birth any time now.
