A bag of unidentifiable red powder (Is Mom an underground drug dealer???)
A heinously large sun hat
Pink rubber gloves that go up to her elbows
A large bowl big enough to hold a toddler
A few minutes later, against my will, I find myself walking with her to the herb garden on the side of the house. She’s wearing the sun hat, which has a visor that’s almost as big as the bowl she’s carrying.
“Nice hat,” I say in a sarcastic tone.
“It may not be fashionable, but it does a very important job protecting my skin. You should at least wear daily sunscreen if this type of hat is not to your standards. I saw some early signs of sunspots. Then it’s only a matter of time before the wrinkles start to appear.”
I’m too young to have sunspots. Aren’t I? Andwrinkles?
I have the sudden urge to run back into the house and stare at my skin in a magnifying mirror, but my mom stops me. “We need to turn the soil and prepare it for a new harvest. But first we have to clear the old one.”
I give her a blank look. I mean, she may as well be speaking another language.
“It’s easy,” she says, taking my cue. “All you need are gloves and a good attitude.” I’m about to point out that I don’t have either of those when she tosses a pair of gardening gloves to me.
“These are green onions.” She shows me a row of tall green stems growing out of the dirt. “They’re fully matured and ready to be picked.”
“Okay, how do I do that?”
She reads my face, trying to tell if I’m making a joke. When she sees that I’m not, she says, “You just pull them out.” Then she shows me by doing literally just that. She dusts the dirt off the white roots and places them in the large bowl. “See?”
She’s right. It’s not that hard. But after a million of them (okay, probably dozens), my back hurts, the sun is scorching, and I’m covered in dirt. I glance over at my mom, whose face is completely covered by the shade from the brim of her hat and, more notably, sweat-free. I hate to admit it, but I kinda, sorta do envy my mom with her ugly visor.
After I clear the planter and trim the rosemary bush, the chives, and the other herbs, she finally calls it a day. I follow my mom intothe kitchen to do…“More work?”I exclaim as my mom hands me a bag of groceries from the fridge. After being covered in a film of dirt on every exposed part of my body, I thought we’d earned ourselves a break or, at the very least, a hot shower.
“Who did you imagine was going to cook dinner for us? Carolina?” Mom cocks her head at me, exasperated.
I bite my tongue from responding. The truth is, the thought never entered my mind. Now that Mom and Dad are home, I sort of expected the food to just…be there. God, I miss Carolina. I have enough sense to know my mom would be disappointed in me—more than she already is—if I admitted that, so instead I say, “Can’t we DoorDash something?”
My mom doesn’t dignify my question with an answer. “Help me unload the groceries.”
I do as I’m told and begin taking out the contents of the bag. Staring at the inventory, all produce and meat, I frown. “I don’t remember buying any of this.”
“I had to go to the store when I noticed there wasn’t anything but snacks and instant food.”
“That was because I thought we were going to be here temporarily,” I counter.
