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i count my blessings. yes, i do
BELL
“Mom, before you go, let me just say this. You havegotto trade in that jacket for a real coat before Christmas.”
Guess I hadn’t done all that great a job of pretending I wasn’t cold during my two-day Thanksgiving visit. We’d just pulled up to “Babe Station,” as Gemidgee locals called the building-sized statue of Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox that served as the university town’s trans-city bus stop.
My youngest daughter, Noelle, unloaded my roller board from the back of her Ford Focus and scowled at the old leather jacket I’d been wearing since before I dropped out of the University of Minnesota-Gemidgee. “That ancient relic is not going to be enough to protect you against a Minneapolis winter.”
She had a point. Even with gloves, a scarf, and my thick Minnesota Museum of Black Heritage hoodie underneath, the jacket hadn’t been enough to protect me from a Gemidgee late fall.
Still…
“Hey, I’ve had this jacket for longer than you’ve been alive,” I answered with a defensive huff. One that would’ve been way more convincing if my breath hadn’t turned white in the freezing air. “I’m never trading it in. Do you know how hard it is to find well-made leather jackets with gold zippers these days?”
“I’m not saying you have to get rid of it, but what happened to that gray coat Holly and I got you two Christmases ago?”
I shifted uncomfortably. “Well, Linda said gray wasn’t doing my warm undertones any favors.”
“Linda?” Noelle squinted. “Are you talking about that unhoused lady who’s always hanging outside the museum you work at?”
“She gives great fashion advice,” I insisted. “Before the voices started up, she interned atTeen Vogue.”
Instead of looking impressed, Noelle’s eyes narrowed even more. “Mom. IsLindawhat happened toyourwinter coat?”
I grimaced. “The thing is, she has cooler undertones, and yeah, it’s only fall, but it’s been really cold this Novem?—”
“Okay, let’s reopen the conversation about you moving back to Gemidgee.” Noelle cut me off before I could finish explaining about November’s record lows. “You’re way too nice, Mom. Always letting people take advantage of you. First, my dad, now this Linda woman.”
I took the handle of my roller board from her. “Linda’s nothing like your father.” I didn’t mean to snap, but I had a hard time keeping the anger out of my voice.
Linda was an older woman whose dreams had been railroaded by mental illness. Dennis was a narcissist who took and took until you were bled dry.
Noelle’s expression softened. “I’m sorry, Mom. I know that was a really painful time for you. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“You didn’t,” I lied. It wasn’t her fault I was so sensitive around the subject of her father. “It’s just, Linda doesn’t have anyone.”
“That’s why I’m trying to get you to move back to Gemidgee. Holly’s in Vancouver. And Cousin Merry shocked everybody by turning outnotto be in a long-term lesbian relationship and moving to Germany. Now that Aunt Joy moved there to join her, you’re the only family I have nearby. Aren’t you lonely down there in that apartment all by yourself?”
Yes, a little. But that didn’t mean I wanted to move back to my hometown, where all my dreams of becoming an artist had graveyarded.
Luckily, the Brandt Motor Coach chose that moment to pull up with a Minnesota Express sign rolling across its digital window screen.
“Hey, I’m fine—but I’m not going to lie anymore, I am a little cold.” I opened my arms. “So, give me a big hug so I can get on this warm bus.”
Noelle, who was a few inches taller and much heavier than me, bent down to envelop me in a warm hug without any further argument.
“I’m going to miss you,” I told her. “But I’m okay. I like my life in Minneapolis. It’s little, but it’s mine.”
“I get that. But…” Noelle pulled back from the hug. “I worry about you.”
I worried about her, too. Her and Holly.
My oldest daughter hadn’t been back to visit Minnesota since her divorce, and now she was working herself to the bone to pay an outrageous amount of alimony to her deadbeat street-artist ex.
And even though Noelle was a surgical nurse who’d moved in with her surgeon boyfriend a few months ago, I didn’t like that relationship for her, either. Dr. Bradford Tate was arrogant and patronizing. I hated how he treated my daughter like an assistant, even outside of the OR.
