PROLOGUE
The kitchen smelled like strawberries and batter. That’s the first thing I remember — the way the air clung to my skin, warm and sweet, like something magic. My feet stuck to the floor with every step, pulling up little popping sounds as I chased the sunbeams across the linoleum. The radio was playing something old and full of horns, fuzzy and skipping every few seconds like it was trying to remember how the song went.
Mama sang along anyway, off-key and loud. She held a wooden spoon like a microphone and danced around the kitchen like it was a stage. Dada watched her from the stove, smiling and tapping his foot to the beat.
“Gracie, how many waffles would you like?” Dada asked.
“Five, please!” I held up my hand to show him. “Like me!”
He nodded, turning back to the stove. “Exactly right, my smart girl. Five waffles coming right up!”
“Watch out!” Mama said as she spun past me in her socks, arms flung wide as if she could fly. “Crazy woman on the loose!”
“You’d better catch her before she flies away, Gracie!” Dada warned.
I giggled and threw up my arms to block her, laughing when she scoopedme up instead and spun me around. The light blue walls blurred with the white cabinets. I felt like we were spinning through the sky.
“Faster, Mama!”
“If I go any faster, we’ll both take off,” she said, eyes shining.
Her laughter bounced off the walls. I remember thinking it was the prettiest sound in the world. Prettier than music. Prettier than birds singing outside the window. Better than anything that came from cartoons. It sounded like something that would never stop. She smelled like vanilla lotion and cinnamon, and a little like the cigarette she’d left in the sink, forgotten.
“You girls relax. I’ll bring the food out shortly.” Dada continued to hum to the radio.
I pressed my face to Mama’s shoulder as she carried me to the couch and flopped down with a dramatic sigh.
“I’m pooped!” she announced. “We are never cooking again!”
“But Mama, we weren’t cooking. Dada was!”
“Excuse me?” She gasped. “You talking back to me, little missy? Oh, I’m going to get you!” She tickled my sides.
I shrieked and laughed until I could barely breathe. She kissed my hair and pulled me close. I grinned and snuggled closer.
Her arms wrapped around me, warm and familiar. She always held tight. Like she didn’t want to let go, even when she had to.
“Isobel, I have a secret,” she whispered into my ear.
“What is it, Mama?” I whispered back.
“You are my absolute favorite person in the whole wide world.” She smiled down at me.
“You told me that yesterday.” I giggled.
“Well,” she said, brushing a strand of hair from my forehead, “it’s still true today, and will remain true forever.”
“I love you, Mama.”
“I love you, my sweet Isobel.”
1 JUST ANOTHER DAY
“You stupid fucking bitch!” his voice travels down the hallway. A glass breaks, a chair gets knocked over, a dull thud, then back to the tense silence.
I sigh as the warmth of the dream melts away like cotton candy on my tongue. My chest aches whenever I dream of that time with Mama. I remember her words, even though I didn’t fully understand them. How the sunlight hit her face, how it caught in her hair, and how I thought she looked like a glowing angel.
I thought the world would always be that small. Just us, a messy kitchen, and music we could dance to. I didn’t know people could break. That sometimes they disappear without ever leaving. That love can curdle and laughter can fade like smoke. Sometimes, when I close my eyes, I go back to that moment. To her heartbeat under my cheek.
