He rubs his lips together, and glances over at me, then back at the road. A few seconds pass before he says, “Why do you say you weren’t as smart as us? You got good grades.”
“I guess. But I wasn’t like, in all the AP classes like you guys were.”
“I thought you were.” His profile looks genuinely confused.
“No. I was in all the dummy classes.”
“You’re not dumb,” he says firmly, and his tone sort of startles me. He glances over at me. “You shouldn’t say that about yourself, you know. You weren’t dumb. You were talented. With the photography stuff.”
It’s the nicest thing he’s said to me so far. I shrug in response, not really wanting to ruin the moment.
The directions Juanita gave us leads to a trailer park just a few miles from the exit.
Ethan parks the Blazer next to a lemon-yellow single-wide with lemon-yellow curtains in the windows.
I knock on the door and there’s the sound of footsteps from inside, then a woman with long white hair and a dentured smile opens the door.
Ethan clears his throat. “Um, hi,” Ethan says. “I’m here for my brother’s ashes?”
“Come on in, Ethan and Ethan’s friend,” Juanita says, opening the screen door and stepping aside.
We stomp snow off our boots before stepping into the trailer. I get an eerie feeling, one that has the hairs on the back of my neck standing up as we go inside. I’m not really sure why, because everything inside the trailer—including her—makes me feel like I’m in some kind of hippie storybook dream.
Juanita wears a frilly, patchwork skirt with a sage-green knitted sweater. A couple of layers of beads are around her neck. Some of the beads are shaped like little flowers and mushrooms. As Juanita offers to take our coats, I look around and see lots of knickknacks everywhere. Mostly of mushrooms. Lots and lots of mushrooms. And gnomes. The air is heavy with the scent of patchouli.
“We really can’t stay,” Ethan says. “We’ve got a long drive ahead of us.”
“I know you do, honey,” Juanita says. “But I made us some tea.”
Ethan frowns and looks around the sunshine-bright trailer. He looks almost comically out of place, standing there in all black, with his eyeliner and nail polish. But Juanita just smiles at him as if she hasn’t even noticed.
I take off my coat. “Let’s have a cup of tea, Ethan.”
Ethan seems like he’s going to roll his eyes and argue, but he takes off his coat too, just as Juanita turns to us from her little lemon-yellow kitchen, also decorated with pictures of mushrooms and gnomes. In the middle of the kitchen table is a porcelain figurine of an anthropomorphic mushroom with wide, innocent eyes and green moss for hair, grinning at a caterpillar on its hand. It weirdly reminds me of something my grandma had in her hoard years ago. I start to wonder if it’s something that all old ladies like.
“How are you, sweetie?” Juanita asks Ethan, pouring hot water from a lemon-yellow kettle into lemon-yellow mugs.
Ethan shoves his hands in his pockets. “Okay.” He looks around again. “Um, where’s the urn?”
“Right over there.” She nods to a bay window at the end of the trailer. Ethan goes over and picks up the urn and cradles it in his arms.
“I think your brother liked watching all that snow we had,” Juanita says, setting a lemon-yellow tray with the tea on a little table by the window. “My neighbor’s boys were out in that lot yesterday, trying to build a snowman.” She sits and invites the both of us to sit as well.
I sit down, but Ethan hesitates. “What do you mean my brother waswatching?”
Juanita hands him a steaming mug. “He was your older brother, wasn’t he?”
Ethan tentatively takes the mug, and I pick up one from the tray. “Yeah, he was,” Ethan replies and tries to take a sip of the tea.
“That’s hard,” she says sadly. “When it’s someone you looked up to.” Her kind smile settles on me. “You must be a family friend.”
“I…am.” I smile back, glancing at Ethan.
Ethan quickly glances at me and takes another sip of the tea. I take one too. It tastes kind of floral.
Juanita looks from him to me. “It’s hard to lose a friend too. You boys have been through a lot.” She nods to the mugs. “Drink up now while it’s nice and hot. It’s got chamomile in it.”
Ethan and I take a drink in unison. If this were any other situation with a different person, I might be suspicious of them wanting me to drink some tea they made. But the eerie feeling I had earlier has settled a little. I feel oddly comforted by this lady, as if I’ve met her before. The tea is sweet and soothing, and I vaguely remember the taste. I think maybe I made this tea for my grandma once before when she was anxious.
