Jackson looked like he wanted to argue, but instead said, “Yeah, sure, Mac. This chick ain’t worth my time.” I flipped him off as they got back on their bikes and rode away.
When I climbed into the car to wait for my mom, I braced for the inevitable feelings that being alone somewhere quiet would bring. Oddly enough, I had started to welcome them. At least they were something, compared to the usual emptiness. But this time, they didn’t come. I thought about Jackson and his friends, how he met me tit for tat instead of tiptoeing around me. I could appreciate that. I was so tired of being handled like I was going to break, like I wasn’t already broken. That little argument had felt like therapy. I should know I had been to plenty of sessions.
Except, somehow, my mind wasn’t replaying every word looking for landmines. There was no spiral, no shame, no script I needed to rewrite. Just… quiet. Because someone had actually pushed back instead of treating me like a fractured, porcelain doll. Pretty and delicate, and in need of repairs.
About thirty minutes later, my mom appeared out of the store. “That girl was so nice! She helped me pick out a bunch of things and even arranged for it all to be delivered. Must be those Southern manners I hear so much about.” She hummed a tune under her breath, reaching for the radio. “Where should we go for dinner? Your dad said he was going to be a bit longer at the hospital.”
I sighed, resisting the urge to get out of the car and just run. She wasn’t just dismissing our earlier spat. She was acting as if it hadn’t even happened. It was so typical of her, I really shouldhave been used to it by now, instead of the disappointment creeping through my chest. I wanted her to see me, to speak to me, not at me. But I just said. “Whatever’s good, Mom.”
Mom wanted to “get a taste for local cuisine,” so we found ourselves at a little rinky-dink spot called Laverne’s. The booths were all faded, the tables stained, and the floor was kind of sticky. When we walked in, she made a face like she was fixing to tuck tail and find somewhere else. But a big, loud woman hollered from somewhere in the back, “Hiya, folks! Be right with ya!”
Mom grimaced at me. “I guess we just seat ourselves?” She took approximately ten years picking a booth in the mostly empty restaurant. My guess? She was trying to find the cleanest one. Finally, we slid into a booth covered with local advertisements, and I tried to fight back a smile at the sight of my uppity mother clutching her purse in front of her like a shield.
A few minutes later, the lady came over and greeted us with a wide smile that showed off a couple of missing teeth, her brown eyes warm and friendly yet incredibly sharp. She was wearing a rather hideous, cheap tracksuit, a giant fake diamond pendant, and her wig looked like two balls of yarn had gotten into a fight with a curling iron. I instantly liked her. My mom looked at her with what could be described as wide-eyed horror. She handed us two menus, which, unsurprisingly, were faded and old.
“Welcome to Laverne’s, y’all. I haven’t seen you around before! I’m Momma Laverne, though everyone just calls me Momma. What can I do for ya today? My chicken fried steak is on special, if you’re feeling hungry.”
My mother was still staring at Momma Laverne like she wasn’t sure if the woman was even real. Momma Laverne, for her part, didn’t seem to mind in the least. She had the kind ofenergy that said, “Go on and stare. I’m a lot to take in, and I’m ok with that. Love me or leave me.”
I glanced between her and my mother for a minute then cleared my throat, “Umm, yeah, actually. We just moved from California. Mom wanted to find a spot for authentic Southern food. I googled it and found this place.”
Had I noticed how worn down the place looked in the Google pictures? Absolutely. Had I mentioned it to my mother? Definitely not. And her reaction was even better than I could’ve imagined. “I will happily take your chicken fried steak.” I was genuinely confused on how chicken and steak could be in the same sentence, or how you were supposed to fry a steak. But it couldn’t be that bad if it was on special…I hoped.
Momma Laverne switched her attention to me. “And what sides would you like with that, honey?”
I blinked at her. “The usual?” Her laugh was as big and loud as she was, and my mom jolted like she had been physically shocked.
The woman winked at me, “The usual. You got it, honey.” I suddenly wondered what I had gotten myself into.
My mom finally found her voice, “Could I please have a cobb salad, with kale?”
Laverne tilted her head, “Doll, the closest thing I have to kale is collards, and I can promise you that won’t taste good in a salad. How about romaine?”
My mom looked at me like she wanted to make sure I wasn’t recording this as an elaborate joke. I grinned at her, and she chirped back, “Sure!” Laverne turned back towards her kitchen, hollering that she would have someone bring over drinks. My mom looked at me again, “But she didn’t even ask what we wanted to drink?”
I shrugged at her and looked towards the rest of the restaurant, taking everything in. There were old records nailedto the wall, a broken guitar hung up over a frayed and yellowed picture of a band, and newspaper clippings all over the place. I couldn’t smell much over the cloud of slightly overwhelming floral perfume Laverne had left behind, but, looking at the chipped flooring that can’t have seen a mop since before I was born, maybe that wasn’t a bad thing. God, I hoped my attempt to give my mother a heart attack didn’t end up killing us both with salmonella or some crap.
A girl about my age made her way over to us with a tray of drinks, and when she stopped at our table, my mom told her she had the wrong one, because no way that was all for us. The girl shook her head. “Nope, Momma said you guys wanted the real Southern experience. Welcome to Atlanta, by the way. I’m Maria.”
Maria set down two glasses of water and two glasses of a brown liquid, plus a little sugar caddy. My mom eyed it distrustfully. Maria was wearing a jacket despite the summer heat. I was dying in my sweatshirt, but my mom had told me that it wasn’t necessary as we left the house, and now, I was going to keep the thing on even if I melted.
Mom seemed to gather herself and smiled at the girl, who smiled back. “Thank you for the drinks, Maria. I’m Ruth, and this is my daughter, Holly. You guys look about the same age! She could use someone to show her around.”
I groaned and slumped in my seat. “Mom, please do not force me off onto some hapless girl like a lost puppy.”
Maria’s lip twitched, like she wanted to laugh. “You would be a very unusual puppy. I heard you’re from Cali? Maybe I could call you Sunny?” I gaped at her, then reached for my straw like I had suddenly become very interested in trying the drink she had brought over. Of course, I dropped the stupid thing, and Maria bent over to grab it for me. I bent over at the same time, and that was when I saw it.
A familiar blue-purple. Another spot of fading yellow.
Her eyes met mine, and she practically threw the straw down and said. “Enjoy your tea!” before disappearing into the back of the restaurant.
I stared after her, trying to process what I had just seen. Someone had hurt her, like really hurt her. That one bruise had been fresh, too. No wonder she was wearing the jacket. What else was she hiding? I was pulled from my racing thoughts by my mother coughing and spluttering like she was a victim of waterboarding.
I looked over at her as she set the glass of tea down on the table and raised an eyebrow in question. She gestured at the glass. “That is positively foul. That girl said it was tea, and I took a big sip, thinking it would be a nice bit of refreshment from this heat. I think I’ll just stick with the water.” She pushed it away from her like it might bite and took a hesitant sip of the water before smiling at me.
I tried the tea myself, still thinking of Maria, and found myself agreeing with my mother. It wasn’t as bad as she had made it out to be, but I could practically feel the sugar gathering on my tongue. Hard pass. A little tea with your sugar, anyone? She pulled out her phone while we waited for our food, leaving me alone with my thoughts. A few minutes later, Maria came back out with a massive tray carefully balanced on her shoulder. This time, I was sure she had the wrong table. She didn’t speak much, just naming the dishes as she set them down.
Mom’s salad. My chicken fried steak. A bowl of collards, whatever that was. Mashed potatoes. Corn on the cob. Yams, which looked like a suspicious pile of orange covered in marshmallows. And pinto beans. Momma Laverne appeared behind her with a plate of something she called cornbread. My mother stared at the food, which was easily enough to feedten people. I stared at Maria, who seemed very determined to pretend like I wasn’t there.
