“Eww, no.”
I picked up her bikini bottom and washed it in the sink while my baby took her first step into the sisterhood.
“How’re you doing in there?” I bent down, handing her the rinsed bathing suit bottom under the door.
“Mom, go away.”
Even though Zelda shooed me, I was grateful she’d found me and that I hadn’t missed this moment. When I was twelve, I’d been the first to get my period, so I couldn’t rely on my friends. I had a vivid memory of my mother, who’d never used a tampon, trying unsuccessfully to teach me; it made me wince, then smile.
A few minutes later Zelda walked out of the stall, and I hugged her before she pushed me away.
“Let’s go find Tara.”
By the time I got back to the lounge chair, it was surrounded by heaps of green Woodlands knapsacks. My foot got caught in a strap, and I fell onto a seat.
“How’s Zelda feeling?” Abby asked.
“She got her first period today,” I said.
Abby laughed. “Like mother, like daughter. How old were you when you got yours?”
“Just about the same age as Zelda.”
“It’s a rite of passage, getting your period at sleepaway camp. Zelda was lucky that you were here with her,” Bethany said.
I felt tears well up and tried to hold them back but couldn’t.
“What’s wrong?” Abby asked.
I couldn’t catch my breath. I tugged at the Hello Kitty towel I was sitting on to wipe my face, but the tears were unrelenting. “I have no one to call.”
“What does that mean?” Bethany asked.
“Oh, I know. You can’t call your mother,” Abby said.
I nodded. “My mother left me sitting on the toilet moaning to call my grandmother. There’s no one for me to call.”
“I didn’t even tell my mother—my sister helped me,” Bethany said. “I remember one day about a year later my mother toldme she was taking me to the doctor because I hadn’t gotten my period yet. She was so angry when I told her I had.”
“It was like a coming out party in my house,” Abby said. “My grandmother, mother, aunt, and sister were all there. My aunt went and bought a cake from Carvel to celebrate. Because, you know, nothing says ‘welcome to monthly cramps’ like Fudgie the Whale.”
I smiled, listening to their anecdotes as the tears continued streaming down my face.
“Why do you think it’s hitting you so hard?” Abby asked.
I took a deep breath. “Zelda getting her period made me realize how much I miss my mother. Today was the first time in ages that I wanted her, and well, the reality of not being able to share this moment . . .”
“I understand. I’d give anything to share a bran muffin and a cup of coffee with my mom so I could catch her up on my life,” Abby said.
“You guys are making me miss mine, even though we argued all the time. It’d be wonderful to hear her hollering at me once more,” Bethany said.
“I’m sorry. I don’t want to bring you all down with me. I feel like I’m crying more now than when my mom died.” I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. “When she was diagnosed with lung cancer, I was pregnant with Hazel, and Zelda was only two. Hazel was born less than a month after Mom died. I was juggling so much, I guess I didn’t have the time to properly grieve, and now look at me.”
“Go figure, all of us lost our mothers when we were young. Do you think that’s why we followed our kids to camp?” Abby asked as she leaned over and hugged me.
The four of us sat together on cheap plastic lounge chairs, surrounded by knapsacks, on a sweltering Monday afternoon in July, at a waterpark, as sisters.
Abby and I waited outside the dining pavilion. Sitting in the hot sun the entire day was both relaxing and exhausting, and I still wasn’t feeling well. We’d decided to hold onto the meal tickets instead of handing them out to the counselors. If they lost the tickets, there’d be no dinner for them at the parkorat camp.
