It’s 7:44 in the morning.
“What the hell,” I whisper to myself. That was…the most bizarre dream I’ve ever had in my life. The service and lunch. The ring. Fighting with Marcus and waking up at my first date with Jason. I must have imagined it all.
But my phone says it’s Sunday.
The service for Jason was supposed to be on Saturday.
I lift my hand, and the stone Mrs.R gave me gleams in the dark. Yesterday was real.
Yesterday was real, and yet I have zero memory of how I got home, or of anything that happened after Marcus and I had that weird episode.
I wonder if this whole thing is because of the car accident. Maybe I really did have some sort of concussion, and now mymemory is getting patchy. Or maybe I’m not getting enough sleep. Ever since the crash, my sleep has been a little inconsistent.
“Please don’t let me be losing my mind,” I say, pleading with some nameless, shapeless entity.
I Google “side effects of head injury” and come upon a horrifying list of things that might explain why I’m suddenly getting headaches, why I found myself in a memory from the past, why I don’t remember how Saturday ended at all.
I head out of my room to find my mother. Maybe she’ll insist on taking me to the hospital when I tell her what’s been happening.
“Mom?”
Downstairs, Mom is pacing the dining room floor, her cell phone in hand. Her hair is in a bonnet, she’s still in her pajamas, and the person on the other side of the line is speaking in an urgent tone.
“…obviously launch the offensive, but we don’t want to be caught on our back foot,” Mom’s chief of staff is saying, and she’s nodding even though he can’t see her.
When Mom first ran for mayor, I worried that she’d fall on her face, embarrass us. After all, Sterlingwood has never elected a person of color for mayor. Like, ever.
If Sterlingwood is like a body, all its organs and tissues coordinated and genetically the same, then people like us and Mo’s family are moles. Small, superficial but glaring differences, to be monitored at best, and feared at worst. My parents were both from bigger cities, Dad from Boston and Mom from Portland. They met in Portland when my father accidentally sideswiped Mom’s car, one of his famous mishaps. Already, Mom had a plan to settle into small-town life, then work her way up in politics.
Mom went into office when crime was up, when the town was in debt, when simple things like garbage collection and library fees were huge points of contention. But if there was one thing my mother knew, it was how to clean up a mess. I should have known not to doubt her.
“Can I talk to you for a second?” I ask.
Mom frowns her disapproval at me. “Not now, Zadie.”
She takes the phone off speaker and I feel small as I decide to wait my turn.
Just the way she takes care of so much else in this town, my mother took charge and organized Dad’s funeral, delegating everything so I didn’t have very much to do. She handled the drudgery of letting people know. She handled the flowers, the obituary, the eulogy, all the work that gets heaped on you for simply loving someone who’s died. Dad wasn’t her husband anymore, but he was still my father, still her ex.
While I wait, I make breakfast. Mom rarely gets to eat in the mornings because she’s always rushing out, but if I’m quick and strategic, I can get her to have something on the run. Since she’s not in a hurry today, I take my time making scrambled eggs, toast, and black coffee, even though coffee without sugar tastes like I imagine engine oil would. I present it all to her while she’s still on the phone, and she squeezes my arm in thanks. She also takes that moment to lift my hand up and inspect the ring on my finger, and I can tell she’s pleased. We’ve never talked about the promise ring, but I know Mom approves of Jason. As far as sweet, wholesome boyfriends go, it doesn’t get much better than him.
From her one-sided conversation, I manage to glean that the drama is about a new attack ad coming from Sterlingwood’sright-wing party, Mom’s toughest competition, if you can call them that. They were the runner-up to her in the last election, with just twentysomething percent of the vote. Throughout this latest election cycle, they have released a few weak anti–Mayor Wendy ads, twisting her words or using unflattering photos, but none of it has worked. My mother always looks, acts, sounds immaculate. Mom’s reelection campaign is basically a technicality at this point, and she’s pretty much guaranteed a new three-year term. But for the first time that I remember, she seems worried.
Mom guzzles the coffee then picks at the rest of her food while she continues on the phone. Right then, she glances at me. “Honesty matters to me. You know that.”
Her look and the wordhonestyjolt me, and I start to wonder if maybe I’m misunderstanding this whole thing. What if someone found out I lied and told Mom or is trying to use it against her or something? My heart dips, and despite myself, I speak again. “Is everything okay?”
Mom covers her microphone. “Zadie, I am having a conversation. Please be patient.”
Okay, so not about me, then.
I feel like a little kid who has been chastised—stung, then ashamed.
The last thing I want is to stress Mom out, to make her deal with crap that isn’t important, or to have her think I’m one more mess she has to tackle. I’m going to deal with this myself, I decide, as I jump in the shower and start to get ready for the day. All that’s really happened is that I’ve had a couple of headaches and relived one of my favorite Jason memories. Talk about blowing things out of proportion when I should be thinking of it like a gift, being ableto see me and Jason like we were. Young and in love and at the start of forever, instead of at the end of it.
Last night reminded me that we had the best first date ever…except for the kiss.
Maybe Jay didn’t like the fact that Zadie kissedhim. I’ve never known Jason to be that uptight, but something was off. And even though Jason’s not here for me to ask, I want to know what it was.
