Otis’s expression softened. “Of course.”
I threw him something between a wink and an kiss, which, judging by his face, looked as weird as it felt.
“Only if you promise never to dothatagain.”
Mom had no recollection of texting me. She looked up from a recipe book, genuinely surprised when I opened the door that led down to the store and entered the small, faded blue kitchen. The place smelled like a pastry shop, filled with the sticky-sweet scent of my childhood.?
“Otis. Nora.” Mom sat in her kitchen, a blanket wrapped around her thin frame. Her heavy German accent had never really faded. “What a nice surprise.”
Otis kissed her cheek; she swatted him away playfully. From across the room, I could smell the sour trace of liquor on her breath, but Otis’s face remained kind, judgment-free.
“Your text, Mom. Last night.” I kept my voice low, showing her the message.
She winced—so briefly it could’ve been a trick of the light. The thick layer of concealer covering her dark circles crackedslightly as she shook her head and pushed the phone back into my hand.
“How odd,” she said lightly, patting the chair beside her. “I just made pie. Why don’t you stay for a bite?”
I pushed down the sting of disappointment.
She didn’t hug me. Mom wasn’t soft arms that held you tight, almost suffocating. She wasn’t kisses on scratched knees, fussing over an elevated temperature. That role had been Dad’s. That overbearing sweetness that cocoons you in the certainty of unconditional love.
Her care wasn’t immediately obvious, but it padded the corners of my childhood with the overindulgence of too much butter cream. I couldn’t tell you the last time she told me she loved me. Not with her words anyway. But I could read it in the residue of flour underneath her fingernails nonetheless.
I went into the automatic routine of setting the table. Mom’s best china sat untouched on the shelf, covered with a thick layer of dust. Beside it a charcoal sketch I’d made of her, and a family portrait—well, just me and Dad.
I sometimes feared I’d forget his face. But seeing that photo was like looking in the mirror. Same sharp jawline. Same thick, almost-black hair. Same green eyes, their own special-shade. Christmas tree green. Black Forest green.
I’d come to Mom’s and look at this picture, and my stomach would unknot itself with a feeling like,Of course, this is what he looked like.?
I bent to grab the everyday plates—the charity shop ones, not the ones for “special occasions” that never seemed to come. A wave of fatigue hit. My hands shook. I nearly dropped the stack.
“Liebling, Nora, is everything okay?”
I forced a smile. “Sure, Mom.”
“She’s been working like crazy, trying to pay—” Otis began. “To save for—” I shot him a look sharp enough to wound. My brain scrambled.
“A car.”
Even as I said it, I winced. That madezerosense. If you knew me at all, you knew Nora and cars did not mix.
Mom squinted at me. “A car? Whatever for?” Her voice stayed even, but her face had gone pale.
“Uhm…”
For most people, wanting a car would be reasonable. But even before the accident, Mom thought they were unnecessary. She’d grown up in Berlin. West Berlin, to be precise. That strange little island wedged in the Soviet-controlled east, floating in the American-controlled west. You couldn’t go anywhere. Half the city was its own micro-world. A strange cocktail of black-and-white TVs, queues for bananas, and forbidden Rolling Stones records. It must have been an odd transition for her. The borders of your life extending from half a city, to a country, then the world. Like a reverse Matryoshka doll.
Mom gave a vague “Mmh.” She didn’t believe me. But she didn’t push either. And for that I was grateful. The idea of telling her we might lose the shop made me dizzy.
“The neighbors told me Tobias’s wife is pregnant,” Mom said, pulling the coffee pot off the machine. “You two would’ve had such beautiful children.”
I swallowed a reply and mentally smacked myself for dodging the “we’re broke” talk only to walk right into the “Nora will die alone” one.
“That reminds me—Carol’s son is single again. I think he’s an attorney. Or a broker? I can’t quite remember. Handsome, that’s for sure.”
There was no point arguing that I was perfectly content on my own. That, just because she’d had the love of her life, not everyone needed to go through the same ordeal. I knew she meant well, but…
Otis made exaggerated kissing faces, then flashed a grin as soon as Mom turned to him. “Eva, I love what you’ve done with your hair today. Youhaveto stop gatekeeping that perfect curl.”
