Alix
And you’re sure?
Grace
Alix. I want to.
Four words. No cushioning. No smiley face. No just or maybe or but. Her vision prickled a little. She faked a cough. Phyllis was mercifully busy putting leftover lentils in the fridge.
She typedThank youand erased it. She typedI miss youand erased it. She typedBring warm clothes and low expectationsand stared at it. Then she deleted it too. The right words felt both too big and too small.
She put the phone down and finished the lentils like a good patient. She told Phyllis she was going to shower, then stood under water that ran a little too hot and watched the last of Miami on her skin flood down the drain. When she came out in a giant T-shirt Phyllis had stolen from a yoga retreat in 1998 and a pair of boxers, the apartment felt more like itself. The late afternoon light had gone gold against the buildings across the street in a way that made even the dust on the windows look intentional.
She picked up her phone and texted Helen Wolf to let her know she’d be home for Christmas, and that she was bringing a friend. Her mom hearted the message, and sent back aYay! Email me your travel info when you get it!
Alix stared down at the text. She and her mom hadn’t been on good terms since… the nineties? And now her mom was acting like Alix coming home for Christmas was the most exciting thing to happen since… well, again, the nineties. She thought of texting Matt, her brother, to ask him if their parents had perhaps been exposed to mold poisoning.
Instead, she texted Grace.
Alix
What’s your coat situation?
The dots jumped.
Grace
I own coats.
Alix
Do they function or are they decorative?
Grace
Rude. Functional.
Alix
Okay, well, maybe check out your local REI because my town is a small postcard that forgot to update since 1993. There is a diner with a moose head and a liquor store that doubles as the post office.
Grace
Sounds cozy.
Alix
You are deranged.
Grace
I’m excited to see where you’re from.
Alix stared at that one a long time. The words reached in and circled something tender she’d kept buried. It was one thing to be wanted in the warm, noisy chaos of someone else’s family. It was another to ask someone to step into your own past, the place that had shaped your edges and then shoved you out of them. Bellvue, Colorado. The place where people still called her Alexandra like an incantation, like a refusal to see the person she’d chosen to be. The place where the air got so clean it hurt. Where she could longboard the cracked streets with her breath coming out in smoke and feel as if she were the only moving thing for miles.
Alix
My mom is definitely not like Connie, so I apologize in advance.
