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“Oh, okay.”
Oh, okay?That was it? The woman was talking about people she’d known twenty years ago like she’d seen them last week and that was just, okay?
“Here now, see? So pretty when they’re arranged nicely.” Returning with the bouquet in a glass vase, Ma places it on the sideboard in the hall. “If I put it here I’ll see it every time I come home from work.” Taking a sole bloom from the bunch, she passes behind the couch and then pauses. She stares at the back of Lizzie’s head for a moment, then leans forward to stroke her hair. Lizzie jumps where she sits.
“Ma!”
Mom jolts at my tone, snatching back her hand. The flower she was holding is now threaded behind Lizzie’s ear. There’s a look of pained confusion in Ma’s eyes. Like a toddler, on the brink of tears after being told off. It cuts me to the bone.
But what should I have done? She can’t just go grabbing at people.
“Oh, wow!” Lizzie’s voice is like a beam of light, cutting through the tension. She laughs, patting gently at the little white daisy in her hair. “Mrs. Walker, did you put a flower in my hair? I feel like a princess!”
For a moment, I can see the indecision on my mom’s face. She’s glancing between Lizzie and me, unsure whose reaction to believe. Slowly, she starts to smile, clinging to Lizzie’s enthusiasm.
“It’s pretty, yes?” she asks.
“I’m sure it is! Do you have a mirror, so I can see?”
“There’s one in the bathroom.”
And before I can stop them, both women are shuffling off into Ma’s ensuite to gaze upon her handiwork. All I can do is collapse a little further into my seat and rub at my eyes. I can feel a tension headache starting up and the pain is already stroking at the back of my eye sockets.
The way Lizzie is just rolling with Ma’s oddities is throwing me entirely. Whether it’s talking like she’s twenty years in the past, breaking personal boundaries, or carrying around a hair-dryer in her pocket, Lizzie is treating it all like it’s normal.
“Caleb!” There’s a patter of slippers on the carpet and suddenly Ma is shaking me. “Caleb, put some music on. We should have music.”
“Music? For what?”
Suddenly, Lizzie is there on the other side of the armchair.
“Is there ever any need for music, Caleb?” she teases. “Can’t we just enjoy it for what it is?”
“Lizzie is going to do my hair, Caleb!”
“Wait, what?”
“Just a little dye and a quick trim,” Lizzie insists with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Nothing too intense.”
“Oh, but it will make all the difference!” Mom insists, practically bouncing right out of her slippers. “Don’t you think?”
“Wait, wait, wait, what’s going on?” I’m trying to follow them like I might a tennis match. Left, right, left, right.
“Oh, don’t worry,” Mom says, slapping me on the shoulder. “Just put the music on.”
“Ow. Why am I all of a sudden getting hit this afternoon?”
Lizzie leans down close and whispers in my ear. The warmth of her breath sends a shiver down my spine.
“Because,” she giggles in my ear, “you’re not doing as you’re told. Music, maestro. And no arguments.”
