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“Oh, nothing. We haven’t talked in a while, so I was just checking in.” Gia stood and began walking on the path through the park. Walking helped the words come when her mom was involved.
“That’s awfully sweet of you. How’s California? You like it?”
What the hell? The voice was the same, but the words were all wrong. Who was this woman pretending to be her mother? She expected to be told what she should do, how, and by when—not being asked how shewasand if shelikedher new home.
“Actually, I really do. It’s freaking hot, but everyone I’ve met is nice and I have a good job. Can’t complain.” Gia could’ve been talking to the barista at a coffee shop or the woman who cut her hair. It was small talk, but it was better than being berated.
“That’s wonderful. And you’re clean?”
“I am.”
“Me, too. Haven’t had a drink in two weeks. Kicked that jackass Phil out. I’m living the good life for a change.”
In her thirty-two years, Gia had never heard her mom express a desire to get clean. She knew she’d smoked and drank while pregnant, and she’d chosen booze over a long-term relationship with her father.
“You are?”
“Yep. It’s time. I’ve ruined too many relationships because of ol’ Jack. I loved him, but he never loved me, you know?”
Ol’ Jack was none other than Jack Daniels. And Giadidknow. What she didn’t understand was how to process this information. From out of left field, her mother dropped huge news on her. News that had the potential to transform their relationship.
“Yeah.”
“Gia, baby, aren’t you excited for me? Mamma is getting her life together. For good.”
“That’s great, Mom. I just know—”
“It’s one day at a time. Promise,” Gianna interrupted.
“Okay, but—”
“Promise. I know it’s not a switch you flip and everything is okay and the past didn’t happen. And I’m very sorry for the things I said and did. For hurting you. That wasn’t me talking, but I take responsibility for all of it.”
“Okay.” Gia stopped in her tracks and took a deep breath. Was her mother trying to make amends?
“And I’d like to come stay with you for a while. Spend some time together. Get to know each other—who we really are.”
“Mom, you don’t have to do that. My place is tiny and I don’t really have furniture and—”
“Nonsense. I’ll be there next week. I’ll take you shopping for some furnishings. It’s the least I can do. We can go to the spa and take care of ourselves. It’ll be great!”
Gia knew good and well her mother didn’t have money to help furnish an apartment. “Okay, Mom. I’ll text you the address. But remember I work nights, so I won’t have a lot of time to hang out.”
“It’s okay, doll. We’ll figure it out. I’ll see you next week, okay?”
“Okay.”
The “you’d be pretty if you smiled guy” was approaching—he must’ve been doing laps, so Gia took a hard right turn toward a neighborhood and began working her way back to the market. What a weird encounter. She’d gone from wanting the familiarity of family or a friend to learning her mom was getting clean and coming to visit in a snap. She wanted to believe Gianna, just as she wanted people to believe her when she told them she was changing, for good. But she knew better than most—actions speak louder than words. Gianna’s visit had the potential to be transformative. It also had the potential to be a train wreck.
???
That night’s stock plan involved the cereal aisle—one of Gia’s favorites. The boxes were light, symmetrical, and easy to align, save for the earthy brands which came in plastic bags. As she stacked a tidy row of generic shredded wheat on the bottom shelf, Gia wondered—how was it okay to use plastic bags for cereal and other foods, but it was banned from check stands? It was a rabbit hole she’d been down before—cognitive dissonance around convenience when it was convenient.
Overhead, fluorescent lights obscured the hour, their intensity creating perma-day, night after night. The cleaner had recently mopped the aisle, so the khakis she was wearing let in a little dampness against her skin. It was becoming pants season, finally. She’d perfected a five bag/box at a time technique, as well as a preferred stocking order: Bottom to top, left to right. It was efficient and ensured no backtracking. By now, she could refill cereal blindfolded. When she was in The Zone, there was only product, shelves, and background noise.
“Excuse me,” a sultry voice interrupted The Zone. “Miss? Excuse me?”
“Hm?” Gia shook her head—was she “miss” in this one-way conversation?
