Then one Sunday morning I woke to the smell of blueberry muffins, classic rock reverberating through the house. I rolled over and pulled the covers over my head, trying to go back to sleep. No such luck. Whatever Billy Joel concert or bed and breakfast had infiltrated my home was clearly not going away anytime soon.
I pulled on a t-shirt and sweats and hobbled sleepily downstairs. What I saw made me question whether or not I was still dreaming.
There was Mom, dressed in a plum-colored pantsuit and a crisp white blouse, pearls laced around her neck. Baking. A tray of fresh-baked muffins sat cooling on the counter, and she was now using some fancy device to make tea. Worst of all, she was humming along to the music. Mom rarely listened to music that wasn’t coming from a TV commercial.
“Mom?” I asked, cautiously making my way downstairs.
She turned and smiled at me. Her face was all dolled up, hair tumbling down her shoulders in flowing waves. Holy shit, my mother was beautiful. When was the last time I’d seen her looking like this?
“Oh, hi sweetie, I’m making ginger tea,” she said. “There’s fresh muffins, and I can whip up some eggs if you’d like.”
We had eggs? I’d been surviving on fast food and whatever I could eat at school or Connor’s house.
“Uh, okay,” I said. “Mom…are you…alright?”
She blew tenderly on the muffins and plucked one out of the tray, holding it out to me like this was normal, like she did things like make her son muffins and fucking ginger tea in the morning. “Just in a good mood,” she said. “I have an interview in a few hours, and oh, Daddy said he was bringing me a surprise tonight.” She lit up at that, like some love-struck schoolgirl. “Eat something, honey, you look like you haven’t in days.”
Mom had been somewhat like this before. When I was little, she was always baking, the radio playing soft rock, the window open, the smells of eucalyptus and sweetgum filling the kitchen. Those were the good days, the days when Dad didn’t get home until after midnight, and I was usually asleep by the time they were fighting and screaming and things were breaking. Mom’s wails were muffled by the walls and ceiling.
I sat at the table and picked at a blueberry muffin. Gunther was laying under my feet, tail wagging happily. Maybe I’d done too much acid and ended up in an alternate reality.
Mom kept humming, running her fingers along her pearls. I didn’t even know she owned them.
I finally swallowed hard and made myself speak. “Mom,” I said. “We need to talk.”
“About what?”
“Can you please sit down?”
That’s when I noticed that she wouldn’t stop moving. She was scrubbing the counter, blowing on the muffins, checking the fridge, opening and closing cabinets. It was like someone had disabled her “off” switch. Even in her pretty pantsuit and pearls, she was scaring me.
“Mom, listen. I know you’ve been bummed out lately, but there’s some things you really need to do. I’m happy about your interview, but you need to remember to show up on time. And make sure to walk Gunther while I’m at school, and buy groceries and dog food regularly, and lay off the cigarettes, okay? I’ve been really worried about you.”
She wasn’t listening. She was still buzzing about, humming like she couldn’t hear me, munching her muffin, crumbs all over her blouse.
The kettle whistled. She clapped her hands like it was the most delightful sound she’d ever heard.
“Mom!” I shouted.
“Yes, my love?” she said.
“Can you please listen to me? For one second? You’re seriously creeping me out right now!”
For a moment the kitchen was quiet, save for the rock music and the sound of Gunther sighing. Then she glared at me, dusting the crumbs from her blouse. “You know, I haven’t seen your friend Jess around here lately. You two get in a fight or something?”
I threw my hands up. “What the hell does that have to do with anything I just said?”
“Watch your language, please,” she snapped. And then her voice went dark. “I miss having her around. She was so sweet, such a nice girl. You know, your dad thought that about me when we met. He thought I was such a nice girl, but now…” She fumbled in her pocket and pulled out her trusty cigarettes, lighting one with shaky hands. “Now it’s like I don’t even exist. Like nothing I do matters. Well, how can I make it matter, Jack? How?”
Before I could even fathom how to answer that, Dad powered in. His keys went clank, his boots went bang against the wall as he kicked them off, and his voice went boom. Gunther let out a pitiful whine.
Perfect.
“How’s my beautiful family this morning?” he called out to us. He slapped his bloated belly and laughed and hiccupped. I could barely look at him. He’d been drinking hard. That was obvious. His face was bright red, and he was smacking his lips together like he’d just eaten something delicious. It was nauseating beyond belief. “Oh.” He stopped, as if he just noticed me and mom sitting there, and the blueberry muffins, and the kitchen full of groceries. “Well shit, Ellie. I haven’t seen this in a while.”
She smiled thinly. “Me baking? Would you like one, Jim? They’re fresh from the oven.”
He laughed. “Well, I haven’t seen you doing much of anything other than watching Maury re-runs in your bathrobe all day. And I’d love one, thanks baby.” He plucked one off the table and took a huge bite.
Mom wasn’t smiling anymore. She put out her cigarette in her mug of tea with a hiss.
“Things going well at the bar, Jim? You bring home enough tip money
