22

22

B ags of bagels, pints of deli sides, and a tray of meats, cheeses, and cookies cover the kitchen counters. All delivered first thing this morning. Clearly, Flora's dad felt guilty about dropping that emotional bomb on the phone last night.

"This is all from your father?" Jodi asks when she arrives downstairs and sees the spread. Then she purses her lips. "You told him I'm here, didn't you?"

"No, Mom, I didn't. I just said I could use some food."

Jodi snorts. "Some?" She eyes the breads and meats. "Always going above and beyond, isn't he?" Catching herself, she adds under her breath, "Well, for you, anyway."

Flora does not take this bait. She finishes her breakfast at the table while Jodi prepares a cup of coffee, once again adding four packets of fake sugar to the cup. Flora winces.

She slept even less than usual last night, her mind replaying the conversation with her father on a loop, trying to make sense of the truth that her mother was institutionalized. She wishes she had the kind of relationship where she could ask Jodi about that time, but that's a surefire way to kill the conversation before it even starts. Her mother shares on her own terms, and if Flora seems too interested, Jodi will sniff it out and clam up.

"Do you want a cup to go?" Jodi asks.

"To go?" Flora repeats. Then she remembers they discussed taking a walk through the neighborhood. "Oh, sure, good idea."

Iris's eyes are wide open as they bundle her up; she has become more alert to the world around her in the last few days. When they've settled her into the stroller's bassinet, Flora packs a bottle of milk and throws some extra diapers in the storage basket. As she slips on her fuzzy boots and long winter coat, she glances toward the living room. There, atop the coffee table, in the exact spot where it was before, is the tiny plastic pig.

"How did that get there?" she asks, pointing to it.

"What?" Jodi follows Flora's gaze. "That pig thing?"

"Yes, the pig thing," she says frantically.

Jodi buttons her coat slowly and stares at Flora. It's this stare that confirms that Jodi is testing her, watching her for signs of instability. It's all making sense now. Jodi doesn't have the backbone to tell the truth about her time in the psych ward, but she also doesn't trust her daughter to handle motherhood and all its tribulations.

"I don't know, Flora," Jodi says carefully. "I guess I put it there?"

"You guess?"

Jodi raises an eyebrow, and Flora hates this, hates everything about this. She doesn't want to be analyzed and watched in her own home. She hates knowing that she's always one step away from—what? Would Jodi put Flora away? Would she take Iris?

"I think I found it in the garage," Jodi says. "Yesterday, when I was going through the boxes. I thought it was cute and brought it inside for Iris."

"And you put it in that exact spot ?" Flora asks, sounding increasingly anxious but unable to stop herself. What are the chances her mother would place the pig in the exact same spot it was in before?

"Let's get outside," Jodi says, directing the stroller toward the front door. "I think some fresh air would do you good."

As they walk along the edge of the road, Flora pushes the stroller with her forearms so she can wring her fingers and crack her knuckles. She rubs her fingertips together nervously.

"Cold?" Jodi asks, and Flora nods absentmindedly, going with the narrative her mother has suggested.

Flora has questions,

so many questions and she doesn't know where to start.

The sky is gray, and the cold carries with it a weighted silence, like the world is wearing earmuffs. Flora focuses on the steady crunching of her boots on the gravel and tightens her grip on the stroller's push bar. She's craving normalcy.

"How's the condo?" she asks her mother.

During the divorce, Jodi bought a condo in a small complex, and Flora had liked the idea that her mom wouldn't be alone. It was steps from the beach in the Outer Banks, somewhere Jodi had always wanted to live. The family went every summer while Flora was growing up. Her mother came alive at the beach. Flora always felt a bit like the ocean was the only thing her mother truly loved.

"The condo is the same." Jodi shrugs but then remembers something. "Oh, someone died in the building!" she says excitedly.

Flora gasps. "Not Belinda?"

That's the only person Flora knows her mother to be friendly with in the complex. A similar-aged woman who was recently widowed when Jodi moved in.

"No, not Belinda," Jodi confirms. "Another woman. I don't think you ever met her." Jodi lowers her voice slightly, as if letting Flora in on a secret. "She shot herself."

"Jesus," Flora says. "That's horrible."

Jodi nods solemnly but clearly enjoys laying down the gossip. "They didn't find her for days."

"Days?" Flora pushes the stroller a little too hard in her shock, and her wrist flares up in pain.

"Isn't that tragic?" Her mother shakes her head. "No one checking on her. The only reason they even found her was because the person below started to complain of a smell in the vents."

Flora cringes. "Well… if she was that lonely, that might have been part of why she did it."

"Maybe," Jodi agrees.

They continue to walk for a moment in silence before Jodi remembers another tidbit. "You know, when they finally went into the apartment, they found beetles eating her dead body."

Flora stops in her tracks. "Beetles?"

Jodi continues, unfazed. "A whole trail of them. They came in through the window. ‘Flesh-eating beetles' they're called. Who knew? Some of them were even crawling into her mouth, eating her from the inside."

I'm going to throw up I'm going to throw up

"Flora?" her mother asks. Jodi gestures ahead, suggesting they continue their walk. After a moment, Flora complies, lifting her leaden feet to carry her forward, her eyes trained on the road but seeing nothing of her surroundings. She can only see the beetles in Iris's room.

"Anyway," Jodi continues, "it all got me thinking—would anyone even know if I died in my condo?"

Flora rolls her eyes. Her mother has, of course, found a way to make this about her.

"Oh, Mom, we would know, " Flora says.

But as the words escape her mouth, she realizes that her mother may have a point. Until now, Flora and Jodi hadn't spoken in years, and her dad doesn't make a habit of keeping in touch. Unless her mother has friends Flora doesn't know about, maybe it really would be days before anyone noticed. The thought is impossibly heavy to Flora, murky with guilt and sadness. But she won't admit this to her mom.

"Belinda still lives there, right?" she points out. "She would check in on you."

Jodi raises an eyebrow in half agreement. "I suppose you're right."

She avoids eye contact, which is her way of brushing off the topic. And that's when Flora realizes this is something her mother actually worries about—dying alone.

In the bassinet, Iris's eyelids become heavy. Flora should get her home for a proper crib nap, but she wants to capitalize on this moment. She doesn't want to risk shutting her mother down the one time she is sharing about her life.

"Belinda's gone a lot, though," Jodi tells her. "She goes on retreats. Travels for tantra workshops and—"

Flora barks a laugh. "Isn't she, like, seventy?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" Jodi retorts.

"Okay, fair, fair," Flora admits. "I didn't know she was into that kind of stuff."

"Oh yeah, Belinda is very woo-woo. Spiritual. We've been to a few psychic fairs together."

Flora raises her eyebrows. "Together? So you believe in that stuff now?"

"Oh, Flora," Jodi says, "you're still young. You're still under the illusion that the world is not mysterious."

Flora has no idea what that's supposed to mean, but before she can respond, the sky breaks open, and a violent deluge of water falls from above. Jodi yelps, and Flora instinctively leans over the bassinet to protect Iris from the cold, pelting rain. Together, Flora and Jodi turn the stroller and run back toward the house, their bodies bent against the storm.