Orange soda. She used to give me that as a special treat. I wondered if she had those graham crackers shaped like bears as well since that used to be my favorite snack—when I was five years younger.
“I mean … the last time I saw you, you weren’t even old enough to drive a car. You hadn’t gotten your period yet. And now you’re a grown woman. I know it in my head, but my heart still remembers the little girl. I guess I want to get back time, but I can’t.”
“Thanks.” I took the soda and sat on the U-shaped leather sectional. “I know. It’s weird for me too. I guess we’ll just have to pray about it, and God will help us through this.”
Pausing the bottle at her lips, she shook her head. “Boy … they did a fine job of indoctrinating you. Didn’t they?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean the ‘we’ll just have to pray about it.’ That’s not what the average eighteen-year-old girl says. I’ve been a little isolated for a few years, but I know that much hasn’t changed. You talk like a girl who’s been reading the Bible more than romance novels. A girl who spends more time praying than watching Netflix.”
“I have a love for Christ. Is that so wrong? We went to church before you went to prison.”
She chuckled and took a sip of her orange soda. “We were Catholic.”
“So? What’s that matter?”
Again, she laughed. “Oh, it matters. But I don’t want to talk religion with you. Your faith is between you and God. I want to know all the big moments you’ve experienced over the past five years. Your first boyfriend. Your first kiss. Your first heartbreak. I want you to tell me all about your friends. Did you keep in touch with your old friends? Or did you make new ones at your Christian school? Did your dad ever find another woman? Or did he die a lonely man?”
She had a lot of questions. I had only anticipated one or two of them. Maybe the boyfriend question and the one about my old friends from public school. Everything else left me a little speechless, especially the questions about Dad finding someone new after divorcing her.
“I’ve had a boyfriend. Two, actually.”
“And …” Her grin grew into something weird. A grin like my friends used to give me after I’d gone out on a date.
It was hard to separate Rory from Mom. In fact, I hadn’t used either name yet to her face because I wasn’t sure what I should call her.
“It didn’t last long either time.”
“That’s it?” She gave me a raised eyebrow. “That’s the best you can do? What about your first kiss?”
I shrugged. “It was okay.”
“You seem hesitant. Is it because I’m your mom? We used to talk about stuff all the time. You’d come home from school and tell me about your day.” She sighed with a contented smile, like her five years in prison never happened. Like we should’ve been able to pick up where we left off.
I remembered watching a show about this plane that disappeared and then returned years later. Families assumed the plane went down, and there were no survivors. So when the plane returned home, things were different. Kids were older. Spouses remarried. But the people on the plane couldn’t understand that because, for them, nothing had changed. My mom’s time in prison was like her being on that plane.
“I wanted to visit you in prison.” I changed the subject to what I had imagined we’d talk about.
Why Dad convinced me it was in my best interest to not visit her.
Why I didn’t push harder to see her after he died.
How I felt the three times I did get to see her parents.
What it felt like being in prison.
How it changed her.
Literally anything but my dating life and details of my first kiss.
“I know.” She frowned and dropped her chin. “I mean … I didn’t know, but I believed it in my heart. I knew someone had probably filled your head with reasons it was best to not visit me. And honestly, there were times that I was glad you didn’t see me in that place. But…” she glanced up and forced a smile “…that was all then. This is now. If you don’t want to relive any of that, if you don’t want to share your ‘firsts’ with me, then we don’t have to do that. We can start fresh. Well …” Her eyes rolled dramatically, like I had done to my dad a million times. “We can start fresh when I get back from L.A. I leave in two days.”
Two days.
I had two days before my mom, who was in many ways a stranger to me, left me with the naked fisherman.
That sound … that echoing siren. I didn’t have to think twice. I knew it was a tornado siren. Just my luck. My first night in Denver, first night with my mom in over five years, and the sirens went off.