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Authors: Bridie Hall
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skipped breakfast and tea on account of me sleeping on the couch. Because I don’t believe I slept soundly enough not to hear her putter around the kitchen.
I check my email while I sip coffee. Just as I take the last sip, there’s a knock on the door. Did Chloe forget her keys?
I open the door wide, grinning at the chance to tease her, when I see an unknown woman in the hallway.
“Morning. Is Chloe up yet?”
I have the impression that I’ve seen the woman before, but I can’t remember where.
“Sorry, she’s gone out already. Can I help you?”
“Oh.” She looks around distractedly. “I just wanted to see where she lived. I’m her mother.”
So that was it. I haven’t actually seen her, I just recognized her features. Now that I look at her, it’s obvious. The large blue eyes, the delicate features, and the full mouth. Only this woman is shorter and painfully slim, while Chloe is all soft and graceful.
“Pleasure,” I say and shake her hand. “Come in , please.”
She enters the place and I become self-conscious because of the mess. The sheets and pillows are still on the couch. I bundle them up and take them into Chloe’s room.
“Sorry about the mess. I’m off work today and I slept in.”
“Don’t judge me by Chloe’s standards. I’m messy myself,” she says with a conspiratorial smile. I like her. But then again I would. Because of Chloe, if for nothing else.
“I hope she hasn’t given you too much grief over cleaning after yourself and putting things away.”
“Some. But I deserved it.”
“My name’s Natasha, by the way,” she says, as I invite her to sit at the table. She’s easy to talk to . Her voice is soft and melodious. A lot like Chloe’s. But she has a dreamy way of talking, while Chloe is direct.
She accepts my offer of coffee. While I fumble with the machine, I wonder about her reason s for coming. I’m not entirely clear on Chloe’s home situation. It can’t be something you’d call normal if she’s crashing with me while her mom is staying with her boyfriend.
“I apologize for barging in unannounced like that.”
“’S okay.”
“She probably told me she was going out today, but I forgot. I can’t really bring myself to care about all this … stuff.” She flails her hands about a little, and the gossamer blouse she’s wearing creates an image of an ethereal creature. That reminds me of Chloe telling me she was an artist.
“Chloe says you’re a painter,” I say to fill the quiet.
“An illustrator, actually.”
“Cool. Books for kids or graphic novels?”
“Picture books, mostly.”
“Shame, I prefer graphic novel s.”
She laughs quietly. “Are you interested in art?”
“Not really. I’m more a sporty type.”
“Oh yes, Chloe mentioned you did some winter sport … hockey, was it?”
“Snowboarding.”
“That must be nice. I’m so uncoordinated I’d break my neck on my first ride.” As if to prove it, she knocks the mug when I place it in front of her , and nearly spills the coffee.
“See? It’s not safe to be me.”
I’m not sure if she means it as a joke, so I smile tentatively. I don’t want her to think I’m laughing at her.
“Are you staying here for college?”
“No, I’m moving to Atlanta in the fall. I’ll study sport pedagogy there.”
“Chloe is going there, too,” she says as if it should matter to me. I mean, it does, only she doesn’t know that.
“She’s obsessed with psychology. I tried to get her to change her mind about her study choices, but she wouldn’t listen.”
“She’s good at it.”
“I know. It’s just that she has a lot to deal with on her own. I don’t want her to have to deal with other people’s mistakes and problems.” The grave demeanor ages her for a few years all of a sudden. The change astonishes me. She seemed so flighty and youthful a moment ago.
“You see, I haven’t been the best mom to her. She had to shoulder too much responsibility at a young
I check my email while I sip coffee. Just as I take the last sip, there’s a knock on the door. Did Chloe forget her keys?
I open the door wide, grinning at the chance to tease her, when I see an unknown woman in the hallway.
“Morning. Is Chloe up yet?”
I have the impression that I’ve seen the woman before, but I can’t remember where.
“Sorry, she’s gone out already. Can I help you?”
“Oh.” She looks around distractedly. “I just wanted to see where she lived. I’m her mother.”
So that was it. I haven’t actually seen her, I just recognized her features. Now that I look at her, it’s obvious. The large blue eyes, the delicate features, and the full mouth. Only this woman is shorter and painfully slim, while Chloe is all soft and graceful.
“Pleasure,” I say and shake her hand. “Come in , please.”
She enters the place and I become self-conscious because of the mess. The sheets and pillows are still on the couch. I bundle them up and take them into Chloe’s room.
“Sorry about the mess. I’m off work today and I slept in.”
“Don’t judge me by Chloe’s standards. I’m messy myself,” she says with a conspiratorial smile. I like her. But then again I would. Because of Chloe, if for nothing else.
“I hope she hasn’t given you too much grief over cleaning after yourself and putting things away.”
“Some. But I deserved it.”
“My name’s Natasha, by the way,” she says, as I invite her to sit at the table. She’s easy to talk to . Her voice is soft and melodious. A lot like Chloe’s. But she has a dreamy way of talking, while Chloe is direct.
She accepts my offer of coffee. While I fumble with the machine, I wonder about her reason s for coming. I’m not entirely clear on Chloe’s home situation. It can’t be something you’d call normal if she’s crashing with me while her mom is staying with her boyfriend.
“I apologize for barging in unannounced like that.”
“’S okay.”
“She probably told me she was going out today, but I forgot. I can’t really bring myself to care about all this … stuff.” She flails her hands about a little, and the gossamer blouse she’s wearing creates an image of an ethereal creature. That reminds me of Chloe telling me she was an artist.
“Chloe says you’re a painter,” I say to fill the quiet.
“An illustrator, actually.”
“Cool. Books for kids or graphic novels?”
“Picture books, mostly.”
“Shame, I prefer graphic novel s.”
She laughs quietly. “Are you interested in art?”
“Not really. I’m more a sporty type.”
“Oh yes, Chloe mentioned you did some winter sport … hockey, was it?”
“Snowboarding.”
“That must be nice. I’m so uncoordinated I’d break my neck on my first ride.” As if to prove it, she knocks the mug when I place it in front of her , and nearly spills the coffee.
“See? It’s not safe to be me.”
I’m not sure if she means it as a joke, so I smile tentatively. I don’t want her to think I’m laughing at her.
“Are you staying here for college?”
“No, I’m moving to Atlanta in the fall. I’ll study sport pedagogy there.”
“Chloe is going there, too,” she says as if it should matter to me. I mean, it does, only she doesn’t know that.
“She’s obsessed with psychology. I tried to get her to change her mind about her study choices, but she wouldn’t listen.”
“She’s good at it.”
“I know. It’s just that she has a lot to deal with on her own. I don’t want her to have to deal with other people’s mistakes and problems.” The grave demeanor ages her for a few years all of a sudden. The change astonishes me. She seemed so flighty and youthful a moment ago.
“You see, I haven’t been the best mom to her. She had to shoulder too much responsibility at a young
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