good.” Her mother shook her head. “What are you going to do when he picks one of you over the other?”
“He won’t pick either of us, I bet. He’s just being nice. Getting us to help him out with the bottle drive. I’m sure that there are plenty of grade eleven girls he could choose from.”
“Sounds like he’s being more than nice. Sounds like he’s courting you. Both of you.”
Junie cringed at the word “courting.” Who said “courting” any more? And what would her mother know about it anyway? The last time she’d gone on a date was over twenty years ago. And that was with Junie’s father, who’d been her first and only boyfriend. So there was noway that Junie would take any so-called “courting” advice from her mother.
Junie brought her bowl to the sink—which she insisted on being kept clear after she’d found a writhing colony of maggots in a heap of unwashed dishes a few months before—and rinsed it.
“Besides, if he picks one of us, he’ll pick Tabitha. She’s prettier.”
“She is not. You’re both beautiful.”
“You have to say that.”
“And I would anyway.” She took another bite of pizza.
Junie gave her a long, sad look. This was the mother she missed so much that it actually hurt her, drawing a tightness around her heart that made it hard to breathe. This mother, the one who took an interest in her instead of all the crap she ordered off the Internet and all the sparkling junk from the Shopping Channel. The one who asked questions and was interested in the answers.
“You’re beautiful, Junie.”
Junie wished she could say the same for her mother. She had been beautiful, back when she was first dating Junie’s dad. There were pictures as proof. Snapshots of the two of them going to prom, dressed up in their tragically outdated finery, beaming at each other. But she’d been wearing the same filthy clothes for five days now, and likely hadn’t washed in as long either. Junie wanted to shove her mother into the bathroom, make her strip and then force her to get into the shower and actually take care of herself. Where had that polished, slender earlier version of her mom gone?
Her mother turned away, as if she knew what Junie was thinking. They both heard the familiar theme song of the British soap opera her mom watched on the weekend. On Saturday mornings they played all of the week’s episodes back to back.
“ Coronation Street is starting.” Her mother hesitated in the doorway, her cold pizza slices drooping. “Don’t you even want a plate?” Junie cringed. She didn’t mean to sound bitchy, but she did anyway. Junie tried that again. “I mean, can I get you a plate?”
Her mom looked at her, her face blank. “Yes. Please.”
Junie got a plate from the cupboard and held it out to her.
“You know, Junie . . . I don’t . . . I mean, I never . . .” She took the plate and arranged the pizza on it before wiping her hands on her pants. “I just want to tell you that I don’t want to be like this. The hoarding just crept up and now—”
“You don’t have to explain—”
“I see the way you look at me. At all of this.” She gestured around her with the pizza. “When I was a little girl, I never imagined I’d end up like this. I wanted so much more for myself. And for you, too.”
Junie felt a wash of shame flood her veins. “I don’t—”
“You do . And that’s okay. I can’t imagine what it’s like to be you, Junie. Living with this. With me .”
The phone rang. Junie lunged for it, so very thankful to have a way to stop the conversation from unravelling even more.
“Hello?”
“Your boyfriend called.” Wade had Tabitha’s number as Junie’s, and vice versa. So far that hadn’t been a problem because he hadn’t called either of them, but to be on the safe side, they’d both recorded generic messages with no names. Mrs. D. was in on it, and Junie’s mom never answered the phone, so it didn’t matter on that end. Neither of
“He won’t pick either of us, I bet. He’s just being nice. Getting us to help him out with the bottle drive. I’m sure that there are plenty of grade eleven girls he could choose from.”
“Sounds like he’s being more than nice. Sounds like he’s courting you. Both of you.”
Junie cringed at the word “courting.” Who said “courting” any more? And what would her mother know about it anyway? The last time she’d gone on a date was over twenty years ago. And that was with Junie’s father, who’d been her first and only boyfriend. So there was noway that Junie would take any so-called “courting” advice from her mother.
Junie brought her bowl to the sink—which she insisted on being kept clear after she’d found a writhing colony of maggots in a heap of unwashed dishes a few months before—and rinsed it.
“Besides, if he picks one of us, he’ll pick Tabitha. She’s prettier.”
“She is not. You’re both beautiful.”
“You have to say that.”
“And I would anyway.” She took another bite of pizza.
Junie gave her a long, sad look. This was the mother she missed so much that it actually hurt her, drawing a tightness around her heart that made it hard to breathe. This mother, the one who took an interest in her instead of all the crap she ordered off the Internet and all the sparkling junk from the Shopping Channel. The one who asked questions and was interested in the answers.
“You’re beautiful, Junie.”
Junie wished she could say the same for her mother. She had been beautiful, back when she was first dating Junie’s dad. There were pictures as proof. Snapshots of the two of them going to prom, dressed up in their tragically outdated finery, beaming at each other. But she’d been wearing the same filthy clothes for five days now, and likely hadn’t washed in as long either. Junie wanted to shove her mother into the bathroom, make her strip and then force her to get into the shower and actually take care of herself. Where had that polished, slender earlier version of her mom gone?
Her mother turned away, as if she knew what Junie was thinking. They both heard the familiar theme song of the British soap opera her mom watched on the weekend. On Saturday mornings they played all of the week’s episodes back to back.
“ Coronation Street is starting.” Her mother hesitated in the doorway, her cold pizza slices drooping. “Don’t you even want a plate?” Junie cringed. She didn’t mean to sound bitchy, but she did anyway. Junie tried that again. “I mean, can I get you a plate?”
Her mom looked at her, her face blank. “Yes. Please.”
Junie got a plate from the cupboard and held it out to her.
“You know, Junie . . . I don’t . . . I mean, I never . . .” She took the plate and arranged the pizza on it before wiping her hands on her pants. “I just want to tell you that I don’t want to be like this. The hoarding just crept up and now—”
“You don’t have to explain—”
“I see the way you look at me. At all of this.” She gestured around her with the pizza. “When I was a little girl, I never imagined I’d end up like this. I wanted so much more for myself. And for you, too.”
Junie felt a wash of shame flood her veins. “I don’t—”
“You do . And that’s okay. I can’t imagine what it’s like to be you, Junie. Living with this. With me .”
The phone rang. Junie lunged for it, so very thankful to have a way to stop the conversation from unravelling even more.
“Hello?”
“Your boyfriend called.” Wade had Tabitha’s number as Junie’s, and vice versa. So far that hadn’t been a problem because he hadn’t called either of them, but to be on the safe side, they’d both recorded generic messages with no names. Mrs. D. was in on it, and Junie’s mom never answered the phone, so it didn’t matter on that end. Neither of
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