Page 53 of Such Sharp Teeth

“You scared me,” I say. “Oh, shit.”

“That’s all right,” she says, jumping up to hug me. “My baby.”

She wraps her arms tight around me. She smells like Chanel No. 5 and French vanilla coffee and Virginia Slims and airplane. A hint of airplane bathroom. My sense of smell has become too keen.

“I’m sorry. I have a migraine,” I say. “I was supposed to pick you up. I slept in. I didn’t mean to.”

“I know, I know,” she says. “I figured. I took a cab.”

“I really am sorry,” I say.

She’s still hugging me. “No worries, baby.” She finally pulls away from me. “Look at you. I did something right with you girls, didn’t I? Gave you all my good genes. All your daddy’s good genes. None of the bad, none of the bad.”

My mother is beautiful. She takes great pride in her appearance. Her favorite thing now is to be asked if she’s our sister. I’m surprised she’s let her hair go gray, but it suits her. Highlights the green of her eyes.

She wears an elegant black trench coat, a gray turtleneck sweater dress, and ivory knee-high boots with a significant heel.

“You want Advil?” she asks me.

“I took some.”

“Water?”

“Had some.”

“Cigarette?”

“Sure. Why not?”

We sit on the front steps sharing a cigarette. It’s overcast, not as cold today as it was last night.

Last night.

“So,” Mom says, “how is she?”

“Where’s Guy?” I ask.

Guy is my stepdad. Only took a few dozen losers to find him. He’s smart, kind, successful. A little milquetoast. They live in Charleston.

“He had a work thing,” she says. “He’ll come when the baby is born. Besides, I thought maybe if it was just me, Scarlett might feel more comfortable opening up about the situation.”

“The situation,” I say, scoffing.

“Well . . .”

“Don’t bring it up. She doesn’t want to talk about him. And she’s not into baby stuff, so please don’t bring that up either.”

She hands the cigarette back to me. “It’s just because of Matty. If he were here, everything would be different. Trust me.”

“It’s not just Matty. She doesn’t like being pregnant.”

“It’s because she’s alone,” she says.

I pass the cigarette back.

“I don’t think so,” I say. “I don’t know. I don’t blame her. Seems pretty sucky to me. Not to be in control of your own body.”

I blink and see the spread of my rib cage. The deficiency of my skin. I hear it splitting.