Page 230 of Homewrecker

The house looked exactly like my mama’s style. She changed little things every few months. I had inherited my need to always redecorate from her. There were new pillows on the couch, a different centerpiece on the dining room table, and a plant near the window that added the perfect touch to the room.

I touched a leaf before smelling it. “Where’s Daddy?”

“Running errands.”

I frowned. “Daddy? He hates running errands.”

Mama turned. “I know, but he’ll survive.”

I followed her toward the kitchen. “What are you cooking?”

“Nothing. I heated leftovers.”

I opened the refrigerator and mama smacked my hand away.

“Didn’t you just come from somewhere?”

“Yeah.”

“Go wash your hands.”

She pulled out a container. “I made smothered chicken yesterday.”

My stomach growled. “With rice?”

“You know it.”

She started fixing me a plate and I sat at the island.

“Do you want wine? I know you can’t live without it.”

I looked at the clock. “It’s two-thirty.”

Mama looked at me. “And?”

I smiled. “Yes, I’ll have some wine.”

“That’s my girl.”

She pulled a bottle from the refrigerator and I watched her pour two glasses. It was strange, but not a bad strange. It was a moment when I realized that my mother had become someone that I could sit at a kitchen counter and drink wine with.

Growing up, Mama was Mama. Our conversations consisted of rules, dinner, school forms, and church. She would tell me not to leave dishes in the sink, stop hitting my sister, or to come tell my daddy to eat. Over the years, I’d been seeing the woman behind all that.

She slid my plate in front of me. I took a bite and closed my eyes. “Damn.”

“Language.”

I laughed.

I ate quietly for a little while before she asked about work. I told her about a project we’d just landed. She tried to look interested, but I knew she wasn’t.

She smiled. “How’s Nash?”

I nearly choked. Klair talked too much, but I expected nothing less from her.

I grabbed my water. “Why did you say his name like that?”

“Like what?”