Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 136743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
“Got it the first time I beat this bitch,” she says, touching the letters across her chest. “Still holds true.”
“I have several of those,” I admit.
“You a survivor?” Surprise lights her expression.
“No, my mother had cancer.”
“Did she make it?”
I wish I hadn’t mentioned it. I hate to tell her my mother is gone. That Mami won so many battles, but the one Cora herself is fighting right now, she ultimately lost.
“No. She passed away.” I grab one of the glass storage containers from the counter. “I was just putting these in the fridge. Pasta salad. There’s some salmon. I left that uncooked but marinated. Lindee, maybe you can just pop it in the oven for a bit. Or even the air fryer. I’ve left instructions for everything.”
When I stop talking and look back to Cora, her mouth has relaxed into a loose smile.
“Why don’t you come on up to the bedroom,” she says, turning her back to leave the kitchen. “If you can get it looking like the rest of the house, I’m not gonna turn it down.”
I grab my bucket of cleaning supplies and follow her out into the living room and up the stairs, which seem tough for her to negotiate. Some of her spunk in the kitchen was probably for her kids’ sake. I know that feeling, and the relief of letting it go as soon as you’re alone.
“Maybe you could sit there,” I say, nodding to an armchair in the corner, “while I get the bed together.”
“Sounds good to me.” She falls into the seat and closes her eyes immediately. “Clean sheets in the linen closet.”
“I hope I didn’t forget the…” I dig through my supplies until I find what I need. “Aha! Got it!”
“What is that?” Cora asks, one eye open and on the small white item in my hand.
“Denture tablet.” I grin and strip the sheets with quick efficiency. “I toss one in with my whites to brighten.”
A slow smile works its way onto her chapped lips. “Oh, that’s right. You’re the house lady. You got all those tips and recipes and hacks and shit on Instagram and TikTok or whatever. And you made that salad dressing.”
“I guess that’s me,” I reply ruefully. “The house lady.” I hold up the tablet. “Let me get this into the washing machine and then get some sheets on here for ya.”
“There’s a really faded set that you can almost see through,” she calls after me. “I want those.”
When I reenter the bedroom, she has drifted off again. I make the bed quickly but don’t wake her to get in right away. I go, instead, through to the en suite bathroom and clean the counters and the sinks, then scrub the toilet and the shower. For good measure, I toss a eucalyptus tablet down the drain, releasing the sharp, minty scent into the room. Once the mirrors have been cleaned with my special lemon-and-vinegar mix, I inspect the bathroom with satisfaction.
When I tiptoe back into the bedroom, Cora still sleeps. I start clearing off her bedside table to dust. Reading glasses, old Kleenex, cough drops, water bottle. And then my hands pause over a book.
All About Love by bell hooks.
To find the book from Mami’s chest here on Cora’s bedside table coils a knot of pain under my ribs for a second, and I can’t breathe. It’s an old pain and yet timeless because I know I will miss my mother this way until the day I die—with the sharp cut of sudden memory, realizing anew that she is gone and I can never have her again. Seeing this book with Cora, who is fighting the same fight, is almost too much. The melancholy I’ve been fighting off all day crashes over me. I sniff and swipe at the tears streaking my cheeks.
“What’s wrong?” Cora rasps from her armchair in the corner.
Startled, I look up to meet her steady regard and set the book down. “Nothing. I just… My mother left me this book. Or rather I took it from some of her things when she passed away.”
“Is it any good?”
“I haven’t read it.” I laugh. “I was gonna ask you the same thing.”
“Deidre, who owns that bookstore—”
“Stacks?”
“Yup. She brings me books.” Cora rolls her eyes but manages a smile. “Like every week. She was bringing me romance novels, but I told her I like nonfiction better. So Deidre brought me some, and that one interested me.”
“I may start this one to launch my book club. We’ll have an online discussion, but… you wouldn’t want to buddy-read, would you?”
“Like we have to read together?” Cora asks, skepticism spanning her narrow features.
“Not in the same room or at the same time, but like we both read on our own,” I tell her, warming to the idea. “And then we come together to talk about it.”