Jase is still staring at Mom, that confused look he had in her office returning. My mother regards the boxes of pizza as though they are alien artifacts from Roswell, New Mexico. Her preferred pizza toppings, I know, are pesto, artichoke hearts, and shrimp. Nonetheless, she sinks into the chair. “Thank you.”
I look at her. This is neither the broken woman in the silk robe nor the brittle hostess offering Jase a beer. There’s something in her face I haven’t seen before. I glance over to find Jase still studying her too, his expression impassive.
“So, you’re Sailor Supergirl’s mommy.” George struggles to talk around a mouth full of pizza. “We never saw you up close before. Only on TV.”
My mother gives him a tiny smile. “What’s your name?”
I rush through introductions. She looks so stiff and uncomfortable, immaculate and out of place in the comfortable chaos of this kitchen. “Should we go home, Mom?”
She shakes her head. “No. I’d like to meet Jase’s family. Goodness. Is this all of you?”
“’Cept my daddy, cause he’s in the hostible,” George says chattily, getting up from the table and circling over to Mom. “And Mommy, cause she’s taking a nap. And our new baby, because he’s in Mommy’s belly drinking her blood.”
Mom pales.
Rolling her eyes, Alice says, “George, that’s not how it works. I explained when you asked how the new baby ate. Nutrients go through the umbilical cord, along with Mom’s blood, so—”
“I know how the baby got in there,” announces Harry. “Someone told me at sailing camp. See, the dad puts—”
“Okay, guys, enough,” Jase interrupts. “Settle down.” He looks over at Mom again, drumming his index finger on the countertop.
Silence.
A little awkward. Not to mention unusual. George, Harry, Duff, and Andy are busy eating. Joel has unzipped the cash register bag and is sorting through the bills, separating by denomination. Tim’s opened one of the cartons of ice cream and is eating directly out of it.
Which gets Alice’s attention. “Do you have any idea how unsanitary that is?”
He drops the spoon guiltily. “Sorry. I didn’t think. I just needed sugar. All I do these days is eat sweets. I may be sober, and not smoking much, but morbid obesity is my future.”
Alice actually smiles at him. “That’s part of the withdrawal process, Tim. Completely normal. Just…get yourself a bowl, okay?”
Tim grins back at her and there’s this funny stillness there before Alice turns away, reaching into a drawer. “Here.”
“I want ice cream. I want ice cream.” George bangs his own spoon on the table.
Patsy, getting into the spirit, whacks her high chair with her hands. “Boob,” she yells. “Poop.”
Mom frowns.
“Her first words,” I explain hastily. Then shame prickles my face. Why do I feel as though I have to explain away Patsy?
“Ah.”
Jase meets my eyes. His are stormy with bafflement and pain so intense it hits me like a slap.
What is she doing here now? Jase and I were fine, we were connected, and here she is. Why?
He jerks his head toward the door. “We’d better get some more ice cream from the freezer in the garage. Come on, Sam.”
There are two full cartons on the table. Alice looks down at them, then at Jase. “But—” she starts.
He shakes his head at her. “Sam?”
I follow him out. I can see a muscle jump in his jawline; feel the tension in the set of his shoulders as though they are part of my own body.
As soon as we’ve cleared the steps, he wheels on me. “What is this? Why is she here?”
I stumble back. “I don’t know,” I say. My mom’s acting so normal, so calm, the friendly neighbor dropping by. But nothing is normal. How can she be calm?
“Is this more of Clay’s bullshit?” Jase demands. “Is he having her come over here and act all nicey-nice, before everyone else finds out?”
My eyes prickle, tears so close. “I don’t know,” I say again.
“Like maybe my family will think that this sweet lady could never do something so bad, and I’ve just lost it or something and—”
I grab his hand.
“I don’t know,” I whisper. Could this be yet another part of Clay’s game? Of course it could. I’d been thinking, somehow, that Mom was making a gesture in there…a peace offering, but maybe it is just another political tactic. My stomach coils. I don’t know what to think. I don’t know what to feel. The tears I’ve been fending off spill over. I scrub at my cheeks angrily.