Chapter 4 - Telling Mom and Dad
I didn't call our parents that night. That was my decision to make. Vivian had controlled enough of the truth already.
At home I opened the cabinet and there they were — my two blue mugs. One for me. One "spare." I'd been buying spares for a decade.
The next morning I called Mom.
"Are you sitting down?"
"Nora, you know I hate when you start like that."
"Please sit down."
Her voice dropped. "Okay. I'm sitting."
"Vivian's alive."
Silence.
Then, gently, like she was talking someone off a ledge: "Sweetheart…"
"I saw her, Mom. I stood two feet from her. She remembered the moon. She remembered the vase in the ice storm. It's her."
Another long silence. Then Dad's voice; he'd picked up the other phone.
"What do you need from us?"
Not where. Not how. Just — what do you need.
"I don't know."
"Then that's where we'll start," he said.
Two days later I drove them to Ashford.
Mom stopped just inside the door. Vivian stood by the window with her arms crossed tight over her chest. Then Mom crossed the room in four steps.
"My baby."
Vivian went rigid — and then folded into her like something cut loose.
Dad hung back by the door, taking off his glasses, wiping his face with the heel of his hand.
"Hey, kiddo."
I looked at the floor. I loved her. I was furious with her. Both were true, and neither one canceled the other.
After a few minutes Mom started talking too fast.
"I still make that cherry pie you loved. Your old room's not blue anymore, but we could paint it back this weekend. Oh — and that song you two used to sing in the car, do you remember how it went?"
Vivian's hand slipped. The mug she was holding hit the counter and rolled onto its side.
"Stop."
Mom froze.
Vivian pressed both hands over her face. "Please. Just stop."
"Vivian?" Mom whispered.
"I can't do this anymore!"
The apartment went dead quiet. Dad started toward Mom. I didn't move.
Vivian looked at the three of us, chest heaving.
"This is exactly why I didn't want to come back."
Mom's face came apart. "Because I mentioned pie?"
"No, Mom. Because it's been five minutes and you're already rebuilding the girl I used to be."
"I thought you'd want something that felt familiar."
"I don't even like cherry pie anymore."
Mom stared at her. Then she looked at me.
"But Nora always loved it too. You girls liked all the same things."
May you like
Vivian laughed once, short and hard. "There. That right there."
Something cold slid down my spine.
