of her way and slides her arm across my abdomen to snuggle. “You’re too pretty for bad hair.”
“Thank you.” I think. I stiffen and refuse to roll onto my side. If I don’t escape now, I’m afraid she’ll spoon me until sunrise. I have to work and can’t play Earl tonight.
“Pretty and smart and a good girl. Not a bit like Wynonna’s girl.”
I don’t believe Wynonna had a girl, but that’s beside the point. Mom paid me three compliments in a row. I don’t think she’s ever done that before. Not that I can recall, anyway. My insides melt. I am reduced to putty and turn on my side. Mom takes advantage of my weakened state and molds herself against my back.
“I love a good snuggle,” she says, and I melt even more at the warm breath on the back of my neck.
I tuck this evening away with the other good memories of Mom and me to be recollected and relived after she is gone.
I wait until Mom is snoring to carefully extract myself from her arms. I check on Raphael and find him asleep in his cage. If Mom wants to believe that dumb bird whistles at her, who am I to burst her bubble?
My back aches from lying so still. I’m too tired to work, but my mind is too restless for sleep. I download a new app, Powerful Guided Meditation, Wish Manifestation. The others haven’t worked, but I’m willing to keep trying. I figure I can concentrate better if I’m fulfilling some wishes, but after fifteen minutes, I think of a perfect addition to Mom’s routine. She needs more than family photos and mementos to keep her mind active. I grab my phone and less than a minute into my internet search, I find The Joy of Painting website. I order everything Mom will need to beat the brush with Bob Ross and, because I’m the queen of swag myself, I add a pair of “Let’s Get Crazy” socks. Mom’s going to love painting happy little clouds again.
I think about tapping a few sentences in my day planner, but I yawn and toss my phone on the bedside table. I finally fall into a deep sleep and wake the next day feeling restored.
The new clothes Mother and I bought at Nordstrom online arrived several weeks ago, and I packed away my winter wool and flannel in favor of summer cotton and knits. I join Mother and Lindsey in the dining room wearing my black Alice + Olivia cuffed shorts and a black jersey tank.
“Why do you always wear black?” Lindsey asks as I grab one of great-grandmother’s silver coffeepots.
This from the girl who wears scrubs 90 percent of the time. “I don’t always wear black.” Only 90 percent of the time. “It’s versatile and perfect for business trips.” I pick up one of the royal-blue-and-gold cups I’d carried down from the attic a few days ago.
“You’re not traveling now.”
I shrug. “Habit.” I like black and don’t see a problem.
“I like pink.” Mom looks up from the matching Staffordshire plate. “It’s a good color,” she adds, and points to the sleeve of her pink seersucker dress. Of the three of us, Mom is the resident fashion maverick with her rebellious choice of white sandals before Memorial Day. Her hair is pushed back from her face with a flower headband and her lips are bubble-gum pink.
After she finishes her mushroom omelet and toast, we jump in the Escalade and head toward a small strip of brightly painted stores. I “kink” Mom’s neck only once, but it’s hard to take her seriously when her hair is flying around her head like Medusa.
“Do you want to roll that window up now?” I ask for the third time.
“Nope.” She breathes deeply through her nose. “The air smells like the river.”
And touches of swamp.
Monique’s Chic Boutique is such a bright fuchsia that I find it without getting lost. The old stucco clothing store is sandwiched between the neon-green Lagniappe BBQ and the red Boots ’N’ Roots.
Even before we pulled into the small parking lot, I didn’t have high expectations for Monique’s Chic Boutique. I didn’t expect that we’d share the same definition of chic. I was right, but it hardly matters. Monique takes one look at Mom and me and hears ka-ching in her head. She masterfully herds us into separate dressing rooms divided by a pink curtain, and despite a slight language barrier, she sets about selling us everything from matching crawfish