didn’t have any similar features, but we had the same sense of humor and the same laugh.
“Let’s get bagels and open the shop,” Mo said, resting her hand on the side of my face. “This is heavy. We can figure it out later, but right now, I’m starving.”
Mom batted at her eyes and I squeezed her hand. I was thinking of telling them about what happened with the water hemlock and how I couldn’t piece together why I was still alive, but now was not the time.
We got dressed and walked to the bagel shop on Bergen Street. The morning air was warm and thick, and we held hands with me in the middle for the first block.
“I feel like I’m five years old,” I said.
Mom held my hand tighter. “You’ll always be my big-head baby.”
The thing about walking around in Brooklyn was that people were so busy tryna get where they needed to be, they didn’t always pay attention to what was going on around them. They didn’t notice the oak trees perking up as I went by or the drooping flowers that spilled from hanging baskets, blooming anew. The mixture of concrete jungle and preoccupied New Yorkers was the best combination for me to keep a low profile.
Two big maples flanked the train station directly across from the bagel shop and there was one scrawny oak up the block, but other than that, there wasn’t much else to worry about. If the line had been out the door, we would have turned around and left. But it wasn’t, so I squeezed inside and stood with my back to the big plate glass window. Hopefully, the trees would mind their business.
The shop smelled like fresh bread, bacon, and coffee. People were talking among themselves as they waited on line. I kept my eyes forward. When it was our turn, Mo ordered and we moved to the side to wait for our food. A delivery truck rumbled by and I looked out at the street. It was a natural reaction to the loud noise, but I hadn’t meant to look. I caught sight of the two towering maples. They leaned forward, their branches scraping the pavement. Roots broke free from under the sidewalk, sending chunks of rubble flying. I quickly turned away. A murmur moved through the shop, hushed whispers and confused glances. Mom’s body went rigid. Mo inhaled sharply.
“Should we go?” Mom asked in a frantic whisper.
I ignored the trees as people began pulling out their phones and snapping pictures. A woman shrieked as branches dragged themselves across the store front. I shut my eyes tight, balled my fists.
Not now, please. Not here.
Dizziness overtook me. I staggered to the side. Mom slipped her hand around my waist.
“They’re moving back,” she said.
Mo grabbed our food and ushered us out of the bagel shop. The crowd spilled out of the shop to gawk at the twisting trees as we hurried down the street. As we turned off the block the sick feeling in my stomach let up, but behind me I heard the distinct sound of wood creaking, groaning like it was being twisted, about to snap. It took everything in me not to look back.
Work was nonstop till about one in the afternoon, when there was a lull. I checked my phone. Gabby had texted that she probably wouldn’t be able to get together with me and Marlon. We hadn’t even picked a date yet. It was an excuse. I shoved my phone back in my pocket and went to the sink to pick pollen and bits of plant clippings from my nails while I tried not to cry.
My mom’s phone rang.
“Hello?” she answered.
She glanced at me and gave me a quick wink before her face abruptly changed. A look of utter confusion gave way to recognition. She drew her mouth into a tight line, let her gaze wander to the floor. “Can you hold on a minute?” she asked. She squeezed Mo’s shoulder and stepped around the counter. “I need to run upstairs real quick.” She hurried out.
A few minutes later, the bell above the door clanged.
“Hey, Jake!” I said.
“What’s good, Briseis?” Jake said with a big smile.
Mo used to babysit Jake on weekends when his dad was out of town on business, and now, he came into the shop to help out two or three times a week. He refused to take any money, so we paid him in bagels, free Wi-Fi, and Mo’s world-famous Sunday dinners. He