in his apartment, eat his food, and enjoy his comforting easiness if I didn’t feel like I was giving him anything in return. It was one of those fears I had, worrying I’d end up as selfish and greedy as she was. These little snippets of her life were like a rare form of currency, and I was quickly running out of spending money. I didn’t have a lot of good memories to share, and what little I did have, I had to tweak to fit the narrative Lance craved. He knew my past, had spoken with my social worker, but he wanted to see the good in people—in Mama.
Monday, I told him that Mama liked to go to the local carnival every summer. If I closed my eyes real tight, I could still smell the funnel cakes she’d bring home. He admitted to never actually going to one. Both his adoptive parents were high-profile surgeons and took precautions with Lance’s safety, which surprised me. He seemed so…free-spirited. He proceeded to research all the carnivals around Memphis and made plans for us to go to a couple. His enthusiasm and excitement were infectious. Lance was like a golden retriever, eager to please.
Tuesday, I told him Mama smelled like roses. Naturally, Lance went to the store and bought dozens of them and placed the bouquets around the apartment. Now their stench filled my every inhale. It was like everywhere I went, I was breathing in her memory. It felt like their thorned stems were growing up my throat, making it difficult to breathe. But Lance seemed happy, and for some reason I didn’t question, that was enough for me.
Wednesday, I told him that Mama had a few jobs but wanted to be a makeup artist. Thankfully, he didn’t insist that I go to cosmetology school, though he asked about her other jobs. I didn’t go too much into detail. I didn’t think he’d want to know that a majority of her income came from whatever wealthy, married man she was fucking that month. Mama used to talk down about women that were prostitutes, but she wasn’t any better.
For the rest of the week, that’s how it went. I’d say something about Mama, and he’d do everything in his power to bring her back to life. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I was struggling to keep her dead in the ground. Every half-truth I spoke made her harder to avoid. It was like she was breathing down my neck.
When she was alive, Mama made everything about her. Every conversation was about who she was dating, what she was wearing, or what yoga pose she’d just mastered. It was like I was her personal sounding board to boost her superiority complex. She didn’t care about what was going on in my life, only that I fulfilled my duty as the supporting actress in her starring role. It was exhausting, and even now, with her gone, I was still in her shadow. Part of me wanted to build a relationship with Lance, but he was so focused on her, he barely knew me. Not that I was going out of my way to correct him. I held my own truths tightly to my chest, too scared to trust anyone to part with them.
This morning, when I walked into the kitchen, I was surprised to find Decker at the stovetop instead of Lance. He’d been mostly absent all week, gearing up for the new school year with meetings and training seminars. I told myself that I was only learning his habits and routine to be a courteous roommate, but that was a bold-faced lie. If he was in the room, my eyes were on him. I just couldn’t figure out why. At least he hadn’t given me any more talks about how I wasn’t welcome.
“Where’s Lance?” I asked before sitting down at the kitchen island and grabbing a crunchy piece of bacon. I moaned once the taste hit my tongue, thankful that I wouldn’t have to choke down anymore pancakes swimming in syrup. Part of me wondered if Decker remembered how much pancakes reminded me of Mama, but I extinguished that thought quickly.
“The hotel’s construction crew hit a snag yesterday, and now the structural integrity is compromised. Lance was called in early this morning to reevaluate the design and asked me to keep you company this morning.” He cracked an egg and poured the yolk into a frying pan as I