Chapter 6 Puzzles and Palm-Readings #2
She looked shockingly young to be in a place like this, her violet hair streaked lightly with gray, face creased with laugh lines but not overly wrinkled. Glyma’s mother was in her fifties perhaps? Much too young to live here.
“Knock, knock,” Glyma said, knocking on the door so she wouldn’t scare the woman.
Glyma’s mother glanced up from her puzzle, glasses balanced on the tip of her nose where they’d slid down, eyes the same color as her daughter’s. “Oh, hello, dear.”
“How are you feeling today?”
“Oh, can’t complain. A bit warm I suppose, but fresh air is always good for the soul,” she said, pointing at the open window above the bed.
Glyma made no attempt to hug her mother. She approached casually, studying the puzzle Ms. Aryti was making. “This is a great puzzle. One of your favorites.”
“My daughter likes puzzles,” Ms. Aryti said absently, turning her attention back to the border piece in her hand.
Glyma flinched. “Yeah, she does. Mind if we sit with you?”
“Suppose there’s room enough. Make yourself at home.” Waving Quin inside, Ms. Aryti looked her up and down, adjusting her glasses. “My, my, aren’t you a looker.”
Covering her snort of amusement as a cough, Glyma sat down on her mother’s left, leaving the chair to the right for Quin.
“Uh, thank you?” she said awkwardly as she sat, and Ms. Aryti smiled toothily at her.
“Don’t worry, dear, you’re much too young for me. But when I see a nice face, I tell them. It’s always nice to receive compliments.”
Glyma chuckled and set her purse on the ground near her feet. “This is my friend, Quin.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Aryti,” Quin said, and Glyma’s mother blinked at her, then burst into raucous laughter.
“Ms. Aryti? She’s right proper, this one.”
“She is, indeed,” Glyma said, tail swaying with humor as she joined in her mother’s laughter.
“Well, that’s fine. Nothing wrong with manners.” She patted Quin’s hand before pointing toward the edge of the table. “Hand me that border piece, won’t you?”
It took Quin three tries to grab the correct border piece Ms. Aryti wanted, but she finally passed the right one over.
The puzzle didn’t seem complicated—not that Quin was particularly good at puzzles.
She didn’t have the temperament for it—but Glyma’s mother hadn’t made much headway.
She scrutinized numerous pieces but was slow to place them.
Every piece Ms. Aryti set down without a home, Glyma picked up and slotted into place.
“Good eye,” she said every time, and Glyma brightened.
As they worked on the puzzle, they chatted.
Glyma told her about her business and how Quin was helping her incorporate.
She told her about her ideas for the cafe, and her mother responded with enthusiasm.
It was warm and kind, but there was a lack of familiarity.
Like two acquaintances getting to know each other, instead of a mother and daughter reconnecting.
Quin had a hunch that Glyma had told her mother all of this before, but she’d simply forgotten. The same way she’d forgotten who Glyma was. The way she would forget Quin the moment they left the room.
Dementia was a cruel, heartless disease.
“What time is it?” Ms. Aryti asked, the ease in her tone and expression gone entirely.
“It’s—” Quin started, but Glyma interrupted her.
“Almost dinner time.”
“I have to pick up my daughter,” she said, standing suddenly. “I’m late. She’s waiting.”
Glyma followed her up. “No, she isn’t. She’s with the neighbor, remember? The neighbor is bringing her home later.”
Ms. Aryti frowned, but she allowed Glyma to guide her back to her seat. “That’s right,” she said slowly. “I must have forgotten.”
“That’s okay,” Glyma said with forced cheer. “You don’t have to worry about that. She’ll be home later.”
Nodding, her mother reached for another puzzle piece, fingers trembling slightly. “She’ll be home later. It’s a shame you missed her. She’s so bright. Smart as a whip.”
Glyma’s chin wobbled, but her voice was even as she said, “I bet she learned it from you.”
“She’s a good girl,” Ms. Aryti mumbled. “Wish you could have met her. She would have made cookies for you. Likes to bake, you see.”
“Yeah,” Glyma said, voice cracking this time. “Yeah, she does.”
“Such a good girl.”
Tears glistened in Glyma’s eyes, and she excused herself to use the bathroom. Her mother continued the puzzle, and Quin attempted to help. She was rather useless, but she handed the pieces Ms. Aryti couldn’t reach to her when she asked.
“You’re a good match,” she said, taking Quin off guard.
“Pardon?”
Ms. Aryti pinned her with a hard stare above her glasses. “You two. Good energy match. Could tell the moment you walked in.”
“We’re just friends,” Quin said, and Ms. Aryti arched a disbelieving eyebrow.
“You can’t bullshit a Succubus, not about this.” Snapping her fingers, she wriggled her hand in expectation. “Give ’em here.”
“I’m sorry?” Quin asked.
With a sound of impatience, she wriggled her fingers more forcefully. “Your hands, girl. Give ’em here.”
Quin held out her hands, and Ms. Aryti propped her glasses on her head and grabbed Quin’s wrists in a strong grasp. She flipped her hands over until they were palms-up. She studied them with a deep furrow to her brow, rubbing her thumbs over the lines, humming to herself at even intervals.
“Almost there,” she said, cupping Quin’s chin next and staring deep into her eyes. “Yeah, you’re almost there. That’s good.”
“Almost where?” Quin asked, unsure if she wanted to know the answer.
“Where you need to be,” she said simply. “Lock’s already gone. Up to you to open the door. You just didn’t know ’til now, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”
“I don’t understand,” Quin said.
“’Course you do, or at least you will soon enough.” Another glance at Quin’s palms. “Sooner than you think. That’s good. It’s no way to live.”
“What’s no way to live?”
And Ms. Aryti, pink eyes so much like her daughter’s, said, “Trapped. But you already know that, don’t you?”
“I—I—” Quin stammered, and Ms. Aryti's expression softened.
“That’s okay, dear. You know now, and that’s what matters in the end.” She patted Quin’s cheek affectionately before she returned her glasses to her nose and studied another piece. “I hope they serve meatloaf tonight. That’s my favorite.”
When Glyma returned, she was composed, but her eyes were puffy, like she’d been crying.
But she sat back down and finished the puzzle with her mother as they talked about things they’d probably talked about before.
Brenda popped her head in to give the fifteen-minute warning to dinner and asked if Glyma and Quin would be joining them, but Glyma shook her head.
“Thanks for letting us help with the puzzle,” Glyma said as she stood and dug around in her purse. She pulled out a box and offered it to her mom. “I brought you a new one.”
“Oh, well, isn’t that so sweet.” Ms. Aryti took the puzzle box and admired the image on the front. “This one will be beautiful. Thank you, dear.”
“Can we come back next week?” Glyma asked, and her mother nodded.
“Well, that would be lovely. A day with the girls. Maybe my Glyma will be here. She’ll make you cookies.”
Glyma’s breath hitched, and she bent down and threw her arms around her mother’s shoulders. Ms. Aryti made a noise of surprise, but she didn’t push Glyma away. She slowly reached up and patted Glyma’s back, casting Quin a look of bewilderment.
“Oh my. Well… okay, then.” She settled into the hug a little more when Glyma sobbed softly. “There, there. It’s gonna be okay. Don’t you worry. Everything will be right as rain before you know it.”
Sniffling, Glyma withdrew from the embrace and nodded. “I know.”
Ms. Aryti tapped Glyma’s cheek with several fingers. “You just keep that chin up.”
“I will,” Glyma said, then she pecked her mother’s cheek quickly. “Love you, Mom.”
Then she rushed from the room, leaving her mother stunned. Quin jumped to her hooves to follow, but strong fingers circled her wrist, stopping her. She glanced down at Ms. Aryti.
Her brows drew down in concentration, and she blinked rapidly. For a moment, something flickered in her eyes, something bright and sharp.
“You take care of her for me,” she said, sounding the same yet not the same at all.
“I will,” Quin said, because how could she say anything but?
The light in her eyes winked out as fast as it had appeared, and she dropped Quin’s wrist. Turning back to her puzzle, she waved at the door. “Best go after your girl. She seemed upset, poor dear.”
“It was nice to meet you, Ms. Aryti,” Quin said, but Glyma’s mother didn’t respond, instead placing a puzzle piece into a spot it didn’t belong.
Glyma wasn’t in the halls, and Quin jogged past the empty front desk, pushing through the doors into the parking lot. Glyma was leaning against the hood of her car, lighter flicking as she struggled to light a cigarette. At Quin’s approach, she glanced her way and grimaced.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to leave you there like that. I just…” She took a trembling inhale and nearly choked on the smoke—or a sob. “She gets upset when I call her mom, and I hate upsetting her. But I didn’t mean to leave you like that.”
“It’s fine, Glyma,” Quin said as Glyma took another shaky drag, fingers quaking.
“Some days are just harder than others, you know?” She wiped at the tears streaming down her cheeks. “Sometimes, we have a nice time, and I can enjoy my mom in whatever way I can. And then there’s days like today where I feel like I’m drowning, and I need my mom. I just want my mom.”
Quin stepped in between Glyma’s legs and hauled her down into a hug.
Glyma burst into heaving sobs, tucking her face into Quin’s neck.
Most of her weight was on the car, but she leaned heavily on Quin all the same as she broke apart.
And Quin held her, hooves set firmly on the ground, one hand rubbing her back, one cupping her head, soft hair twisted in her fingers.
“I miss my mom, Quin,” Glyma sobbed. “I miss her so much.”
“I know,” Quin said, her own eyes stinging. “I’m sorry. Glyma, I’m so sorry.”
She cooed comforting non-words as she pet Glyma’s hair, holding her close as she mourned the loss of someone who wasn’t even dead.
Glyma clung to Quin, cigarette forgotten on the ground, a lonely point of smoldering light as dusk settled around them.
They stood that way until the cigarette was nothing but ash.