Chapter 64 Mo
Mo
Rosemary and Lorraine stood, hands clawed upon hips, like twin judgmental towers.
“Well, Maureen,” her mother said, standing in her tiny living room. “Don’t you have anything to say?”
How could Mo say I hate you and I’ve missed you and Where have you been and Why are you here and Get out and Please don’t leave at once?
Rosemary McDonnell was smaller, frailer than the last time Mo had seen her. It was rattling. But Mo felt smaller, too.
“Maureen?” Laurie sneered, repeating the name their mother had given Mo. She tossed a glance toward the mostly full glass of whisky Mo had abandoned to get Deli. “Ah. Taking after Dad?”
A firework of anger flared in Mo’s chest as her sister reached for the old Mom says Dad’s an alcoholic refrain.
But just as she took a breath to defend her father, Deli stumbled through the doorway, struggling with a massive suitcase.
Beans was by her side in an instant, and Mo was pulled forward through time—from the child she’d been to who she was now.
An adult who had made her choices—facing two other adults who had made theirs.
For the sake of her niece, Mo would be who Deli needed her to be. At least, she would try.
“Mom”—Mo smiled—“and Laurie. It’s so good to see you.”
“Really? Because we were never invited for a visit,” Laurie snapped.
Deli placed her body between Mo and Laurie, smiling and slouching somehow, like she wanted to shrink. “Neither was I, technically. We’ve all just invited ourselves! Poor Aunt Mo, right?”
“Yes.” Laurie ran a finger down Mo’s wall and rubbed it against her thumb with a repulsed look. “Have you enjoyed my stolen daughter?”
“Mom,” Deli started, “Aunt Mo didn’t ste—”
“I have.” Mo raised her voice. “Every single second. Deli is welcome for however long she likes whenever she likes.” Laurie’s eyes widened like she’d been slapped, then flicked to their mother, to Mo, and finally to Deli—who was staring at Mo with shining eyes.
Mo was ready to be the bad guy if it meant being Deli’s protector. “Deli really seems to belong here.”
Laurie’s hatred nearly bored a hole into Mo’s face. She swiveled on her heel, stalked into the bedroom where they’d once whispered secrets in the dark as sisters, and slammed the door.
Rosemary sighed. “Thank you very much for that, Maureen.”
Deli moved like she might follow her mother in before she stopped and stared at her boots. Beans rushed to weave between them, and Mo could almost see Popsicle smeared across her dimpled cheeks. Mo could almost see the little girl.
“Hey.” Mo spoke out of the corner of her mouth. “Wanna play a game? Drink every time one of them sighs?”
Mo picked up Beans McGee as a wry smile broke across her niece’s face. Deli scritched the top of his head with ten fingers as Beans flattened his ears, closed his eyes, and purred. It’s gonna be okay, Mo thought. We’re gonna be okay.
“So this is what you left us for?” Rosemary held her arms out to her sides and performed a slow, dramatic twirl in the middle of Mo’s home. “I’d forgotten just how claustrophobic it all is.”
“Huh,” Deli said. “I think it’s perfect.”
Mo’s eyes almost bulged. For a moment, a memory stole her away—a slick of poppy hair, the gleam of Beth’s canine bared in warning, the shock on Rosemary’s face as her crimes were read aloud. It slid down her back like an ice cube.
Rosemary gave a pitying laugh. Deli asked, “Grandma, what are you doing here?”
Rosemary leaned casually on the counter. Mo didn’t like the way her mother moved, like this was her home—like she’d never left. “Can’t an old woman visit her daughter? And granddaughter, it seems, since you’ve moved in, apparently.”
Mo felt a tear begin in her somewhere. “After twenty years?”
“No time like the present.” She plucked the wedding invitation Mo had designed for Blair and Andrew from the refrigerator. “How lovely. I do enjoy a wedding.”