Chapter 42 Lee
Lee
Lee was dreaming of her childhood guinea pig, Luther, when a sharp, repetitive tapping pulled her from her cozy childhood bedroom, which had been wallpapered in blue hearts.
When she opened her eyes and found herself in Regan’s sparse Greek bedroom, she felt deflated.
And Luther—what a cutie he had been, if a bit smelly.
He had died of “mysterious causes” soon after Lee went to college.
The tapping continued. “What?” she said, with irritation, “WHAT IS IT?”
The doorknob opened and there was Flora, rendered timid by Lee’s loud and angry voice. “Auntie Lee?” said Flora.
“I’m sorry, do you need a ride to school?” Lee sat up—this motherhood shtick never ended. Day after day with the rides to school and the lunch ingredients and the pretending to listen when she just wanted to stare into space, JESUS.
“It’s Saturday,” said Flora flatly.
“What do you need?” said Lee through clenched teeth. She was honestly finished with these children and their constant maintenance! She was such a bad person! She added, “Sweetheart?”
“There’s someone here,” said Flora, speaking slowly as if Lee were hard of hearing. “Do you want to get up and come into the living room?”
“Is it your mom?” said Lee.
“Oh no,” said Flora, looking sick. “No, it’s not Mom.”
“Who is it, honey?”
“Come see.”
Lee stood grouchily and followed Flora into the living room, where she was stunned to see her mother on the couch. “It’s me! Surprise!” said Charlotte, jumping up and splaying open her hands.
“Mom!” said Lee, the word coming out strangled.
Charlotte wasn’t supposed to be here. Lee was supposed to have found Regan by now, supposed to have fixed everything before anyone else needed to get involved.
Charlotte’s presence meant only one thing: Lee had failed so spectacularly that her elderly mother had flown across an ocean to clean up the mess.
“Sounded like you needed some help around here,” said Charlotte, looking pointedly at the living room floor, which was scattered with take-out wrappers and half-folded clothes, and at Isabelle, entwined with Anastasia on the couch.
Flora gazed adoringly at Charlotte, her savior. Charlotte wore a fuchsia pantsuit and leopard-print slingbacks. “Grammy Charlotte,” said Flora, “do you want some coffee?”
“That would be delightful,” said Charlotte.
“And can you move my monogrammed bag into my bedroom? After coffee, let’s make a grocery list. You girls need some healthy meals around here, I can see!
When did anyone last clean? And Isabelle, dear, why are you and your pal still in pajamas at—good Lord, is it really noon? ”
Lee watched Flora’s face light up with relief that a real adult had finally arrived. Anastasia, clad in a T-shirt and thong, rose from the couch and headed to Isabelle’s room.
“That girl needs bigger panties!” whispered Charlotte.
Lee might as well have been furniture.
“Grammy Charlotte, sleep with me!” said Flora.
“Oh, that’s sweet,” said Charlotte. “But I’ll stay in the guest room.”
“Um, there is no guest room,” said Isabelle, seemingly happy to rain on Charlotte’s parade.
“This is an utter disaster,” Charlotte muttered.
“You can say that again,” said Isabelle.
Lee stood frozen as Charlotte began issuing orders—Flora to the kitchen, Isabelle to get dressed, clean that surface, pull up the New York Times cooking app. Within minutes, Charlotte had done what Lee couldn’t do in two weeks: made the girls feel safe and cared for.
Lee stood off to the side, arms limp. Her nightgown was torn. Her foot was cut badly. Flora looked at Lee worriedly. Lee didn’t blame her.
Lee needed her mother, and here she was.
“Go back to bed, dear,” said Charlotte. “You look simply awful.”
Lee wanted to protest. She opened her mouth, then closed it. She turned and went back to bed, like a child. For a few more blessed hours, she would remain oblivious to what she had done.