9. Sullha
SULLHA
"The blue one," Leehy said.
"I already wore blue."
"I doubt Yaaf remembers what you wore or cares. Besides, it's a different shade of blue."
Sullha turned from the mirror, the green dress still on its hanger in one hand and the blue one in the other.
"Which one?"
Leehy tilted her head. "Wear the green. It makes you look fresh."
Sullha chuckled. "That's how I want to look. Fresh. Like a vegetable freshly picked from the garden? Couldn't you think of anything more complimentary to say?"
Her mother frowned. "Fresh is good. It's everything I'm not."
"Mother."
"What?" Leehy walked over to the couch and sat down. "It's true. Whenever I look at myself in the mirror, the word wilted comes to mind. So, fresh is good because it's the opposite of wilted."
Sullha let out a breath, draped the two dresses over the back of the armchair, and sat next to her mother on the couch.
Having a living-room area inside her bedroom was an incredible luxury.
Her mother's room had the same configuration, and Leehy spent a lot of time there, watching television by herself without understanding anything that was said.
It was the novelty of it, seeing a world she had never known existed on the screen.
"The wilting can be reversed," Sullha said.
It had been weeks since she'd learned the truth about the enclosure females and that they could be turned immortal, but she hadn't broached the subject with her mother or the other women yet. Did the harem ladies know?
They had to. They had been turned immortal themselves. They hadn't been born that way.
Her mother smiled. "I don't think makeup and hair coloring can do much to make me look fresh, but I'm willing to experiment."
That was the most upbeat thing Sullha had heard her mother say. "I heard there's a lady in the village who does that. We can book an appointment with her together. It could be fun."
Leehy shook her head. "Maybe in a month or two. I'm still getting used to all this."
"I know." Sullha took her hand. "You're doing great. Much better than I thought you would."
"I'm trying." Her mother squeezed her hand. "For years, I've been waiting for death to come and free me from the ugliness of my existence. I'd given up and never expected to truly live again. You gave me a chance at a new life, and the least I can do is not squander it."
"I'm proud of you." Sullha leaned in and kissed her mother's cheek, something she hadn't done in so many years that it felt like a different lifetime.
Leehy brought her hand to her face. "Thank you," she said, so quietly it was barely audible. "I don't deserve you."
"You deserve a life, and I'm glad you are not hiding from it." Sullha got to her feet. "I need to get ready, or the van will leave without me."
Her mother nodded. "Wear the green dress."
"I think I'm going to wear the blue."
Leehy rolled her eyes. "You've always been like this. You'd ask for my opinion, then do the exact opposite."
"You said blue, then green, so I can't do the opposite when you suggest both."
Sullha hung the green dress back in the closet, which still had more space than things to put in it, and stood there for a moment with her hand on the door.
The transformation her mother was undergoing was incredible. In the enclosure, she had been like the walking dead. Eyes on the ground, feet shuffling, barely speaking even when spoken to.
She didn't remember ever asking her mother for advice on anything, nor did she remember receiving any or doing the opposite.
Was Leehy remembering a past that hadn't happened? Or had Sullha forgotten?
She'd stopped letting her mother's indifference hurt her after Tomek's birth, and now her mother had opinions about dress colors and false memories of giving advice, and she didn't know what to do with it.
Sullha put on the new pale blue sleeveless dress, with a skirt that swayed when she moved.
She'd picked it out herself at a place called a mall.
Margaret had taken her shopping, and they had eaten at a place called the food court, which was indoors.
She had walked out with the dress in a bag with handles and had cried in the car because she'd never bought anything in a store before.
Margaret had told her that it was okay. She had cried the first time she had gone shopping after spending many years in something called a cult.
Then Margaret had explained what a cult was, and it reminded Sullha of the Sacred Mothers.
From everything Margaret had told her, the Sacred Mothers fit the definition.
Leehy came up behind her and gathered her hair off her neck. "You should try wearing it like this." She twisted her hair up.
"I don't like how it feels." Sullha removed her mother's hands. "I like it loose and free."
Something clattered onto the living-room floor.
"Nana!" Tomek shouted. "It wasn't me!"
"It's never you," Leehy called back. "Put your shoes on. We are going to the playground."
Tomek was in the kitchen with one shoe on, holding the other, and the fruit bowl was upside down on the floor, with most of the fruit still inside.
"I was climbing to get an apple."
"Naturally. Just pick it all up. We will wash the fruit again when we come back."
After he finished with the bowl, he sat on the floor and put the other shoe on. Leehy crouched in front of him and did the Velcro straps, and Tomek let her, as if that were the most natural thing in the world.
Sullha shook her head at how quickly those two had slipped into the roles of grandma and grandson, with absolutely no foundation to justify it.
Her mother had never held Tomek.
Not once, not as a baby, not even when Sullha had come out of the birthing room at fourteen, stood in the dormitory doorway with him in her arms, and waited for someone to say something.
Leehy had looked at him for a moment, then turned away.
Sullha had made her peace with it by deciding her mother was too hollowed out to offer anything.
She'd stopped expecting anything from her, or at least that was what she'd been telling herself.
"We're going to the playground," Tomek said. "Kotev and Vashie will be there." He stood up and inspected his new shoes with a smile on his little face. "They can hang upside down, and so can I. Nana said I can do that if I'm holding on with my hands, not just my knees."
Sullha looked at her mother.
"He's okay if he holds on with his hands," Leehy said. "I watched the Kra-ell children do that."
"They are Kra-ell, Mother. Their bodies are different."
"Not really. The two Tomek plays with are hybrids, and they are mostly human until they reach puberty and start to change."
Sullha hadn't known that. "Who told you that?"
"Beulah. She likes sitting on the bench and watching the children play."
Sullha tensed. "What else did Beulah tell you?"
Leehy shrugged. "She told me about the Kra-ell, the grocery store, and how I should try the baked goods the ladies who run it make."
That sounded innocent enough, but Sullha resolved to have 'the talk' with her mother soon and stop stressing about her hearing it from someone else.
In fact, she needed to gather the others and have 'the talk' with all of them at once.
She didn't want to go through another round of accusations about things she knew and should have shared but hadn't.
"How do you even talk to the Kra-ell children?" she asked Tomek. "They don't speak our language, and you don't speak theirs."
Tomek gave her the look that communicated his opinion that grownups knew nothing. "We don't talk. We play."
"They talk," Leehy said. "With their hands."
Sullha crouched in front of Tomek and kissed his cheek. "I'm going to see Yaaf," she said. "Don't give Nana any trouble."
"I won't. Tell Yaaf to come to the village. It's much nicer here than in the tall building."
"I will."
He put his arms around her neck and kissed her back, something he hardly ever did, then took Leehy's hand, and the two of them walked out the door.
Sullha glanced at the clock and panicked. She was late.
She ran the entire way to the pavilion, and by the time she stepped into the elevator to the parking level, she was out of breath and sweating.
Mirumah arched a brow when she saw her. "What happened to you?"
"I didn't notice how late it was and ran all the way."
Bianca waved at her over her mother's shoulder.
Zohara stopped in front of Sullha and looked her over. "That's a good color on you," she said.
It was not an apology.
Sullha had stopped expecting one and, somewhere during the second week of English classes, had decided she didn't need one. They were talking, and Zohara wasn't giving her the cold shoulder anymore. That was good enough.
"Thank you," she said. "Are we waiting for Gindah?"
"Mistress Gindah is already in the van," Okidu said. "We were waiting for you, Mistress Sullha."