Ma’s house was exactly the same. The dull prism wallpaper still peeled off the walls. Ma disguised the tears with brass picture frames older than Rosalie’s twenty-four years. If she studied the carpet beneath her feet hard enough, she could see the stain from that time she spilled grape juice when she was eight. The furniture was no better, the wood finishing worn down and chipped over time.
More importantly, the tension between her and Ma was as thick. If not thicker. The quick glance she shot her spoke volumes. Ma wanted to speak with her once alone. The talk was going to be a grating lecture about what a massive mistake Rosalie made running off with Clyde. As if Rosalie hadn’t beat herself up about it enough over the years…
By the time she walked into the kitchen, strawberry frosting smudged Remi’s lips. Henry was on another beer. Ma hovered by the sink, washing dishes. She peeked over her shoulder and murmured something about leftovers in the fridge. Rosalie wasn’t hungry, pulling out a chair beside Remi.
“Mommy, try some cake. It’s really good.” Remi held up her fork, the spongy chocolate moist even at a glance.
Rosalie humored Remi and accepted the forkful. “Mmm. Delicious.”
“Grandmommy Lacie baked it all by herself.”
“Did she?”
“She did,” interjected Ma, turning off the faucet. She wiped her pruned hands on her apron. “You know all the Underwood women love baking.”
“Not Mommy,” said Remi, innocently confused.
“Your mommy’s the exception. Like always.”
Rosalie resisted the urge to gnaw on her tongue again. “Remi, it’s getting late and it’s been a long day. How about we get you in the bath and then your pj’s?”
Ma hurried to cut in. “I’d like it if you joined me for tea before bed. I’ve been drinking this lavender flavored one that relaxes the muscles.”
Rosalie agreed with a curt, silent nod. It took about thirty minutes to haul the luggage upstairs, get halfway unpacked, and help Remi into the bath. Due to the limited space in the house, they were sharing a room. She preferred it that way, and Remi was used to it by now. Anything was a step up from crashing in the living room of Clyde’s family.
Remi emerged from the bathroom squeaky clean and changed into her purple Disney Princess sleep shirt. Her eyes lit up when she spotted the toys unpacked from her suitcase. Embroiled in a game of dress Barbie for her date with Ken, Remi noticed nothing when Rosalie left the room.
As expected, Ma waited at the breakfast table. The soft, soothing notes of lavender filled the kitchen, doing anything but relax Rosalie. Instead, her heart beat rigidly against her chest. Her eyes lasered onto Ma without blinking. It was strange how she suddenly felt like an unruly teenager again, coming home for her tongue lashing.
“How was the drive?”
Rosalie lowered herself into a chair. “Long, but we made it. That’s all that matters.”
“Tea?”
“No thanks.”
Ma nudged the second mug toward her anyway, steam wafting into the air. “I’m glad y’all are here, safe and sound.”
“Me too. Thanks for having us. It…it should only be a few weeks. A month or two at most. I just need to recover money-wise.”
“Of course you do. He left you with nothing but a name.”
“The name’s not mine anymore either.”
“You’ve done one thing right,” Ma said, exasperated. She sipped on her tea. “You’ve given me a precious grandbaby. She’ll like it here—St. Aster’s perfect for children.”
“Right,” Rosalie replied. She ignored the glaring fact that it had been far from perfect for her. Often anything but. “I’m gonna be starting work tomorrow. I got a job at Ady’s Café.”
“Ady’s? Doing what? Waitressing?”
“Yes. Ady’s son hired me. The pay will add up eventually.”
“And what about what we talked about?” Ma’s sparse brows arched.
“The real estate thing?”
“You study those books hard. You take the test in a few weeks. You hopefully pass and earn your license,” explained Ma. Though she looked great at age forty-two, laugh line wrinkles bracketed her mouth as she scowled. “How d’you think I afford the mortgage? It’s good pay. Better than wiping down some tables for two dollars an hour. It’s not like Ady’s is what it used to be.”
Rosalie refused to argue Ma’s point. Objectively, she was right. Waitressing paid pennies and Ady’s business had steadily declined. But that didn’t change the fact that she held little interest in becoming a real estate agent. She had yet to divulge that truth, though. It was too soon and she was too in need of a roof over her and Remi’s heads. For now, pacifying Ma worked best.
“I’ll start studying the books on my first day off,” she fibbed. Her yawn followed, feigned for the purpose of escape. Rising to her feet, Rosalie stretched. “I’m gonna head up. Thanks again for letting us stay.”
“Of course.” Ma’s tight, pinched smile spread.
“Night.” Rosalie was at the threshold of the kitchen door when Ma spoke one last time.
“Oh, and Rosalie?”
“Yes, Ma?”
“No running in the house.”
The next day, Rosalie stood outside Ady’s Creole Café at ten o’clock sharp. Earlier in the morning she had taken Remi to register at the elementary school. Ma agreed to watch her for the rest of the day. Her heart ached being apart from Remi, even if it was for work, but luckily, she had taken to her Grandmommy. How could she not? Ma lavished Remi with a level of adoration Rosalie didn’t remember experiencing as a girl.
The late September wind blustered through Rosalie’s tight curls at a careless speed. She shielded herself by hiding behind the worn-down restaurant building. Her best cold weather gear was Clyde’s old denim jacket around her shoulders and the ankle boots on her feet. Everything else was lost in the old storage locker she and Clyde dumped their belongings into. At one point in time she used to have a drawer of hats and scarves perfect for windy days like this.
That was back when she was still in school, working part-time as a waitress while also pregnant with Remi. Their marriage was in its honeymoon phase, which was a period spent in a rose-gold tint. Her love for Clyde trumped everything. His love for her solved any problem. Though cracks were already well-formed, she ignored them for the blissful ignorance within her fingertips.
It backfired on her more horribly than her early-twenty-something brain ever conceived. Clyde stepped out on her. She forgave him. He came back and then months later, he was doing it again. And again. And again. After a while, she lost track. Her heart shriveled up, unable to process the depth of his betrayals anymore. The money troubles soon arrived. Remi was a small and expensive bundle of joy. Her student loans piled up. Clyde lost his job. They lost their apartment and their things weren’t far behind in their repossessed storage locker. Before her eyes, her entire life had gone up in flames.
So here she was, standing outside Ady’s Creole Café in her hometown, St. Aster, Louisiana; the one place she vowed she would never allow herself to return to. She was waiting to start her first day of work, told to be here at ten o’clock for training. Yet, she checked her phone and the time glowed 10:16 a.m. back at her.