Never Got My Apple Pie

           It smells like garlic butter, and it’s making my stomach hurt. Sally’s cooking the same kind of instant mashed potatoes Mom and I use when we go camping, and inhaling the fumes makes me think of bug spray and days without baths. Even though the food looks terrible, I don’t complain because I like Sally; she smells like cats and cinnamon, and she gave me a York peppermint patty when we first showed up yesterday. “It’ll be our little secret,” she said with a smirk. She had lipstick on her teeth, but her smile was as straight and white as her picket fence. Then she hugged me, and I buried my face in her sweater and breathed in as hard as I could. 

Sally said she's here as a “mediator”, but she said it like it was a joke. I’ve never heard the word mediator before; only meditate, which we do sometimes when Ms. Constantine thinks our class is being too loud. I assume it means someone who meditates a lot, so I don’t know why she’d laugh at that, because meditating is not funny at all. But when I asked her why she laughed, she just looked at my grandma, who looked angry with her. Grandma probably loves to meditate. 

“Honey, could you put this on the table, please?”

She hands me a red pot the size of my head, and I carry it over to the dining room table, already set with Sally’s fancy plates. It looks like it’s full of instant gravy, and I try my best to hold my breath. Nonetheless, the acrid scent floats into my nose, and I almost trip over a small cat doorstop as I gag. Sally’s house has one of those swinging doors between the dining room and the kitchen, like the one in Full House. The whole house is like a TV house; the walls are covered in bright red wallpaper, and she has a window seat with fluffy pink pillows. It’s a lot nicer than Grandma’s house, which I think is nearby. We passed the same green welcome sign we do when we go to Grandma’s on the way to Sally’s, so I know they’re at least in the same town. Grandma’s house is full of old tin cans from flea markets she used to frequent when Mom was a kid. Last time Mom and I went, Grandpa said he’d throw them out soon. They truly were all over the floors, the shelves, everything; one time I opened one, and I found an almond covered in mold. He never actually went through with clearing them out. I think every time he came close, Grandma would beg until he finally gave in. It was the only time I’d ever seen Grandma say please: when she was asking Grandpa to keep her little old tin cans. 

Grandma’s already sitting at the table; she’s still wearing her pajamas, even though it’s Thanksgiving dinner. I’m a little angry because I’m wearing my fancy dress with the big plaid bow I got for church in second grade. But she’s been irritable this trip, so I don’t say anything. She's reading an old book, the kind that falls apart if you turn the page too quickly. I tried to read one of them once, and she spanked me so hard I couldn’t sit down for dinner. Then she spanked me again, but Grandpa gave me extra blankets so it didn’t hurt so bad. The book she’s reading is called Of Mice and Men, which is one of Mom's favorite books too. I know because she has the exact same copy lying on her bedside table, right next to her favorite necklace. She was reading it and crying the night that Grandpa died, and now the pages are all crinkled just like Grandma’s. 

“Ella, no! Put the pot here where the oven mitt is so it doesn’t burn Sally’s nice tablecloth.”

“The pot isn’t that hot.” 

The instant gravy is tepid at best; I don’t think Sally even heated it up.

“Don’t talk back. Here, give it to me.” As Grandma puts down the gravy, Sally bursts through the door with the camping mashed potatoes and a big apple pie in an Aldi container. 

“Can I have some pie?” It’s the only thing on the table that doesn’t make my stomach churn to think about eating. Plus, she put extra cinnamon sugar on top so it looks like a snickerdoodle cookie. 

“After dinner, sweetheart,” she whispers with a wink. She still has lipstick on her teeth. I decide not to tell her.

“Gather for dinner, please! I know it’s a bit thrown together, but I used the nice china to give it a classy feel.” 

“It’s perfect, Sal. Thanks.” Grandma smiles at her, the first time she’s smiled the whole time. She has so many wrinkles you can’t even see her eyes; just two slits and a half-hearted grin.

“Yes, thank you, Sal.” Mom walks in from the living room wearing a flowy green dress. Her eyes are puffy, but she’s wearing blush. I think Mom is the most beautiful woman alive most of the time. She looks really pretty right now.

“Are you kidding? I’m just happy to have company. And I haven’t seen this one since she was in diapers.” She pinches my cheek and kisses it, probably covering it in lipstick just like her teeth.

“Isn’t she huge? The tallest one in her class.”

“She looks just like you, Darcy.”

“Oh, come on now. Darcy was always short and stubby, Ella has that Kate Moss look to her.” Grandma grins even more as she says this, and her eyes get that much smaller.

“Who’s Kate Moss?” I ask.

“Just some model from the 90’s. You don’t need to look like her; she was really unhealthy. Very skinny.” 

“Well, we certainly do not look like Kate Moss, so dig in, please! I hope it’s all as good as homemade; I was reading Martha Stewart, and these were her recommendations. Plus, I trust that woman with my life, so giving her my kitchen was obvious.”

“Yes, she knows what she’s doing.” Grandma hands me the turkey, and I take as little as I can possibly take to seem polite. It smells like the deli section and fake plastic. My stomach churns and growls at the same time, and all I can think is how hungry I am.

“Yeah, but it’s not as good as Grandpa’s food.” The second I say it, everyone stops moving. Sally looks at Grandma, and Grandma looks at my mom. Mom just looks at me blankly, like she doesn’t even see me. 

“He really could cook, couldn’t he.” Sally’s eyes peel away from Grandma and focus on me.

“His mashed potatoes were so good. I could eat, like, two plates and still have room for dessert.” Sally and grandma giggle a bit, but mom’s face remains expressionless. No one is talking now; I have to get the conversation going again.

“I miss him. He was funny. Like how he’d always put an apple on his head and then act like he knew where it was.” At this, mom’s head snaps up again. Her eyes are glossy.

“Yeah, he did that all the time when you were tiny. It was really cute.” Her voice is still far away.

“He loved making her laugh. He wishes he could’ve done it more.” Grandma’s voice is calm, but Mom looks at her like she’s screaming. Grandma looks back, grins, and turns towards me.

“If your grandpa could be here tonight, he’d tell you how sad he is that he hasn’t gotten to see you more. He’d give you a big hug and say how much he misses you, and that he wishes he had gotten to see you before he passed.”

“No, he’d just tell you that he loved you and is watching over you. Trust me.” Mom says this to me, but she’s staring at Grandma.

“Yes, but he missed you. He missed both of you, really. You only really came once a year. He hardly saw her except for Facebook posts.” Grandma’s cheeks are rosy now, but still her voice is calm.

“I called whenever I could, mom. We were busy.”

“Too busy for family, I suppose.” Grandma chuckles and looks at Sally, and Sally looks back without laughing. I see her mouth “Margie”, but Grandma shakes her head and continues.

“It’s such a shame, really. All he wanted was to see his babies one last time. But I guess you had more important things, whatever those may be.”

Mom drops her fork, and the china plate cracks a little bit right where the gold part is.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean, mom.”

“Darcy, what? I just mean that he was sad he couldn’t see his grandchild while he was on his deathbed.”

“He couldn’t see anything anyways. He couldn’t even fucking speak.”

“Well, he could have at least seen her more than once every year and a half.” Grandma’s smiling a bit, but her eyes are narrowed, and her fists are tight.

“Do you really want to do this now? In front of Ella?”

At this, Sally grabs my shoulder and whispers to me to take my plate into the kitchen and go watch cartoons.

“But you said I could have a-”

“Later, honey. Put your plate in the sink. Now, please.”

She shoves my plate and hers into my arms and pushes me out of the dining room. The swinging door shuts, but the little cat doorstop is still there; I can still see my grandma's smirk through the crack.

“This is a nice family meal. Obviously, we all miss Robert, but we are trying to move on. You guys invited me here to..”

“You offered to have us, Sally. Your kids never visit either.”

“There it is again. You know what? Maybe we can finally have this talk without dad here to keep you docile. I’m sick of your fucking snide comments. Say it to my fucking face.” 

I’ve never heard mom cuss like that before. Her voice is wavering, and it sounds like she could either burst into tears or start screaming. I cross my fingers behind my dress that she cries.

“Don’t speak to me like that. I am your mother, and I have never done anything but care for you the best I can and this is the thanks I get. I have a cold, heartless daughter”.

“Are you fucking joking?”

“You’ve probably got your bastard child to hate me too now. Probably have your whole neighboorhood convinced that I’m the absolute worst mother in the world, that all I did was subject you to years of abuse and torture.”

“Margie, please, let’s just take a-”

“Sally, go help Ella work the TV.” Grandma’s head snaps towards the other side of the room and I can’t see her face, but the veins on her neck are popping out like tree trunks. There’s a pause as Sally walks towards the door where everyone is quiet; no noise except for the floor creaking and cats meowing somewhere else.

I dash over to the couch and pretend to fiddle with the remote. It’s different from the remote at home; there are more buttons and less switches. I hear talking in the other room, but the door is fully closed now, so I can’t decipher the exact words. It’s just a low rumbling noise, blending in with the creaks of the house. 

“I couldn't get it to work.” 

“That’s okay, dear.” Sally smiles warily and puts her arm around me. She looks tired, like she just walked a long way and still has a long way to go. The TV flips to the cartoon network. Amazing World of Gumball is On, which is my favorite show.

“This is my favorite show. It’s about a guy who’s best friends with his pet goldfish.”

“That’s awesome, honey.” I can tell Sally doesn’t want to talk, so I turn the volume up and pretend to watch as I stare out the window.

The trees outside look like tentacles, and I think about the time I went to the zoo with Grandma and saw an octopus. She took a picture of me with it, and she keeps it in the middle of her dining table next to mom’s fifth grade portrait. If I try to focus on this, the memory of the octopus, while the screaming in the other room gets louder, I can keep my eyes from tearing up. But when I forget to, and the memory goes foggy in my head, sentence fragments sneak their way in.

“I had a kid at 22…...trying to finish law school…….wouldn’t pay for flights…….unrealistic expectations…….I didn’t have the time……..did all that I could…”. Mom’s voice is wavering, but she just gets louder and louder. Grandma’s voice never even cracks.

“Did we mean nothing……….not made of money……..not even trying.” 

Sally reaches for the remote and turns the TV to full volume. It doesn’t help; they’re screaming so loud the neighbors can probably hear.

“You’re so mad at a kid you never even fucking liked anyways. All you’ve done my whole life is tell me what a fucking failure I am. You didn’t even visit me in the hospital when I had her. IN THE HOSPITAL, MOM. I was 22 and scared and my own fucking mother couldn’t even fucking help.” I can tell mom’s crying now. I know what it sounds like when she cries.

“Please. Maybe if you weren’t such a fucking slut it wouldn’t have been a problem. I PAID for your school. I did everything for you. ALL YOU DO is treat me like SHIT when I have given you my whole life.” 

Sally winces next to me, but doesn’t say anything. The dining room goes quiet for a second; all I hear is mom crying.

“You were abusive, mom, you made me feel like shit my whole life. You were verbally abusi-” 

“DON”T FUCKING SAY THAT!” I hear a glass break, and mom screams as Sally leaps up. There’s more screaming in the dining room, but I can’t make out any of it. 

“We’re leaving, Ella. Come on. Now.” Mom stands in the living room doorway. Her blush is gone now, and her dress is covered in wine. Her hair is fussed up too, and again I think of the octopus and me on Grandma’s table.

I stand up and hold her hand. Sally and Grandma are gone now; I don’t know where they are. I can hear footsteps upstairs, but it might just be a cat. The wallpaper is stained with red wine, and I step over broken glass on my way to the door.

Mom doesn’t say a word as we get in the car. She just sits there, completely and entirely silent. When she does start the car, we drive until we pass the welcome to town sign. It doesn’t look green at nighttime. It looks dark red.