Mother and I share a bathroom at our new lodgings, The Starling Inn. We wake every morning together and begin our separate morning rituals; brushing teeth and hair, sharing shades of organic blushes and shadows for the eyes. It is these mornings that have us communicating so much more than we ever did in our two-story penthouse.
“Gwen, do you know how your father and I met?” She is slipping something glittery and rose-colored on her lips.
“I do, maman, but tell me again, s’il te plait.” I may hate him but need to hear it, these happy times. These memories keep her lively, and me believing.
“We met at an art galleria opening, a retelling of mythology through various mediums. I opened the event, an immigrant intern at the time for the galleria itself, with an offhand joke about my name; how they were lucky I could still talk through my wooden lips. Gods, I barely knew English yet, mon Coeur.” She blots her lips on a thin napkin; it floats to the sea glass pebbled floor. “Jack approached me during the chicken tartar hors d’oeuvres, and insisted he escort me. He wanted to be the man Apollo could never be for me. I giggled of course, but was, how do you say it…? Hooked.” Mother pronounces her words with silent “h”s and beautiful vowels.
Oh, ma belle mama. From free water nymph to maid at a seaside inn? Well, I guess at least you are near water again, more real than the Hudson ever was.
Things I Have Gained
- The Atlantic ocean
- = Clarity
- New aprons and shoes, you to work in and me to turn into new fall fashions
- Books for my new school life.
- The Inn cat who I call Autumn from her vibrant colors and volatile nature
- (Maybe) mysterious Deputy Jared Larson.
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