Mae kept those words close for the rest of the day, repeating them over and over in her head. They were not like any of the words she normally used. They were rough, jagged things, totally lacking the smoothness of her everyday language. But perhaps that was also the appeal. With every repetition Mae could see them hooking into their intended target, their edges cutting deep, the corners ripping chunks away before flying off. Mae would repeat the word again, and it would loop around and strike again.
It wasn’t long before she let them loose in the open air again.
Evening came. She was sitting at the dining table with Mother and Grandma, keeping her head down and picking at her chicken and potatoes. Mother and Grandma were arguing again. Grandma had gone to Mother’s store to do some shopping; according to Grandma, there wasn’t enough food in the house and Mother never paid any attention to what Grandma wanted. So she decided to buy her own groceries, and she came to Mother’s checkout lane with coupons in hand. Expired coupons. Mother refused to accept them, as did her supervisor, who instead offered to escort Grandma out of the store before she began screaming at Mother on the spot.
“I don’t see why coupons ever need to expire anyway,” Grandma said.
“It’s like when a product goes on sale,” Mother said. “You keep it discounted too long, the business is gonna lose money.”
“But just once? You couldn’t have let it go just one time?”
“No, I can’t. If I do, I’ll get in trouble.”
“So you’re more loyal to your supervisor than you are your own mother?”
Mother sighed. “That doesn’t matter. Rules are rules. Besides, I shouldn’t show favoritism in the workplace, anyway. It’s unprofessional.”
“Unprofessional? You’re worried about professionalism? You’re a cashier at a grocery store. You make minimum wage. Your coworkers are high school students.”
“So what? A job is a job. As long as I’m working, I might as well do the best that I can…. Besides, I’m still holding out hope for some upward mobility at some point.”
Grandma barked out a laugh. “If you really care about upward mobility, you wouldn’t be working at a grocery store. Granted, if you’d gone to college you wouldn’t have this problem.”
“I would have liked to go to college. If you hadn’t given up on me, I might have done it.”
“Given up? Don’t be ridiculous. I never did such a thing.”
“Yes, you did.”
“How? How did I give up on you?”
“Oh, let’s see if I can remember what you said to me. This isn’t exact, but I think it went something like this: ‘Pack your things. We want you out of the house tonight. Where you go doesn’t matter, but you can’t say here, and you can’t come back.’”
Mae was staring at Grandma, her mouth agape. Grandma glanced at her, then turned back to Mother. “How dare you,” she said. “Don’t lie in front of your daughter like that.”
“Lie?”
“Yes, lie. I never said such things to you.”
“You did! You and Dad, you both said that to me, and then—”
“You told us you hated us, that you didn’t want to stay, and you walked out.”
“…What?”
“You ran away! We didn’t kick you out!”
“What… what the hell, Mom?”
“We didn’t kick you out.”
“You did!”
“Oh, is that what you’re so used to telling people? Is that what your husband thought?”
“Fucking bitch.”
As soon as the words escaped Mae’s lips curled inward and her eyes went wide, as if her body itself was repulsed by what he’d said. She hadn’t put any thought into what she would say and when. She was just listening to the argument, and the phrase leapt out on its own.
Mother and Grandma fell silent. Both of them now stared at Mae, their mouths and eyes wide open with shock.
“What did you say?” Grandma said.
Mae lowered her head again. “Nothing,” she said softly.
Mother got up, grabbed Mae’s wrist, and dragged her to her bedroom. As Mae sat down on her bed, she could hear Grandma yelling after them. “Where did she learn that? Is that what you’ve been teaching her, Jacob?” Then Mother shut the door, muffling Grandma’s voice.
“Who taught you that?” Mother asked, sitting down next to Mae. “Where did you learn those words?”
Mae kept her head down, didn’t say anything. Mother grabbed her wrist again, her grip tight and painful. “Answer me. Where did you learn those words?”
“Lena,” Mae said. “Lena taught me.”
Mother took a deep breath, let go of Mae’s wrist. “Mae, those are bad words,” she said. “You know better than to say them. And if Lena’s going to influence you like this, then I don’t think you should be spending so much time with her anymore.”
“But Mom—”
“No ‘buts!’”
Mae cringed. She wasn’t used to hearing Mother yell, or even hearing her speak so tersely.
Mother got up and went to the door. Mae started to get up, but Mother turned around, pointed, and said, “Stay. You’re grounded for the rest of the night. Got it?”
Mae fell back on her bed and nodded. Mother left. Mae stared up at the ceiling, waiting for the tension in her body to fade.