Mae didn’t recognize the old woman standing at her doorstep. The old woman was staring down at her, light, frizzy hair blowing wildly in the windy corridor, her deeply-lined face pulled back in a smile that struck Mae as cold and unnerving, rather than sincere.
“Do you know who I am, little girl?” the old woman asked.
Mae shook her head. She began to wonder if it had been a bad idea to answer the door, if this woman was one of those abductors that Mother had warned her about.
“I’m your Grandma!” The old woman got to her knees and pulled Mae into a tight hug. Mae stood perfectly still, her arms pinned to her sides. She inhaled, and a sickly sweet smell invaded her nose.
Then Grandma let Mae go, stood up, walked through the doorway and down the corridor to Mother’s bedroom, knocked on the door, and said, “Jacob! You in there?”
Mae, meanwhile, stood in the entryway, feeling the cold wind from outside chill her back. She closed the door, then turned her attention back to the old woman. Her Grandma, she claimed. Possibly, Mae thought. But if she was, then why would she barge in without warning, especially when she never came to visit before? And who was this “Jacob” she was looking for?
Mother pulled the door open and abruptly froze, looking shocked. “Mom?” she said.
Grandma fixed an annoyed look on Mother. “Really, that’s how you greet your mother, Jacob?” she said. “No smile, no hug. Not even a ‘hello’?”
“Sorry, Mom,” Mother said, turning her eyes down.
“It’s all right. I forgive you, Jacob.”
“My name’s not Jacob, Mom. It’s Ruby.”
“Oh, drop it, Jacob. Don’t lie to your mom.”
“I’m not. Really, I—”
“I don’t want to hear it. This has gone on for too long, and you know it.”
Mother didn’t look up at Grandma. She stepped out of her bedroom and closed the door. “What are you doing here?” she asked.
“I wanted to see you,” Grandma said, her voice suddenly changed from hard and steely to soft and sweet. “And living with Louie just got so tiring after awhile. He’s so stuffy and serious.”
“Why were you living with Louie?”
“I needed somewhere to go after your father died.”
“…He’s dead?”
Grandma nodded. “Brain cancer, five years ago,” she said. “Ate him up from the inside out.”
“Oh,” Mother said. For a moment, Mae thought she would fall into another sobbing fit, now having another death to mourn. But she didn’t. She looked surprised for a moment, but it quickly faded.
“Listen,” Grandma said, “I’m exhausted. The drive up here from Florida was so long, so tiring. I just want to lie down for a bit.” She pointed at the bedroom door. “This is your room, yes?”
“Uh, yeah, but—”
But Grandma didn’t hear the rest. As soon as Mother affirmed her suspicion, Grandma pushed the door open, stepped in, and locked Mother out. The apartment was plunged into silence.
Mae, who had been standing in the entryway the entire time, now walked over to Mother. “Is she really my Grandma?” she asked.
Mother nodded slowly. “Yes, she is,” she said.
“She called you ‘Jacob’. Why?”
Mother sighed. “Let’s not get into that right now, okay?”
Mae would have preferred to have an answer that very moment, but she nodded anyway and said, “Okay.”
They stood silently for a moment, both of them looking at the floor. Then Mother glanced up at Mae, a small smile forming. “How about the two of us watch a movie for a little bit. Okay?”
Mae nodded and went to the VHS shelf in the living room. She grabbed her Beauty and the Beast tape, put it into the VCR, and sat down on the couch next to Mother. She’d rewound the tape to the perfect moment last time she watched it, so the movie started right as the TV turned on.
The two of them sat watching the prologue in silence, still tense from Grandma’s arrival. But by the time the title faded onscreen and the first song began, their tension began to fade. Hesitantly, Mae started to sing along with Belle. Then, when the song’s tempo picked up and the other characters arrived, Mother joined in, filling in the townspeople. Before long, they had given themselves to the music, fallen into a routine that they had practiced numerous times before. Even when Mae forgot or flubbed a lyric, Mother went on singing as if she had made it through the verse beautifully, the two of them smiling at each other the entire time.
Then, midway through the song, they heard a loud banging on the bedroom door. They tensed up, the singing coming to a quick stop. “Shut up! I’m trying to sleep,” Grandma yelled. “Or do you want me to die of exhaustion?”
“No, Mom,” Mother said. “We’ll be quiet.”
Not another sound emerged from anyone’s mouth for the next hour, allowing the TV to fill the empty air.
By the time the movie was over, the sun had begun to set behind the ceiling of clouds, draping the town in a blue tint. Mae could feel her stomach aching with hunger, could hear Mother’s growling. Mother asked Mae if she wanted to get some dinner, and Mae nodded vehemently. So the two of them got into Mother’s car, drove to the Popeye’s nearby, and bought a twelve-piece box with fries and biscuits. Secretly, Mae was glad that they went out for dinner. The past few nights had left her wondering if Mother was in the right emotional state to be cooking.
Mae sat with the bag in her lap the entire drive home. The warm smell of fried chicken poured over her, made her stomach growl even stronger. She asked if she could have a piece of chicken now instead of waiting until they got home. Mother said yes. Mae pulled a drumstick from its box and devoured it.
They parked right in front of the woods across from their apartment. Mae got out of the car and stood staring into it for a moment while Mother rearranged the boxes in the bag. The trees grew thick and close in the woods, and the twilight only made it appear darker and deeper than normal. Mae stared into the distant darkness, wondering what lay beyond.
Mae tossed her chicken bone into the underbrush, where it disappeared with a soft thud. Then she followed Mother back into the apartment.
While Mae set the table, Mother went to the bedroom and knocked on the door. “Mom,” she said, “dinner’s ready.”
For a few seconds, Mother received no response. Then the door jerked open and Grandma stepped out, looking annoyed. “You woke me up,” she said.
“I’m sorry,” Mother said. “I just thought you might be hungry.”
Grandma stepped past her and into the dining area. She surveyed the boxes, a disapproving look on her face. “You went out without letting me know?” she asked, turning back to Mother. “What if something had happened while you were gone? What if someone broke in, or something caught fire? What if I died?”
“I doubt that—” Mother started.
“You would have let me die in this apartment because of a little lapse of memory, wouldn’t you?”
“No, Mom, that’s not the case,” Mother said, shaking her head. “I’m sorry.”
“Jacob, stop apologizing when you don’t mean it. It’s getting on my nerves.”
“Sorry.”
Grandma smirked and went to the dining table. She grabbed a plate and filled it with chicken and fries. “Doesn’t really matter, anyway,” she said. “You’ll probably kill me anyway, feeding me this greasy crap.”
“There’s not much in the house. Besides, I’ve been kind of tired today, and I didn’t feel much like cooking.”
“Well, whose fault is that?” Grandma went back to Mother, stopping only inches away from her. Mae noticed that Grandma was at least half a foot shorter than Mother. This hadn’t caught her attention before; something about Grandma made her seem so much bigger.
“And what right do you have to be tired?” Grandma finished, then stepped past Mother and into the bedroom.
Mother stood perfectly still, her eyes welling up with tears. Mae walked over to her and hugged her legs, all that she could reach, as tightly as she could manage. Mother reached down and rubbed her back slowly. “It’s all right,” she said, her voice thick. She took a deep breath. “Let’s just sit down and eat and forget that ever happened, okay?”
Mae nodded.
The rest of the night went by in relative peacefulness. Mae and Mother ate their dinner side by side, neither of them saying much to each other. Mother reminded Mae that it was Sunday, that she was to go back to school the following morning. When dinner was over, Mae went to her bedroom, prepared her backpack for the next day, then sat down on her bed and read The Magician’s Nephew until bedtime.
When Mae emerged from her bedroom, she had expected Mother to have returned to her bedroom, for Grandma to be stretched out on an inflatable mattress in the living room. But instead, she found Mother on the couch, nestled under a hard square cushion and a threadbare blanket. Her eyes were wide open, staring blankly ahead at the wall. When Mae approached her, they tilted up to her and regained focus.
“Why aren’t you sleeping in your bed?” Mae asked.
“Because Grandma doesn’t do well with air mattresses,” Mother said. “And even if she did, she won’t let me in the bedroom to look for it, anyway.”
“How long is she staying here?”
“I don’t know, sweetie. I’ll have to talk with her about it tomorrow. But don’t you worry about it, okay?”
Mae stood silently for a moment, knowing that there was no way she wasn’t going to worry. But she said “Okay” anyway, then kissed Mother on her forehead and said “Goodnight.”