Tallulah

I spent most of my summer worrying about Momma. She started drinking more. She hardly ate. She cried all the time. I just stopped going into her room to see how she was because all she did was cry and tell me to leave her be. I didn't understand why—didn't understand that just because you didn't love someone anymore, it still hurt to see them be happy with someone else when you were still so horrifically miserable.

Katie went away to New York for her second year of college and came home to visit every other weekend. Simone got her driver's license and Peter helped her buy a car. Winona was going to start high school and that meant that she was too cool to hang out with me, so I spent the summer playing at the park and walking Snowball.

I missed the glimpse the woman I had seen Simone's graduation before my father ruined it, but there was nothing I could do. I spent a lot of time with Peter and Isabel. We went to the beach every Saturday afternoon. Isabel taught me how to swim. Peter taught me how to play dead in the water. When it rained and we couldn't go, they took Simone and me to a matinee, or out for milkshakes, and one time, we even went bowling. That summer is one of my fondest memories and it makes me sad that Momma couldn't be there to share it with us.

Peter started going out more with Isabel. She became a staple at Sunday dinner. On the first Sunday dinner in August—one of the few that Momma actually left her room to attend—Peter asked Isabel to marry him. She said yes. The wedding was going to be next June and Isabel wanted me and Winona to be bridesmaids.

School started a week or so after that.

My teacher was a man named Mr. Franz. It was his first year of teaching—at our school, anyway. He was French, with pale skin, big blue eyes, and dark brown hair that he combed to the side. He looked young, maybe around Momma's age or a little older. I liked him a lot—I thought he was nice and his handwriting was rather neat and sometimes he'd let us watch films in the afternoon instead going over our lessons. He spoke rather good English for a Frenchman, I suppose.

One afternoon, while we were doing some crafts, he told us that a week from that day the school would be hosting an Open House so that our parents could see how we were doing and meet our teachers and vice versa. We would spend the next week drawing and cutting and pasting things together to make the room look nice. He asked us to ask our parents and let him know if they wouldn't be able to come.

I really liked Mr. Franz—I thought he was a good teacher and that he cared about us—and I wanted Momma to meet him, but since she was so sad and angry, I didn't think she would even want to come. Regardless, I took the flyer home. I asked Simone whether or not she thought Momma would be interested. She looked at me and shook her head, folding the flyer and handed it back to me.

"I don't think she'll even want to go, but there's no shame in asking." She smiled at me. "The worst thing she can say is no, right?"

"Right."

When we made it home, I set my things on the table like I usually did and started my homework—but that was only because my Aunt Hilda was in the kitchen, peeling some potatoes. She combed her curly hair behind her ear, glancing at me.

"How was school today?"

"It was good, I guess." I shrug and go back to my math problems. "There's this Open House thing next week. Mr. Franz wants Momma to go."

"Who?"

"My teacher."

"How does he know your Momma?"

"He doesn't. He just wants our parents to go and she's my parent, isn't she? Do you think she'd wanna come?"

"Maybe." My aunt eyed the flyer on top of my books curiously—and I already had a bad feeling about it, but I didn't say anything as I finished my homework and went on upstairs, taking my books with me. Winona was hemming a dress, Yvonne and Emelia were playing chess, Frida was reading on the floor, and Katie and Simone were listening to the radio. I went and grabbed some clothes from the jumbled mess that was our dresser before going to the bathroom to take a bath.

By the time I had finished, I had both Yvonne and Katie pounding down my door and yelling at me to hurry up. I don't know why—there was a perfectly good guest bathroom down the hall and the only person who ever used it was Momma, when she could get out of bed, that is—so I took my sweet time getting dressed. Yvonne had stormed away by then but Katie was scowling next to the door, almost pushing me out of the way in her haste to get into the bathroom.

I shrugged, about to go downstairs—I wanted to sit on the porch and read since it was so sunny and warm out that afternoon—but Simone caught me before I could.

"And where do you think you're going with that nappy head of yours?" she asked, raising a carefully arched eyebrow. Simone was just like Momma, with her light skin and pouty red lips and wavy brown hair and the small beauty mark right next to her lip. The only difference between them was that Simone actually got out of bed every day and was my sister. We sat down on the stairs and she started braiding my hair with her thin fingers, tugging relentlessly at the knots and tangles she found. "You need to start combing your hair more, Tallulah."

"I know, I know—ow!" I exclaim loudly, wincing. "Stop! Katie doesn't pull on my hair so—ow! Stop!"

I missed Momma's fingers. She was gentle and slow and hardly ever pulled on my hair, unlike Simone and the rest of my aunts.

"'Cause Katie isn't me, that's why." She twisted the end of my braid and then dragged me all the way back to our room so she could find a tie for it. After she did, she let me go on my way. So I went downstairs, only to see that the rest of my aunts and Grandma had joined Hilda. I went to the back porch and sat down next to Peter, who was reading the paper. He smiled at me when I sat down next to him and pulled out a stick of gum from his shirt pocket.

"That's our little secret, lil' bit. What's on your mind?"

"Do you know why Momma's so sad?"

Peter was quiet for a moment, glancing down at his shiny shoes before looking at me.

"Sometimes we have hopes and dreams and plans—and then sometimes they don't work out the way we wanted them to and we're disappointed. Your mother isn't sad. She's disappointed. She wanted beautiful children. She wanted a big house. She wanted a man who loved her more than she loved him. She has the beautiful children. She has the big house. She has her family. She just doesn't have the man who loves her more than anything else."

"Why does that even matter? Boys are stupid." Peter laughed, folding his newspaper. "She doesn't need a man. She has us."

"Sometimes she gets lonely too, and sometimes she just wants to be with someone. A friend, maybe someone who makes her feel a little less lonely. It happens to everyone. It'll happen to you when you get older too. But don't worry about that just now. Your momma's gonna be okay. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow, but one day, she'll be peachy keen and just the way she used to be. Why don't you go inside and get the table set for dinner?"

So I did. I even washed up. Peter didn't come inside until everyone had served themselves and Grandpa was about to say grace. He shot Peter a look that he ignored, unfolding his napkin and placing it on his lap. He winked at me and I smiled, trying not to giggle as we said grace. Momma's seat was, as per usual, empty. When we finished eating, Simone and my cousins went out to the malt shop and I went outside to bring the dog in. Snowball panted at me as I carried her into the kitchen, setting her down next to her food and water bowl. I could hear Hilda and Peter yelling upstairs and—is that Momma?

"I am a damn good mother! How dare you—"

They started yelling at each other loudly and I couldn't hear what exactly they said because they kept talking over each other. I glanced at my grandmother and she smiled at me.

"How about you go and practice with your Grandpa?"

Grandpa played piano and he was trying to teach me. I didn't mind, but it was kind of boring. He was sitting at the piano—like he usually did—listening to the radio. I sat down next to him and he smiled. He turned off the radio and opened the piano, sighing. He grabbed my book from above the piano. He tapped gently on his thigh.

"And—one, and, two, and, three, and, four—"

I tried to focus on my lesson—really, I did—but Momma wouldn't stop crying and Hilda kept yelling at her and Peter kept asking her why she was doing this to the girls.

"No, no, keep your back straight," he said, putting his hand on the small of my back. "Easy. There you go." He started tapping on his thigh again.

"Don't tell me how to raise my children!"

"You're not raising her! She shouldn't be afraid to ask you to meet her teacher," Peter exclaimed. I gnawed on my lip and looked down at my sheet music, trying not to cry. I didn't want anyone to yell at Momma—I didn't even want them to tell her because I knew that she'd get upset—and what does he go and do but upset her anyway? Grandpa looked up and sighed.

"Heaven have mercy. You know, I think that we might have done more than enough today," he said, shutting my book. "You're getting better." I smiled and he sighed, glancing at his watch. "It's almost your bedtime."

I went upstairs and undressed, closing my eyes at the sounds of my aunt and uncle arguing with Momma, feeling as guilty as can be. I changed into my pajamas and lay in bed, staring at the ceiling with the lights turned out. I just wanted Momma to be happy. I wanted Momma to meet Mr. Franz. I thought that they could be friends or something. Maybe not like Isabel and Peter, but at least she wouldn't be lonely anymore. But I didn't want to make her upset.

I felt awful.

I didn't sleep very well, and when I woke up, it was because Simone was getting ready for school, putting on her makeup slowly. I got out of bed quietly, grabbed a dress off a chair and went to the bathroom to take a shower. I got dressed and Simone braided my hair before she left. I sat in my room for a few minutes, then went and woke up Winona and the girls.

I eat some toast on the stairs and wait for Peter to come down so he can take me to school. I rub Snowball's belly but she scampers into the kitchen when she hears Hilda put her food bowl down.

"Excuse me," Momma says, from behind me. I glance up and smile, wondering what she's doing out of bed so early. She looks like she did before everything happened with Daddy. She's wearing a blouse and skirt and black heels, her hair on a bun on her head. She sits next to me. "Did you eat breakfast yet?" I nod and she sighs. "Okay. Do you have your lunch money?" I pat my pocket and she bites her lip. "Got all your stuff together?"

"Yes."

"Good. Where's Peter?" She turns and he's already coming down the stairs, as pressed and clean and polished as he always is. "Tallulah's going to be late."

The ride to school was awkward, mostly because I wasn't sure how to act around Momma anymore. She was so delicate that I was almost afraid to say something because I didn't want her to start crying or yelling or drinking. She kissed my cheek when they dropped me off and told me that she'd be here to walk me home when school was over.

I spent the whole day trying to figure out what Momma was doing. She was acting like the last five years hadn't happened and like everything was okay. That afternoon we watched a film on the projector but I couldn't even enjoy it because I couldn't stop thinking about what in the world Momma was doing. Why was she out of bed? Why was she fully dressed? It was a normal day and nothing major was happening. I didn't get it.

When the bell rang, I grabbed my things slowly and was one of the last people to leave the classroom. I didn't know what to do. It was raining, and Momma was standing outside with a red umbrella—waving at me. I walked down the steps and snuck through everyone to her, excited even if I was still a little confused.

"How was school today?" she asked, hugging me tightly.

"It was good. We watched a film and read a story about a little dog that gets lost in the forest and has to find it's way home and we had grilled cheese for lunch today."

"Did he?"

"Yeah. All the stories we read have happy endings, Momma." She holds my hand as we walk away from the school. "Where's Peter?"

"Isabel had a doctor's appointment and he took her since her car's acting up." I looked at her. "Don't worry. They'll be okay." She glances down at me, frowning. "Why didn't you wear a sweater today? You're going to catch a cold, Tallulah."

"It was sunny when we left this morning, Momma." She sighed softly, shaking her head at me. It started to rain harder and she cursed quietly, taking my hand and ran underneath an awning, holding me close. We stood there for what felt like a very long time but really couldn't have been more than five or ten minutes. Momma hummed and played with my hair as we watched the rain fall from the grey sky.

A black car pulled up to the curb, and Momma held me a little tighter, narrowing her eyes.

"Can I help you?" she asked when the man rolled his window down. It was Mr. Franz. I smiled and tried to tell her who he was, but it was to no avail since she kept shushing me, pinching my shoulder. "Be quiet."

"Do you need a ride home?"

"We're fine, thank you."

"You sure? It's going to keep raining." Momma looked down at me and sighed, opening her umbrella as we walked to his window.

"We're going to Jefferson Avenue and it's a little far from here, I mean—"

"It's okay. It's on my way home. Hop in." Mr. Franz smiled at us brightly and Momma looked at him for a second before opening the door for me and hustling me in. She picked at the hem of her skirt, glancing at the rearview mirror. Mr. Franz glanced at Momma and put the radio up a little. Her eyes widened before she smiled and looked down, her cheeks flushing pink. She must have really liked the song, or something.

The drive home was pleasant, even with all the rain. Mr. Franz and Momma kept giving each other looks that I didn't really understand. I felt slightly hopeful that perhaps Momma was going to find a friend in Mr. Franz. Maybe. Momma started tapping her foot, something she only did when she was nervous, when Mr. Franz started to drive down our street. I glanced at her, wondering what was wrong.

"It's right up here," Momma said, pointing to our house, a white house with a screen door and flower boxes underneath all the windows. "Thank you."

"It was my pleasure," Mr. Franz said, turning back to look at Momma. She looked at me and opened my door, face flushing again. I tried to open the umbrella but it wouldn't open. Momma huffed, frowning and taking it from me.

"Just push up," she said quietly, trying to open it—to no avail. "Goddamn it."

"Is there a problem?"

"No, no—it's not—it's fine," Momma stammered, looking at me. "Come along, baby."

"It's raining," Mr. Franz replied, looking at her worriedly.

"I know. It's okay, a little rain never hurt nobody."

"Don't be ridiculous." Mr. Franz sighed, reaching over underneath the seat next to him. He pulled out a black umbrella. "I'll walk you to your door. We can't have Tallulah getting sick, can we?" He smiled brightly at me and I giggled. Momma looked at me as Mr. Franz walked around to our side of the car. We stepped out and she held my hand tightly, standing next to Mr. Franz. I didn't miss his hand on her shoulder or how she smiled as I smiled secretly to myself.

Momma had finally found someone. A friend. Maybe. The walk to the door seemed quicker than usual that day. Momma shooed me inside and I frowned—I wanted to be with Mr. Franz too. I took off my shoes and took them upstairs. Snowball was sleeping in the hallway. I laughed. My sisters were nowhere to be found, as per usual, and my cousins were practicing with the church choir.

I padded back downstairs and peeked out the window curiously, wondering what was taking Momma so long. She was talking to Mr. Franz and smiling, shaking her head. He pressed a small piece of paper into her hands. She simply glanced at it before tilting her head at him, raising her eyebrow. She turned to the door and I jumped on the couch, trying to act normal. She walked into the living room, taking her heels off as she reached the staircase. She glanced at me, nodding her head.

"I saw you. You're not all that sneaky, baby."

I shrugged and sat with Snowball on the couch, thinking.

Momma has a friend now.