Beauty and the Mustache by Penny Reid

to
Momma’s. “Was she a rough-and–tumble kind of girl, or was she
decked out in pink chiffon?”
    It was Sandra and
Elizabeth’s last day, and we were all sitting in the den. Momma’s
weekday hospice nurse, Marissa, had also stopped by to train the
weekend nurse, Tina. However, Marissa had stayed after Tina left
and Joe had arrived for his shift, explaining that it was her day
off and she wasn’t in any rush to leave.
    So, we all sat around
Momma’s bed chatting and drinking mint iced tea. It was nice to
share my friends with Momma and vice versa, like two parts of my
heart coming together. Additionally, their presence was comforting
in general; this was especially true after Elizabeth heard back
from our oncologist friend in Chicago. In his expert opinion,
nothing could be done for my mother other than make her last weeks
comfortable.
    My mom sighed at
Elizabeth’s question, a happy smile on her face, and her eyes lost
a bit of focus as she recalled what I was like in my growing-up
years. “She was a bit of both, really. She loved to run wild with
her brothers—when they weren’t being big meanies.” She paused and
winked at me, then continued. “But she also liked to get dressed up
in my clothes and shoes. One time I found her with lipstick all
over her face.” She chuckled briefly, the smile lingering behind
her eyes.
    I shook my head and
grinned at the memory. “I was five and thought makeup consisted of
only lipstick, meaning in order to put makeup on I just needed to
put lipstick everywhere and it would magically do what it needed to
do.”
    Sandra leaned in close to
my mom and said, “That’s how she puts on makeup now, too.” Her tone
was conspiratorial and her expression serious. “We’re all too
polite to correct her. It’s very awkward when we go to the circus;
everyone thinks she works there.”
    Marissa and Elizabeth laughed.
    “ Sandra, I’ve known you
three days, and I can’t imagine politeness stops you from saying
anything.” My mother grinned and winked at my friend.
    Sandra sighed. “It’s true.
What is this politeness of which you speak?”
    Momma laughed but then her
breath hitched, and she winced and closed her eyes.
    The mood in the room
changed instantly. My hands balled into fists. Both Marissa and I
stood and crossed to the bed as Joe handed Momma the remote that
controlled the morphine pump. “Bethany, you shouldn’t be afraid to
use the medication,” he said to her, his tone warm and kind. “It’s
meant to help.”
    Momma nodded and pressed
the button once. “I know.” Her voice was gravelly, unsteady. “I
think maybe I’m just tired.”
    Elizabeth and Sandra
exchanged looks then stood and began clearing dishes.
    “ Oh, girls, don’t go yet,”
Momma protested.
    “ Don’t think you can get
rid of us,” Sandra said over her shoulder, pausing just inside the
door to the den. “We’ll be back. We’re just going to steal your
daughter for a bit while we make dinner, but after that, we’re
coming in to do those tequila shots.”
    “ You better rest up,
Bethany,” Marissa said, giving my mother a teasing look, referring
to Sandra when she added, “Texas girls mean business.”
    Momma’s medicine was
already kicking in when we left. Marissa offered to stay behind
just in case she woke up so I could help Sandra and Elizabeth with
dinner.
    We’d made it just three
steps down the hall when we were stopped by Roscoe. He gave us all
a warm smile. I noted that he had a vase of wildflowers in his
hands. Often, over the last several days, I had mused that Roscoe
reminded me of a puppy—eager to please and hungry for
affection.
    “ Hey! Is Momma still up?”
he asked.
    “ Uh, kind of,” I said.
“She’s just resting now.”
    His face fell just
slightly and he sighed. “Ah, well. I’ll just poke my head in and
leave these by her bed, maybe sit with her for a while.”
    “ What’s going on?” Billy
appeared at the end of the hall and walked toward us.
    He