Darkest Days: A Southern Zombie Tale by James J. Layton Page A

chicken finger on his plate. “No. I won’t do it.”
    Her face fell. The smarmy smile disappeared in an instant and she was reduced to an unsure sixteen-year-old girl once again. “Well,” She swallowed out of fear. “I’ll just have to proceed with or without your help.”
    Eric shook off his momentary distaste for the girl. “The best thing that you can do is to talk to your parents. Times have changed. Responsible discussions about sex have become much more open than in previous generations.”
    “While that may be true,” She shot back. “You don’t know my parents.” Then she dramatically pushed away from the table and walked out the door.
    Dr. Wagner was left alone with a plate of food that no longer looked appetizing.
    ***
     
    Cara entered the kitchen the next afternoon. Bright sunlight streamed in through the thin curtains revealing her mother standing at the sink with her back turned to anyone who entered. Jean wore an apron crookedly tied around her waist. The scene looked so unfamiliar that after a brief attempt at recollection, Cara realized she had never seen her mother attempt to cook without a microwave, much less prepare a meal from scratch.
    Cara called out in a loud voice to announce her presence. “How is the Stepford wife today?”
    Her mother’s entire body clenched and released like a flinch when someone expected a punch. She turned, exposing a nervous smile. “Honey, you startled me.”
    “Sorry, Mom.” Cara put extra emphasis on the term of affection at the end of her apology but it sounded unnatural. She had planned to talk to her mother about Bryant, perhaps even mentioning her plans to make love to him if the conversation started off well.
    Jean Creed, the professional woman who stood up to her husband occasionally for no other reason than to assert her independence of thought, blushed. She then launched into an explanation of her behavior as if she were a small child caught drawing on the wall. “I was just trying to get into the whole housewife thing. It’s not permanent; it’s more like Marie Antoinette pretending to be a peasant.”
    Cara interrupted. “Mom, it’s okay. You don’t have to explain anything to me. I know that you are capable of a career.” She paused. “The whole point of being independent is to have a choice. If you choose to try this out, I’m okay with it.”
    Cara couldn’t explain her mood. Suddenly, she felt like she might want to become closer to the two organisms that gave her life. After years of pushing them away, maybe she should be the one to close the gap. “What time are we eating?”
    Jean’s expression gave way to one of surprise. “You’re not taking your plate up to your room?”
    Cara began to blush. Was that really the behavior she trained them to expect of her? “Well, I thought I might stay down here tonight.” Her mother then moved forward to hug her, but fell short. The sign of affection was alien to her, awkward due to a lack of use.
    When the embrace ended, Cara felt buoyant enough to mention her new man. “Mom, I met a boy.” She quickly blurted out before she lost her nerve. Jean could only stand in shock. Then she moved forward and grabbed her daughter in another tight embrace. Cara thought to herself, “When I’m older, I hope that this is the part of my family that I remember.”
    Jean squeezed tighter until several moments had passed. When she stepped back to survey her daughter, she noticed a tear sliding along Cara’s cheek. She gently wiped it away with the pad of her index finger.
    Cara injected a hint of humor into her voice as she wiped away more tears that suddenly came spilling out. “God! Mom, you squeezed those things out of me.”
    “It’s okay to cry, honey.” She reached out to hold her daughter’s hand but the awkwardness infected her once again.
    “Then how come I’ve never seen you cry?” Cara asked.
    The mother paused to think, turning her face away. When she met Cara’s eyes again,