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other side of the fence, but it’s not Christian. It’s the Hispanic woman from the center. She’s taking a drag of a cigarette when she sees me.
“Busted,” she says, her shoulders going up and down. Her voice sounds more ethnic than Christian’s. He has that Hispanic lilt to his voice, but hers is thicker. “Is there any chance we can keep this a secret?” She holds up the cigarette.
When she smiles, I notice it’s the same as Christian’s…light, happy, like they don’t have a care in the world. For some reason, it makes me want to do the same. “Umm…sure? I don’t know who I would tell anyway.” Talk about an odd request coming from someone’s mom.
“Shh. Christian is a light sleeper and he’s got the back room. My son doesn’t like smoking.”
Go, Christian! Still, it’s strange that she’s hiding it from him. “Sorry,” I whisper, sort of wanting to laugh at how she looks over her shoulder to make sure Christian isn’t coming.
“It’s okay, mija . It’s not your fault. I’m too old to be out here sneaking cigarettes, but I’m down to one a day. Not too bad if you ask me. My boy is a tough critic, though.”
Yeah, no kidding , I want to tell her, when I think about that day in the hall.
“What are you doing outside this early in the morning? I can’t keep closet-smoking secrets for you. At least I’m of age.” Christian’s mom winks at me.
“No, no. I don’t smoke. This is my…” My pottery room. I was coming out here to try and claim something of mine back. “Couldn’t sleep,” I finish lamely.
“Story of my life. There’s nothing in the world worse than being tired and not being able to find sleep. Probably not as tough on you young ones as it is on us old ladies, though.” She takes another puff of her cigarette before putting it into a soda can and then slipping that into her robe pocket. “I have a secret hiding place.” She laughs, this time a little more loudly. I guess she doesn’t mind the risk of waking him after she’s finished.
“Ignore me. What’s that saying? Do as I say, not as I do. Smoking is bad for you.” She shakes her finger at me. Just as it happened with Christian that night, a laugh sneaks up on me.
“No worries. Zero chance of me ever touching one of those things.”
“Good girl.” She smiles and I realize I’m smiling, too. She reminds me of my mom.
Christian’s mom cocks her head at me, studying me. “You’re much too pretty to look so sad, mija .”
My first instinct is to blush, but then, I feel like crying. I want to tell her I’m broken. I want to tell her about Mom, about Jason…even about Dad. I want to tell her…someone…everything. That little taste of talking with Emery the other day makes me crave more, but my fear always steps in the way. “I’m fine.”
She shakes her head. “I have a daughter.” Her voice suddenly sounds as alone as I feel. “I’ve started to know what it sounds like when someone says she’s fine but she’s really not.” Just like Christian did all those weeks ago, she grabs the chair from the porch, walks over, puts it by the fence, and stands on it.
It’s such a strange thing to see a mom do. I can imagine my mom doing it, but I’ve never met another parent like her.
“I’m Brenda.” Another kind smile. Big blue eyes that match her son’s.
“Brynn.” For some reason, I whisper.
“Well, Brynn. It’s nice to meet you. We don’t know each other, but you ever want to talk, I owe you a secret. As long as it can’t hurt you, I’ll repay you that secret, okay, mija ?”
There’s something so comforting about her. The way it feels to slide into my favorite slippers or curl up on the couch with hot chocolate on a rainy day. There’s no judgment in her eyes, or even too much curiosity. Just genuine kindness.
“Okay.” I nod.
“Okay,” she confirms before stepping down from the chair and walking back over to the porch. “I’m holding you to that. We all need
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