The Mother Garden by Robin Romm

sadists.”
    Mateo and I left each other alone in the mornings. We both hated the violence of waking, hated each and every bird that chirped. But this morning the sun was coming right out of the center of my stomach. Mateo made a move to get out of bed, but I crooked my arm around his neck. I felt radiant, zinging with life.
    â€œAre you okay?” he asked.
    â€œYes,” I said, rolling on top of him. “I’m good.” I began to tug off his T-shirt.
    After he left, vaguely puzzled and disheveled, I carried the bowl of beads to the coffee table. I gathered the necessary materials: dental floss, scissors, a sewing needle. The beads gathered on the string, and when it was long enough, I tied it off. It hit just over my heart.
    I’d forgotten about it by the time Mateo got home. He came into the house, set his bag down, and headed to the kitchen when he stopped short.
    â€œYou made a necklace?” I fingered the beads. Red, dirty stucco, blue.
    â€œWhat?” I said.
    Mateo shook his head and raised his arms a little, then dropped them to his sides. “Yael,” he said, squinting a little. “That’s just wrong.”
    â€œI think they’re beautiful.”
    â€œThose beads,” Mateo started, and then shook his head. His voice was a higher pitch than usual. “Those beads were sitting in your mother’s stomach!” He waited for me to get it, to take the necklace off and hurl it to the carpet. I put my hand over the beads.
    â€œDo you not see that that’s disturbing?”
    â€œYou said you thought it was a joke,” I said.
    Mateo continued to shake his head. “I don’t know how to deal with this.” He stormed past me to the patio, where he sat stiffly, staring at a tree.
    â€œMaybe it’s too hard,” he said. “Maybe I just can’t take it.” I sat on the deck chair beside him. “I don’t know what you want from me. Are you punishing me for something?” In the dimming light of the summer sky the beads looked almost supernatural, like a wad of colored foil burned in the center of each one. “It’s just so much pressure,” he said. I looked out into the trees behind the house. It was nearly dusk and they cast long shadows over the lawn. I closed my eyes and a peaceful sensation drifted in, right where the necklace fell over my chest. It spread through my body like a vapor.

    â€œPlease take the beads off,” Mateo said. I’d climbed in bed next to him in my nightgown. The beads hung beneath the thin fabric, making a ridge.
    â€œNo,” I said. “They give me comfort.” I hadn’t expected to say this, but after I did, I realized it was true.
    Mateo rolled onto his back and breathed deeply. “Don’t I give you comfort?” he asked.
    â€œOf course you give me comfort,” I said. But it wasn’t true. He rolled away from me.
    I couldn’t sleep. If they had found these beads in my mother’s stomach, then wasn’t it possible they’d find other things as well? Keys? Scrolls? Tiny mirrors? I crawled out of bed and went into the living room to call my father. He picked up on the first ring, sounding frightened.
    â€œSorry. I can’t sleep,” I said. He sighed.
    â€œI can’t sleep either,” he said. “I’ve been feeling very odd.”
    â€œOdd how?” I asked.
    â€œDon’t throw the beads out,” he said. “I think we should keep them in the family.” I could hear him tinkering with something on the other end; it sounded like he was playing with silverware. “Yael, actually, do you think I could come over and take a look at them?”
    â€œNow?” I asked.
    â€œIf that’s okay. I know it’s late.”
    Twenty minutes later, my father knocked softly on the front door. Red tinged the whites of his eyes and in the corners, a yellow gel gathered. He grabbed my shoulders stiffly and pulled.