I leaned against the kitchen counter, considering the half-full box on the table. Removing one of my gloves, I grabbed a pretzel from the open bag and shoved it in my mouth. “Giant Twists,” said the label.
I’d packed some low-hanging fruit already: Mom’s vintage poinsettia dishes that she always insisted on using every Christmas. Yes, of course they’re beautiful, I’d agree with her, inwardly cringing. And of course they were beautiful, to the eye. But she never let me wear my gloves at Christmas dinner, and a single slip could turn my holiday miserable. I’d be glad to see these dishes go somewhere I could never touch them again. I preferred to eat off plates that came fresh from the factory. The shorter their history, the better.
The carving knife and matching steak knives could go, for sure. I chuckled at the thought of using the showy set to carve a giant brick of tofu. I used my gloved hand to lower the knives into the box.
The cupboards were still packed with every dish and kitchen gadget imaginable, most with indeterminate fates. The huge mixer with all the attachments would be great to keep, but it would take up too much storage space if I moved into a cramped Boston apartment again. I’d keep it for now. Sometime in the next couple months, maybe Jeremy would come over and we could bake like we were teenagers again. If I could tear him away from Gabe for that long.
Working at their farm was a good choice. Not only would I be spending more time with Jeremy, but I’d be helping him launch his passion project and doing something worthwhile. Between that and the play, I had plenty to occupy my attention until I… did whatever came next. I wouldn’t think about that right now.
Stuffing down another pretzel, I turned to the array of drinkware I’d laid out on the counter. My arm bumped the “Harvard Mom” mug into the sink, taking a big chip out of the rim. Before I could remember to put on a glove, I reflexively reached down to take it with my bare fingers.
I released it quickly, but the memory was too strong. My eyesight grayed out. The room spun slightly. The smell of mint wafted from the mug.
“Going off to Harvard is just the beginning…”
Tea. Mom’s mint tea.
Her fingers, teasing the string, made the bag bob up and down.
“Don’t waste your opportunity…”
Now her eyes, scrutinizing me for flaws.
“…impress the right people… your chance for a clean slate…”
A small slurping sound. She was sipping hot tea from her new mug.
“No one knows you,” she said with a smile.
As the vision faded, I sank to the floor, still smelling mint. The headache began, drilling into my temples from both sides. The pretzels sat uneasily in my stomach. I was thirsty, but my body was too heavy to get up for water.
I lost track of time in the exhaustion and pain. Eventually, my phone buzzed, and I pulled it out from my pocket to see a text from Jeremy. Sorry. Can’t pick you up for rehearsal. Gabe’s truck broke down and he needs me to pick him up in Sullivan. We’ll be a few minutes late.
I inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. Fighting the residual dizziness, I pushed myself up, pulled my second glove back on, and drank a large glass of water. Five more minutes, and then I’d be safe to drive.
Would you keep reading?
(New opening scene for my WIP, "What You Will")
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