Her hair has changed—it’s much darker now. The dense blackness in her hair brings out the hazel in her eyes.
She still dresses the same, only to impress. Her pantsuit is pure white, the color only the bride should be wearing.
Classic Mama.
“Oh, how I have missed you.” She kisses both my cheeks.
I’ve missed her much more than she’s missed me. She’s been gone for nearly an entire year. I spoke with her this morning on the phone. She wasn’t sure if she would be able to make it in time to see the families merge. She might have missed the entire day, but she made it nonetheless.
“How was Paris?” I ask while walking back over to the fridge.
Strawberries and chocolate have been our comfort food for years. Whatever the occasion—a period, a sad movie, a bad fight with Papa—we always eat strawberries.
“Oh, you know.Magnifique.” She takes her coat off and sits on the stool as she watches me melt the chocolate in a pot. “You have changed, my love.”
My brow furrows. “In what way?” My mama is by far the most amazing woman I have ever met, but she has a loose tongue. No filter whatsoever. That’s why she gets into so many fights with Papa.
“Your boobs grew.”
“Goodness!” My eyes could have fallen out of their sockets.
“What! It’s true. Any man would be lucky to have you, my darling.”
I frown instantly. The man who is so lucky to have me is as old as dirt. And he only wants one thing from me. “Yeah. Papa made sure I won’t be lucky enough to have a good man.”
As I dip the fresh strawberries into the chocolate and place them on a plate, she lets out a scoff.
“Please tell me it isn’t Kirill.” Her eyes roll. “I spoke with your father about that. Let’s hope he isn’t asstupideas I think he is.” Her hands fling in the air, casting a far too dramatic stance, even for her.
“Stupide,”I say back to her.
“My God.” She gets off the kitchen stool and walks over to me.
Mama is the only person besides my sister who hugs me anymore. I didn’t know how much I missed the feeling of another person holding onto me until now.
“I will talk to that man, don’t you worry.” She holds my face and kisses my forehead. I want to laugh at her response because I know she can’t do anything to help the situation. I made my bed, and now I have to lie in it. “Go watch that show you love so much.”
“Mama, it’s been my favorite for years and you still can’t remember the name?” I let out a sigh disguised as a laugh.
“Je sais cela. Amis,” she mouths, trying to say the word in English.
“Friends.”
Her finger points at me. “Yes!” She holds her mouth, laughing. “Now go cheer up. Let me eat these strawberries by myself.”
“As if you had a day worse than mine?”
“Maybe not, but these strawberries will ruin your curves.”
My eyes narrow. “If anything, they will help my curves.”
“Exactly, and that will ruin you. You give the men too much to look at.”
I laugh and place my hand on her shoulders, a small gesture to show how much I appreciate her for even wanting to attempt talking to Papa about who I will marry. I step aside, my hand falling off her as I walk toward the stairs that lead to my bedroom.
Just the simple sound of my mother’s voice makes me feel so much better—but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m meant to marry that old man eventually.
God, what has my life come to?