Dearest

by Jacquie Walters

“Just to be clear,” Connor says, “you’re talking about your dead mother. You’re saying that your dead mother is trying to hurt Iris.” Flora barrels on. “Belinda has done this before. She talked to her son—he died and she talked to him—and now we are going to reach out to my mom, to find out what she wants so that she will leave us alone—” “Oh my God,” Connor says. “You’ve lost it. You’ve totally lost it.” Belinda ignores him and asks Flora, “Do you have something of your mother’s we can use? We should get something of Zephie’s, too.” “Who is Zephie?” Connor asks. But just as Flora opens her mouth to respond, he stops her. “Actually, I don’t want to know. This is insane. I’m leaving.” Flora’s dad speaks up from the living room, leveling his gaze with Connor’s. “You’re not leaving,” he says. “Flora is in trouble. Your daughter is in danger. And Belinda is here to help. So we are going to do what she tells us.” “The fuck I am,” Connor says, unstrapping Iris from the bouncer. “Where are you going?” Flora asks, panicked. “Where are you taking her?” “Back home, like I told you.” He hoists the baby into his arms and grabs the diaper bag. “I’m not staying under the same roof as this bullshit.” He looks again toward the living room, where Belinda has surrounded the coffee table with chairs. As he opens the door, Iris begins to protest. “She doesn’t want to leave me,” Flora says. “See? She’s crying. Please. She needs her mother, Connor.” “She doesn’t need this version of her mother.”

Asshole. Not listening