The Tenant

by Freida McFadden

I have no choice but to use Krista’s girly soap and shampoo. So when I climb out of the lukewarm shower, my hair smells like coconut and apricots, and my body smells like lemon and vanilla instead of just smelling like freaking clean.

“I’ll miss Goldy,” Whitney says. “Whenever I was in the living room, it felt like Goldy was keeping me company. There were times when it felt like she was smiling at me. When I got home from work, no matter how tired I was, there she was, entertaining me by swimming around. And on the nights I couldn’t sleep, she was with me. Even though she’s gone, it still feels like her spirit is here. With us.”

Maybe my mom didn’t get her dream house and sometimes the electricity went out, but she was content. She gave me a wonderful childhood, full of camping trips and home-cooked dinners and treasure hunts for fireflies. And when the cancer finally got the best of her, she died in her own home, with my father holding her hand. Maybe I’ve been looking at this all wrong.

“If she asks for space,” Dad says, “you need to give it to her. She knows you love her. I think at the end of the day, she’ll come back to you.”