Mary Jane

by Jessica Anya Blau

I, too, had been a girl who only wanted to hang out with her mother.

I was still happy helping my mother with the chores in the house, sitting beside her and reading, or grocery shopping with her, searching out the best bell peppers or the best cut of meat.

Her hips jutted out, her breasts jutted out, and lately they all had been jutting with greater enthusiasm as she wore tight pants, jumpsuits, and clingy maxi dresses. They were clothes that demanded you look at her, something that was virtually impossible when Sheba was nearby. Sheba sparkled. My eyes trailed her from room to room, as if she were a rocket sailing across a night sky.

Mrs. Cone started laughing. “Cancer! Because only something as horrible and deadly as cancer would relieve a woman from the tedium of having to make dinner for her family every night!” Everyone gathered in the kitchen

How cooking for people you love feels less like a chore and more like a way of saying I love you.