“Well, your mom certainly made a fabulous paella.”
I missed Mother. My heart ached and I wanted her there. The number of times I’d driven up to her gate with Sanusha to show her what she was missing, but driven away again. A mother is a mother, even if she is the worst one on earth.
“She’s not here for me, Annie.”
“No,” Annie replied holding my hand in hers. “But I am. If you want to, come and stay with me for a while, T. With or without Sanusha. Until you decide what you want to do next.”
Sanusha (aged 6): Cracking eggs with 1 hand
Appa isn’t happy having Mom at Auntie Annie’s. I can see the way he crosses his arms when he parks the car.
“Auntie Annie’s house is ginormous,” I tell him as I try to unclip myself. “It has big trees, a swing, a jungle gym, a trampoline and a sandpit.”
“I know, Sanusha,” he says in his grumpy voice. “I’ve been there.”
“So why don’t you come with me, and have tea with Mom?”
“Your mother is ill. She needs to rest.”
“She doesn’t rest when I’m there. We walk in the garden and play Ludo and Snap, and drink Oros out of fancy cups. We pour it from a teapot with roses on it. They’re yellow.”
“So just the two of you drink tea?” he asks.
“It’s not tea, Appa. It’s Oros. I told you that already,” I say, as I jiggle the door. Sometimes Appa doesn’t listen.
“So, you drink Oros with Mom on your own?” Appa asks.
“No,” I answer. “Last time I brought Big Bear and Matthew also came. Matthew was messy. Are all boys messy, Appa?”
“Nobody else?” He doesn’t answer my question.
“Appa! I said are all boys messy?”
“Most of them, I guess. Sanusha –”
“Can I go now? We’re going to bake today.”
Appa doesn’t even get out the car to walk me to the gate. My satchel is really heavy and I have to stand on my tippy-toes to reach the doorbell. Auntie Annie’s doorbell is cool. Every time you ring it, it makes a different tune. I ring it again to hear what song comes next (Walking on Sunshine). The door opens and when I turn to wave at Appa, he’s already gone.
Mom’s face still has scratches on it from the glass. She looks over my shoulder, checking the street.
“Who dropped you?” she asks.
“Appa.”
“Anyone else in the street?”
“No. Can I come in now? I want to bake.”
Mom leads me in through the front door like I don’t know where I’m going. Auntie Annie isn’t always here, which is a pity. I wish Mom would hug me hard, like Auntie Annie. Like she used to before the accident. I know she’s sore inside, but I have a sore arm and I still love to cuddle.
Mom moves like she’s old. She crosses her arms over her body and shuffles like she’s wearing Asmita Ayaa’s winter slippers.
“We’re baking, hey Mom?” I remind Mom.
She nods. In the kitchen, we pull out the flour, the eggs, the butter, the sugar. In baking, it is really, really important to get the measurements right. Here are some important things to remember:
1 teaspoon is 5ml
1 tablespoon is 15ml
1 cup is 250ml
With that you can bake anything. But today we are making soetkoekies. We line up all the spices on the table: cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg, cloves. Then the chopped nuts, and baking powder and some other white stuff that helps the biscuits rise. This recipe even has wine in it – it is the colour of a plum that’s ready to eat.
Once all the dried ingredients are together, we cut in the butter. My arm isn’t working so well, but I manage because Mom does the hard stuff with the knife. I hold the mixer with my other arm and Mom keeps the bowl still. Mom has this trick with eggs – she can crack them with 1 hand like a real chef.
“How come you can do that?” I ask.
“My mother,” she says, but that’s all.
“Like I’m learning with you!” I say.
“Exactly.”
We make a lovely dough, and then we roll it out onto the counter and choose some cookie-cutter shapes. I like the squares and the stars, but Mom likes to cut circles with a glass. She dips the edges of the glass into the flour, and then pushes it down hard in the dough. I can’t roll dough, so my job is to put the biscuits onto the tray with butter on it. We don’t talk much. As soon as the little light goes off outside the oven, we know it’s hot enough. Mom pushes the first trays in.
We hear Auntie Annie’s keys but I don’t look up.
“Look who I found on the doorstep!” Auntie Annie says.
I see that man from the coffee shop standing right behind her.
“Clay!” Mom says, and I think of mud.
What a funny name.
“Hello, Thea,” Clay says. I can see he likes Mom quite a lot, because he stares at her. “And Sanusha!” he says to me. “I’ve brought your number 6. I heard you might be here today.”
I want to be grumpy with him but then he hands me a cup, and he has made a 6 right in the middle of my hot chocolate.
“Cool,” I say.
“Sanusha,” Mom says in that voice.
“Thanks,” I say quickly.
“Thank you, Clay.”
“I said thanks already.”
Clay shrugs, then smiles. “I brought you something else as well, Sanusha, but I’m not sure your mom will let me give it to you. It’ll have to be our secret.” In his hand, he has a little cupcake with fairy dust and a ballerina on top. (I would have liked a jet more, or maybe a rocket.)
I look at him. Is he stupid? Doesn’t he know you tell secrets in private? I lean closer to him, and whisper: “Not now. Mom can hear you.”
“Right,” he whispers and steps back, placing his treasure in a little pink box. He puts it behind the fruit bowl and winks.
“What are you talking about over there?” Mom says with a smile. I like it when Mom is happy.
Clay walks over to Mom. “Your cappuccino, madame,” he says with a stupid accent.
“Thank you, sir,” she says. “You do the best deliveries.”
“Well, only for our most important customers. How are you feeling?”
“I’m getting there.”
Auntie Annie swings Matthew off her hip and puts him on the floor. “Why don’t we all go sit in the garden? It’s such a beautiful day.”
I like that idea until Matthew pads after us. He’s not even 2 yet, but after I taught him to spit he started following me around, and it’s so irritating. I don’t know why Mom doesn’t just come home so I don’t have to have him around all the time.
“Go away,” I say, but not loud enough for Mom to hear.
In the garden under the trees, Auntie Annie puts out a big striped blanket and a smaller one with grass stains on it. Auntie Annie sits down next Clay. I prefer the jungle gym. I can already hang from the monkey bars with just my legs and feet. No hands.
Mom