Calli by Jessica Anderson

lost me?”
    “Yes, when you were three. You stopped to watch the escalator, and I kept on going. Some lady found you, and she called my name over the intercom. Talk about feeling horrible. You were hysterical. I felt like the worst mom in the world!”
    “You’re not the worst mom. Far from it. I don’t even remember getting lost.”
    “Good. That means I didn’t traumatize you too bad.” Mom stops to check out some yellowed costumes.
    A silky, lacy wedding gown on display catches my attention. If trying on prom gowns is enjoyable, I can only imagine how wonderful it is to try on wedding dresses. I hope Delia will be around to help pick out my gown if I ever get married.
    Mom and Liz had a commitment ceremony on their fifth anniversary and neither one of them wore a wedding dress. They wore off-white linen suits. It wasn’t an official ceremony, but it was important to them.
    Everything about their ceremony was nontraditional. I was both the ring bearer and the flower girl. Only a few of their closest friends came. Delia was there. Her mom was invited but said she couldn’t make it. She did make Mom and Liz each a matching wrist corsage though. Grandma sent them a blender.

    Mom and Liz shared cheesecake, not wedding cake, at the reception. At my wedding, I’d love to have a huge towering cake with thick chocolate frosting. My stomach gurgles.
    “Ready for lunch?” Mom asks.
    “Yeah.”
    We head out of the museum and walk quietly to the parking lot. The hot air inside the car makes me sleepy.
    “I’ll pick the place to eat,” she says, and I try to work up an appetite for a mushy veggie burger.
    My jaw drops open when we pull into Popeyes.

CHICKEN
    Saturday, April 26

    MOM ROLLS DOWN THE WINDOW. “I’ll take the eight-piece family meal,” she says. “Mild, please. Coleslaw and red beans and rice. Two Cokes. Thank you.”
    Mom ordering greasy, semispicy food? “What are you doing?” I ask as she drives to the next window and shells over cash. I’m glad she doesn’t expect me to pay for it.
    “You don’t have me all figured out, just like I don’t have you all figured out either.” Mom reaches for the bag of food and hands it to me. “Let’s go to Charpentier Park.”
    I lean down to set it on the floor. My stomach grumbles again after sniffing the fried chicken. Is Mom putting me through some kind of weird test? The savory scent is especially tempting.
    When we get to the park, I grab the food and carry it over to a picnic table. I’m prepared to fail if this is a test. After we sit down, Mom hands me a plastic fork and a paper plate. She opens up the bag and pulls out a chicken
drumstick. My mother bites right into it without wiping her hands first or scraping off spices.
    I open the container of red beans and rice and plop a big spoonful on the plate. I pick a plump wing. The salty, juicy flavors spill down my chin.
    “I forgot how good fried chicken is.” Mom reaches for another piece. “Hand me some of that coleslaw. And a biscuit too.”
    “Won’t this food get to you?”
    “No doubt,” Mom says, her mouth full of food, “but I want to enjoy a day with my daughter. I’ve been spending time with Cherish because she needs the attention. She’s gone to so many homes and dealt with such unimaginable things. Anyway, you need attention too, and I know Popeyes is one of your favorite places.”
    She smiles. I feel warm, and it’s not from the bright sun.
    Mom tells me that she found out more information about our new placement—a kindergartner named Lemond James who will transition to our house in about two weeks. “He has an older sister who was removed from the home awhile back.” Mom’s voice wavers as she continues. “I can’t imagine what that poor boy and his family have gone through. I felt torn to pieces when I lost you for a few minutes.” She reaches for my hand.
    I don’t trust my words. I place my hand over hers and hope she knows it means I’d be torn apart