The Queen of Bad Decisions by Janel Gradowski

conversations. The switch from fake honey golden blonde to clown wig red would surely shock her fashionable daughter. Insomnia had set in a week earlier when Alex called to say she was coming back to town for a high school friend’s wedding. She would have a bit of spare time to visit with her mother. The conversation had the tone of a queen granting villagers the right to see her for a few seconds while she passed through town in a carriage. Or maybe she had just imagined the haughty note in Alexandra’s voice. It could have been a bad cell phone connection.
    Three, sharp knocks on the door punctuated the hum of the microwave. Her heart plummeted to her sandals. The microwave dinged. Time was up. Anita smoothed her hair one last time and took a deep breath. Another series of knocks tapped out the message that Alexandra was too impatient stay around long enough to knock a third time.
    “Just a moment,” Anita said. The urge to run into the bathroom and throw up challenged the need to answer the door. She rested her forehead on the door frame for a few seconds and then turned the handle. A doppelganger of herself at age 25 stood in the hallway. “I’m so happy you’re here. Welcome to my studio.”
    A flicker of surprise passed over her daughter’s face, quickly replaced by the emotionless lawyer’s mask Anita had seen so many times on her ex-husband’s face. “Hello, mother. I only have a few minutes, but I wanted to check on you. The wedding rehearsal starts in an hour.”
    The condescending comment deserved an indignant response. She wasn’t the crazy relative who needed to be monitored for signs of emerging psychosis. The relationship with her daughter had been strained to the breaking point since the moment she separated from Phillip. One angry remark could leave it in a pile of irreparable rubble. “It was nice of you to fit a visit with me into your schedule. Please, come in. Would you like some tea? I think I have about a dozen varieties, mint and lemongrass, matcha, jasmine pearls?”
    Alexandra shook her head as she passed by Anita. She stopped at the edge of the kitchen island and slowly surveyed the apartment. The crammed studio was a far cry from the custom-built suburban mansion she grew up in. The entire apartment was smaller than her childhood bedroom.
    “Surely dad pays you enough alimony to live in a better place than this.”
    Disdain oozed from the statement. She appeared perplexed that her martini sipping socialite mother had turned into a kombucha brewing artist. Although there was a good chance Alexandra had no idea that the jar full of brown liquid sitting on the kitchen counter was fermented tea. “I could live in a luxury apartment, but I like the community aspect of this artists’ colony. There are potlucks, special interest groups and even movie nights. I find it much more stimulating than sitting alone in an over-priced ivory tower.”
    “Sounds like college. Are you trying to relive your glory years at U of M or something?”
    Her daughter was right. The colony was similar to a dorm, but she certainly didn’t have any fantasies about going back to her years in college. Too many painful lessons she didn’t care to repeat. “I definitely don’t want to go back to college, but the atmosphere is like a much more grown up version of a dorm. The diversity in the residents and the art they create is amazing. Why don’t you have a seat? Tell me about your life in southern California. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to visit in over a year.”
    “I really need to get going. I love California so much more than Michigan. I’m sure I’ll never live in this state again. Daddy is helping me get into an entertainment law firm in L.A. My life is perfect. Don’t feel bad about not visiting. I’m doing fine.”
    Anita nodded. She still knew how to interpret her daughter’s mannerisms. The short, precise sentences, like a robot reciting a bulleted list, exuded discord. The subtext behind