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about to decorate the cookies, if you’re

still interested in helping.

ANNIE

I’d love to. Can we listen to Christmas

music while we decorate?

JAMES

(sighing)

If we must.

Chapter 14

Mariah

As we park in the neighbourhood of squat rectangular houses in varying shades of beige, I begin to question my sanity. I’ve taken great lengths to avoid my parents over the past several years, and now I’ll be seeing them for the first time in months with Ellie at my side. And I have no idea what to expect with her.

She’s her usual chipper self, bright-eyed, taking everything in. All the houses are copy-and-pastes of each other, a design often referred to as “BC Boxes”: a simple split-level with a garage on one side. The neighbourhood is nice enough, with wide front lawns and in-set sidewalks. While the houses are at least sixty years old, the residents range from new families out walking their dogs and babies to older couples watering their hydrangeas in the front yard.

My parents’ house is meticulously kept, as it always has been, with not a smidge of dust on any of the windows, not a blade of grass trimmed the wrong length, and every begonia evenly spaced between two matching white peonies on each side.

It’s as if I never left.

“We don’t have to do this,” I say, my steps becoming slower and heavier with each inch we make toward the house. “They haven’t seen us yet. We can turn around. Go home. I know more food trucks we can try!”

Ellie wraps her arm through mine. “It will be fine! Don’t worry, I’ll be here the whole time. You won’t even have to talk. I’ll do it for you. You can do your due diligence as a daughter, rip the Band-Aid off, and cross this off your list for at least a few months. You’ll feel so much better after, I promise.”

I look down at Ellie, and she looks up at me, and even though I’m panicking, I know, somehow, it’s all going to be okay. Shegives me a reassuring smile, my arm a gentle squeeze, and I reciprocate with a slight nod.

The front door opens while we’re still approaching, and out steps my mom. I am the spitting image of my mother. I’ve always hated it. She’s blonde, her hair cut in a neat shoulder-length bob. She’s tall and thickly built like me, but instead of accentuating her curves, she still subscribes to the notion that they are something to be ashamed of, meant to be hidden beneath layers of formless clothes. She’d tried to impress the same shame on me ever since I can remember—being told to stand up straighter because good posture will hide a belly, that somehow the amount of fat on your body is correlated to self-worth, that the clothes you choose to wear are linked to your morality.

I rebuked that nonsense, choosing self-acceptance and love instead. It didn’t happen overnight; it took years of un-learning. Yet here we are, two women with matching bodies and just twenty years in age separating them, me with my rounded belly showing beneath my shirt, my breasts prominently displayed with a long line of cleavage, and tight pants that don’t disguise the fact that I don’t have anything close to a thigh gap and never will. While her clothing, hair, and makeup is meant to blend into her surroundings, mine is carefully curated to stand out, from my half-shaved head of bright teal hair, to the dark makeup around my eyes, and the bold shade of red I chose for my lips. We couldn’t be more the same, and yet we’re completely different. I did that on purpose.

I force my shoulders back and stand proudly, even as I prepare for her cutting words, asking me ifthisis what I chose to wear, asking what on god’s green earth I did to my hair, or if she can grab me a sweater despite the thirty-degree July heat.

But it doesn’t come.

Her arms are open, beckoning, the smile on her face lined far more than I remember. “Welcome home, Maria!”

I tense at her pronunciation. Ellie must feel it and tugs me closer. “Hello, Judith!”

“Oh, you must be Ellie.” Mom steps out of the way so we can climb the short flight of stairs and meet her on the landing.

“Yes, so good to meet you.” Ellie releases me and hugs my mom, who squeezes her tightly as if they’ve known each other for years.

Mom releases Ellie long enough to hold her at arm’s length. “Lovely to finally meet one of Maria’s partners.”

Wait... partners? Does she think—

“Yes,” Ellie agrees. “And I’ve been telling Mariah forever that I wanted to meet my girlfriend’s parents. Where is Wes, anyway?”

Girlfriend?! What the f—

“He’s inside. Come on in!” Mom pauses to look into Ellie’s eyes as if she’s some sort of magical creature. Then Mom looks to me, arms still open for a hug.