Page 15

Chapter 15

Julia

“Mom, I’m headed out for my run. When I get back, I can help with the gala planning,” I call, putting my earbuds in. I scroll through my music app, finding my workout playlist.

“Okay, thank you and be safe.” I hear my mom say as I walk out the front door. I pause on the front step to stretch. I have a few set routes that I run, and today I know exactly where to go. About a mile down the road outside my neighborhood, there’s a fifty-five plus community. It’s pretty empty around this time of year. Give it a month, the end of October, and it’ll be teeming with people. But until then, I like to run to the little playground in the corner so I can practice singing. It’s out of the way and quiet. The security guard that works the entrance lives on my street and lets me run through without any questions. I’ve wondered if he’s curious where I am headed, but he’s never asked, and I’ve never volunteered.

I wind my way through the cookie-cutter houses, offering waves to the few cute old men watering their grass with a hose. I do a couple laps in the community to get my miles up before I slow down by the playground. I sit on the end of the slide and stretch out my legs, at the same time glancing around to make sure no one is listening. I pull out my phone and scroll until I find a Disney playlist. There is nothing I like singing as well as Disney songs. The songs always bring up so many feelings and emotions. I clear my throat and start out quietly. I slowly build up my confidence, and by the end of the first song, I’m projecting. I run through my playlist, spending the next thirty minutes losing myself in the music. I wish that I had enough courage to sing in front of others, but at least I have this little corner at this playground to let my dreams play out. I finish the last song and take a deep breath. As I turn around to start walking back to my house, I hear some faint applause. There is a cute old lady standing on the sidewalk, leaning against her walker with a small dog next to her.

“That was beautiful!” she gushes. “I loved everything you sang.”

“Oh!” I cover my mouth with my hands, wishing I had skipped my run today. How loud was I singing? Was she there for a long time? Have other people stopped to listen to me sing and I’ve never noticed? I start to unravel but the old woman is standing there, waiting for a response. “Thank you? That’s so nice. How long were you standing there?”

“Not long. My old bones won’t let me stand for too long. But I heard you when I was down the street and knew I needed to come see you. We don’t get too much entertainment like that around here. Do you ever perform?”

“Ha! No.” I shake my head and fold my arms. “I get stage fright. But thank you, sincerely, for the compliment. I’m Julia, by the way.”

“Hello, Julia. I’m Mabel Campos. What's your last name? You know, manners necessitate both names when you introduce yourself.” She holds out her hand and I reach forward and shake it.

“Pritchett. Julia Pritchett.”

“Well, Julia Pritchett, who do you belong to here?”

“Oh, no one here. I like this playground. It’s almost always empty so it’s a great place to sing.”

“I’ve always thought it was silly to have these playgrounds in here. We are all too old for them, and there are much better ones not that far away, but I suppose it’s for the visitors. Besides, if this playground brings you and your singing here, I won’t complain again. You know, they could put hot tubs here instead. Imagine how nice that would be? A hot tub for every couple houses. Dreamy.”

I crinkle my nose, imagining a hot tub full of senior citizens. But I shouldn’t judge; I'm not the target audience.

“Yeah, that sounds…dreamy. Well, it was nice to meet you Miss Mabel. I need to get back home.”

“Wait, don’t leave yet. I want your phone number so I can hear you sing again.”

“Oh. Well. I don’t really do that.”

“Well, start. Every other month, they do a little variety show at the community clubhouse. It was just last weekend, but you can perform in the next one. Come and sing for us. Half of us are hard of hearing, so we’re really the best group to perform for. If you aren’t good—which you are, dearie—no one would know! So, it’s perfect. Let me see if I can find a pen.” She starts patting her pockets, looking around as if a pen will magically appear. I could run away right now. I could find a new playground to sing at. I let out a sigh, knowing I would feel guilty about that for weeks. Although, this is a smaller venue, lower stakes than the high school talent show. Maybe I do this instead.

“Here, Mabel. I can put your number in my phone. Then can I text you? Or should I call you?”

“Oh, no, a text is just fine. I have grandkids. They’ve all taught me how to text. I can even send GIFs. I’m pretty hip, I'd say.” Mabel puts a hand to her hip, channeling some sass that I absolutely love. I try to hide my smile while she rattles off her phone number.

“You do sound very up to date.” I type a quick text and slide my phone into my pocket. “Okay, I just sent you a text. I’ll see you later.”

“Now, wait a minute. When are you coming back? I would like to go with you to sign up for the variety show. We could pretend that I am your grandma so that you can perform. I’ve tried to get my granddaughter to perform but she’s too busy doing her school stuff. Do you go to Desert Valley? That’s where she goes.”

I let my eyes trail over her with her snow white hair and dark skin, trying to think who it could be. “Yep, that’s my school. I’m sorry, though. I gotta go. I’ll think about performing, but don’t give up on your granddaughter! I bet she’s lovely. But, I will text you next time I come on a run. It’s not consistent, but I’ll see what I can do. It was nice to meet you.” I smile, wave, and run toward my house. By the time I get home, my throat feels a little raw so I go into the kitchen to get a glass of orange juice. Does orange juice really help with a sore throat? I have no idea, but Mom swears by it. Mom is sitting at the table with her laptop open in front of her, the table covered in swatches of fabric, with random glasses, plates, and centerpieces.

Ten years ago, my mom decided that she needed something—a hobby, a passion, something to fill her time and her soul, as she says. She thought about going back to work, she thought about joining PTA and volunteering at the schools, she thought about trying to start a social media account and gain a following. She told me that she realized what she really wanted was a community. So, she recruited Emily, Graham’s mom, also known as Aunty Em. They decided to throw a women’s gala. They charged tickets, found a venue, a caterer, and just hung out. They all dressed up, came together as women, and supported each other. Whatever money was left over after expenses, my mom donated to a local women’s shelter. Every year it grew. They added a silent auction one year.The next, they added performances. They started implementing themes. One year, they started inviting spouses, and eventually, at the end of the night, they would vote on who to donate the proceeds to the next year. I love it. Last year was the first time I was able to attend, and it was so cool. I loved seeing all the auction items that were donated. I loved watching everyone be together, supporting one another. I loved getting dressed up, eating fancy food, all while helping people. It’s not entirely altruistic, but I still think it counts. This year’s theme is A Library of Fairy Tales. Mom spent hours researching fairy tales, collecting trinkets and leather-bound books. It’s going to be amazing.

“Hey, Mom. Can I help?” I ask, sitting down next to her. She pulls her earbud out and gives me a tired but excited smile.

“I would love that. Let’s talk color schemes. I’m thinking pink and gold, but Emily wants blue and silver. I feel like the dress scene from the Disney movie.” She snaps her fingers. “Why can’t I remember it?” She chuckles.

“Sleeping Beauty,” I mumble, my eyes and fingers trailing over the fabrics. “Well, why not both? There must be good shades of blue and pink that don’t give gender reveal vibes.”

“Hmm, well, there’s an idea. Sometimes it’s hard to work with people. I just think my ideas are the best ones.” We laugh together and start matching different swatches. “Anyways, tell me about your run.”

“I went to that fifty-five plus community. I met a cute old woman named Mabel. She overheard me singing and asked me to pretend to be her granddaughter, so I could perform in the monthly variety show at the neighborhood clubhouse.” I laugh, expecting her to join in because it was a ridiculous idea.

“Wait, isn’t there something about a performance on your list?”

“Mom, how do you know what’s on my list?”

“Oh.” She bats her hand in the air, as if shoving aside a silly question. “I asked Graham for a copy.”

“Mom! No! What on earth?”

“I want to help. Or at least be an invested spectator. I love love stories, and I would hate to miss my only daughter’s. With her twin brother’s best friend, my best friend's son, and the boy next door? Come on.”

“Okay, well, I think I’m ready to shower.” I put four colors together and push back from the table, grabbing my cup to put in the sink. I try to hide my face because it’s feeling pretty warm, and I can only imagine how red it is. I hate being embarrassed about this, but really, this is a little embarrassing.

“Let yourself love!” Mom calls as I walk out of the kitchen. “Haha,” she says quietly, obviously talking to herself. “That was fun. Just the little jolt I needed. Back to color schemes. Oo, this group is nice.” I glance over my shoulder and smile, seeing her pick up the last four I picked out.