Mothered (3)
“We’ll be equals, roommates,” she said, trying to imagine them both in new roles. “Considerate of each other’s space and needs.”
That was the polite way to say, “You’ll stay the fuck out of my way and my life.” Still, if they really went through with this, Grace envisioned a lot of closed doors in her future. Living alone, she never thought about needing privacy as she sat on the toilet or closing her bedroom door as she dressed or slept. She shuddered at the thought of such changes, suddenly claustrophobic in her nearly furnitureless room.
“Speaking of furniture—how would that work? Getting you and your things to Pittsburgh?”
“Ollie—do you remember Robert’s youngest son? He’s a bit of a pothead but the best of the bunch. He’ll stay with me at the condo when I’m released and help me pack up. Or maybe that part’s done—his brother Sam’s in a hurry to move his family in. Anyway, Ollie will drive my car, and we’ll rent a small trailer. My eyesight’s gotten a little iffy, so I told him he could keep the car after that.”
She already had this planned out?
“There’s really only room in the spare bedroom.” Grace gazed at her beautiful, empty office. Goodbye, office. So much for having a designated place to pursue her hobby.
“That’s all I need,” said Jackie. “I’ll bring my bedroom furniture and a few personal things, that’s it. Unless there’s anything you need for your house?”
“No no, that’s okay.” She grimaced at the thought of having old lady “Florida furniture” as part of her decorating scheme. “So, um . . . when do you think this would be happening?”
The minute she got off the phone with Jackie, she FaceTimed Miguel.
“Hello, lovey—”
“My mother’s moving into my house! In less than three weeks! I’ve officially lost my mind . . .”
Miguel wasn’t as sympathetic as Grace had expected; he thought it was a “nice solution.” Grace realized in that moment just how much she’d neglected to tell him about her childhood. Avoided telling him was probably more accurate. There was nothing about her life before Jackie decamped for sunnier climes that she liked to reminisce over. In many ways there was a demarcation between life Before her mother left and After—and her life was good in the After.
And now her mother was coming back.
2
Grace thumbed in a string of emoji. It was so easy with the younger women, who preferred the shorthand of a heart-eyed smiley to actual words. Lexis224U typed back ILU. I love you. Grace blew her a pictorial kiss and clicked off, rolling her eyes.
Things weren’t going well with Lexis224U. Grace had once lived for the adoration of her virtual dalliances. When she first started experimenting with online personas as a teenager, she’d been needy for a certain kind of attention, a certain kind of rush. The thrill of feeding someone else’s fantasy. But adoration wasn’t what she sought anymore. She was a better-functioning adult now—and more adept at developing profiles and stealing photos. It was important to get a mix of shots—some casual, some with blurry friends at the edge of the frame—not just a handful of hot-model selfies; she wanted to seem like a real person (a desirable real person).
Her whole game had evolved: now she liked young women who would take her advice; she liked feeling valuable in her role of improving someone’s life. Grace had watched season after season of Catfish but never saw another catfisher quite like herself. Her online personas were Prince Charmings who came to the emotional rescue of Damsels in Distress. Her mission: to bolster their self-esteem; to be a cheerleader until they had enough confidence to get on with their life in a more meaningful way. Being on the receiving end of a damsel’s gratitude was a great place to be, especially if it was from afar—without the ugliness and entanglements of real relationships.
Lexis224U had no idea who LuckyJamison really was. She didn’t even know the person she was communicating with wasn’t a man. She didn’t know Grace was Caucasian, not biracial, or that she was thirty-six and not twenty-five. While all her alternate personas (most of them male) had athletic bodies, Grace had the first hints of middle-age, sedentary pudge. Every detail on every one of Grace’s profiles was a lie, from the hometowns to the hobbies, and she knew how to use the internet well enough to make herself nearly untraceable. She even had a special voice, deeper than her natural one, for the unavoidable phone conversations. Anyone with basic skills of their own could do a reverse-image search to discover that something wasn’t quite right. But most people didn’t bother. They, too, got something out of the fantasy.
She’d have to ghost Lexis224U soon. Grace couldn’t always tell at first if she was engaging with someone who was having a rough time but wanted to make better choices, or someone who complained as a daily sport; the interactions often started out the same. Unfortunately, Lexis224U was one of those women who enjoyed wallowing in the drama of their shitty lives, and she wasn’t taking LuckyJamison’s advice. It was obvious to Grace that Lexis224U didn’t stand a chance at happiness unless she moved out of her emotionally abusive mother’s house, but the girl wouldn’t listen. Oh well. At any given time, Grace had half a dozen other identities and just as many damsels who might be more receptive to her encouragement; without Lexis224U she’d have more time for ShyShaina.