January 5, 2023 - “Beach House” by Elizabeth Lerman

“That’s a nice color on you,” mom says and she is there in the doorway, in the mirror, where I do not expect her. I feel myself flinch. I turn around and know I’ve missed my mouth because she is laughing now, plucking a tissue off the counter and closing the door behind her.

We sit together on the bathroom floor and draw lines in the sand. We play a game of tic-tac-toe and she wants to be circles, she says, because exes feel so violent. She doesn’t vacuum in the summer, she says, because that’s the point of a beach house.

“It’s supposed to be sandy.”

“I know.”

“He complains.”

“Yeah.”

“I wish you were here more.”

“I know.”

“Can I fix your lipstick?”

“Okay.”

“It really is a nice color.”