They often foreshadowed my evenings ahead. Tonight they were agitated. Very agitated.
They were slapping themselves and making high-pitched clicking sounds, which was like a cross between a cricket on speed and those wind-up teeth that chatter. The sounds were new. The more we interacted the more we could communicate. They loved when I flicked my fingers and shot breezes of Glitter Magic at them. They ate it up. Literally. They ate it, and then they ran around screaming and laughing like little drunks.
Their agitation tonight was unsettling. “I wish you guys could talk,” I muttered, getting dressed. I pulled on a super cool hot pink Juicy sweat suit that hugged my bottom just right and my brand new gold sequined UGG boots. My monsters approved. Their clapping and whistling made me giggle. I bowed. “Thank you, thank . . . ”
“Who in the hell are you talking to?”
“Shit,” I yelled, jerking around and slamming my head on the bed frame so hard I saw stars. “How many times have I told you to knock?” I hissed at Pam, who looked like hell warmed over. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Your mother is here.”
My little monsters screamed bloody murder and disappeared back into the ceiling. I quickly glanced at Pam to see if she’d heard them, but she gave no indication that anything was out of the ordinary.
“Are you sure?” I panicked. I paced my room frantically. I felt my fangs descend and my eyes go green. This was not good.
“Yes,” she replied, equally as panicked.
“Wait.” I stopped. “How do you know it’s my mother?”
“What do I look like to you?” Pam demanded.
“Oprah Winfrey?” I replied, confused by the question.
“Oh for fuck’s sake, I’m an Angel. I know these things,” she yelled.
“Hold. On.” I said with excitement, “Can you see the future?”
“Not down here I can’t,” she muttered, running her hand through her already frightening hair. “My boss . . . that would be GOD to you . . . much to my great disgust gave you imbeciles free will. So even if I could see the future, it can change on a dime because you idiots are as flighty as gnats.”
“But you can see it up there?” I insisted, pointing to Heaven.
“Sometimes,” she carefully replied.
“Did you see any of this before you came down?” I waited.
“Only up until three days ago.” Pam sounded so tired. “Now I occasionally have visions, and I know your mother being here is not a good thing.”
“Can she see you?”
“No. Not if I don’t want her to,” Pam said.
I was shocked, “You mean you can control that?”
“Of course I can, Asswad. I am more powerful than you will ever know. Now suck your fangs up, turn your eyes back to gold, and get your sorry ass down to your kitchen and . . . ”
“Hello, Astrid,” my mother said from my doorway. “Who are you talking to?”
“Shit,” I screamed, slapping my hand over my mouth and lowering my eyelids ‘til they were mere slits. Please God, please God, please God—don’t let her have seen my fangs. I could explain my eyes away as contacts, but there was no way to explain two inch razor sharp fangs.
“That’s a lovely way to greet your mother,” she said as her eyes narrowed. How did she do that? I felt like I was thirteen and got caught looking at naked guys on the Internet.
She tucked her perfectly coiffed hair behind her diamond studded ear and crossed her arms across her perfectly appointed chest. There she stood in her chic summer Chanel suit, pearls and low heeled pumps. Subtle makeup, light perfume and a slight tan. As Pam would say, absofuckinlutely perfect.
Pam watched my mother’s every move with a look of utter disgust and revulsion. I supposed Nana had filled Pam in on my mother while they were hanging out in Heaven.
My mother was a beautiful untouchable ice queen. She was blonde, fair skinned and had huge violet-blue eyes framed by unnaturally long lashes, high cheekbones and a Cupid ’s bow mouth. She looked crazy young for her age, which I happened to know was forty-six. More often than not, people thought she was my sister. She had me when she was sixteen.
As a child, I often wished she had given me up for adoption, but then I wouldn’t have had my Nana. I’d have gone to hell and back for my Nana. How my Nana spawned such a frozen piece of work is beyond me . . . but she did. My mother’s name was Petra, which was perfect. It meant stone.
“You’re looking quite good for someone who was so sick,” she said, taking in my messy room with displeasure.
“Thank you, Petra,” I said with my hand still covering my fangs. Go up, go up, go up . . . they did. Thank you, Jesus.
“Oh darling, you don’t have to call me Petra,” she laughed. Her laugh reminded me of ice breaking from limbs after a huge winter storm. The kind that looks beautiful, but kills.
Darling? What the fu . . . ?
I looked around the room, convinced there had to be someone here she was trying to fool with her loving mother routine. Nope, just me, her, and an invisible Angel.
“I . . . I thought that’s what you wanted me to call you, so . . . um, no one knew you were my mother.” The small, childlike voice that came out of my mouth disgusted me. Oh shit, I was going to cry. God, I hated myself. I was a grown woman. Why did I let her do this to me?
“Oh, don’t be silly,” she trilled. “I’m your mother . . . your mommy,” she smiled.