And the really fucked up part? I don’t think I ever will be.
Shit.
I shift the stack of boxes I’ve been building, so that the tower of diapers isn’t in the way if Maisie or York need to get at anything in the kitchen. One of the old guys in the trailer park had let them borrow his pickup truck to get the sofa, and we’d been shuttling it back and forth all day, bringing over everything we thought they could need. I settle the last box onto the stack and wipe the sweat off my brow with the back of my hand before heading over to take a seat at the table, listening with half an ear to Star and Maisie chatting away in the back bedroom. Hauling out one of the mismatched chairs I settle in to wait until they’re done, but as I do my eyes catch on the bowl in the middle of the table. It’s filled with cherries, ripe and red and awesome-looking. It’s also absolutely fucking huge. It’s like if someone had asked the freaking big friendly giant if he wanted some cherries, and then had to keep filling the bowl until the fucker said when.
The door to the trailer jerks open with a clang and York bounds up the stairs. He must catch me staring at it, because he laughs and settles into the seat across from me. “I wouldn’t touch those if I were you, man,” he says, nodding toward the bowl. “They’re Maisie’s. She’s been craving them like mad ever since the start of her pregnancy.”
“Seriously?” I’ve heard of pickles and ice cream and crap for pregnant women. But cherries?
He nods, all grave and shit, but his eyes are full of mischief. He reaches out and kind of spins the bowl around, showing off the fruit. Watching it is almost hypnotic. I’m fucking starving. Hauling stuff around all day is hard work.
“It was all she talked about for ages, man,” he says. “Cherries. She didn’t want anything else, but they were super expensive and the grocery store ones were terrible since they were out of season.”
“These ones look pretty good,” I say, mouth watering, and he nods.
“They are. Season just started. But man, it’s not worth it. I tried to steal some the other day, and I swear to god, I thought she was gonna cut me.” He looks up at me and grins. “I’m kinda thinking I might steal some now, and blame it on you, though.”
“Fuck, throw me under the bus, why don’t you?” I laugh as he spins the bowl around again. “I’d rather not be the focus of a pissed-off pregnant chick, if it’s all the same to you.”
“And why would I be pissed off?”
York and I both jerk violently in our chairs at the voice, and I spin around. Maisie’s standing in the hall, hands on her hips, belly sticking out, eyes darting back and forth between me and York, but she doesn’t look mad. Not really. Instead she look like she’s caught halfway between glaring and laughing at us. Star, on the other hand has gone straight to laughter. She’s standing directly behind Maisie and she looks like she’s about to piss herself, she’s trying so hard not to laugh.
Guess she doesn’t want Maisie pissed at her, either.
Little Mama’s gonna be a force to be reckoned with, I think, and grin as Maisie steps forward and scoops the gigantic bowl of cherries off the table and cradles it to her chest like a bear protecting her cubs, glaring at each of us in turn as we burst out laughing.
***
It is weird, but after that, cleaning out her mom’s stuff seems to be less of a chore for Star, and more of a treasure-hunt. All of a sudden, it became less about getting rid of stuff, and instead turned into searching for stuff to give to Maisie and York and the baby.
“York could use this to fix up the trailer.”
“Oooh, Maisie would like this, don’t you think?”
“This would be great for the baby,”
I hear it a thousand different ways about a thousand different things that Star collects and puts aside, and every couple of days we take a new load of stuff out to the trailer park for them. They are always thrilled, and that makes Star grin like a kid at Christmas.
“You know,” I say, as she drags another box with the word baby scrawled on the top flap across the room, heading for the front porch. “You can’t save everything for York and Maisie. Otherwise their trailer is going to end up looking like this house. Or worse, considering the fact that this place is a hell of a lot bigger than theirs.” I light my smoke and breathe it in, mentally grinning at the thought of their tiny trailer literally bursting at the seams. But Star isn’t laughing.
Instead, silence fills the space like a balloon, and I look back over my shoulder at Star. She looks absolutely wrecked. “What?” I ask, panicked. “What is it?”
She’s not even touching the box anymore. It’s sitting on the porch, abandoned, as she backs away from it like it’s on fire. She’s got her hands over her mouth, and her eyes are huge. She’s freaking out, and I have no idea why. “Star?” I ask, moving toward her. “What’s the matter?”
As soon as I touch her, she breaks. Her hands drop from her mouth and she’s reaching for me. “Oh god,” she says, and I drop my smoke and wrap her up in my arms. She buries her face in my neck. “I’m turning into my mother.”
What?
I pull back enough to see her face, but she’s still burrowed into my neck. “Hey,” I say, and reach up to tilt her chin so that she’s facing me. “What are you talking about, baby?”
“I’m turning into her,” she says. “I’m doing the same thing she did.”
“Baby,” I say, reaching up and cupping her face in my hands. She’s actually shaking in my arms, and it’s freaking me the fuck out. “You’re not turning into your mom. You’re trying to get rid of stuff. That’s the opposite of what she did.”
“You don’t understand.” There are tears in her eyes now. “I’ve done research into this, okay? Into hoarding. It’s a mental disorder, and it all starts with the mentality. The idea of saving stuff that isn’t useful, but convincing yourself that it is. It’s saving stuff even if it’s not useful to you, you convince yourself that it can be useful for someone else.”
“Hey. Hey,” I say, leaning over to press a kiss against her mouth before she can say anything else. “Listen to me.” I rub the tears that have leaked from her eyes away with my thumbs as I look down into her eyes. Goddamn, she’s beautiful. “You’re not like your mom, okay? This stuff you’re giving away? It’s good. You’re doing good. Maisie and the baby need this stuff. It’s not like you’re going out and buying everything and keeping it forever. You’re trying to get rid of stuff, and you’ve found someone that needs what you have. This is fucking generosity, baby. It’s not hoarding. And trust me—” I give her a little smirk because I know she fucking loves it “—after working on this with you, I’m pretty sure I can pick out the signs of hoarding. If you start showing them, I’m going to fucking tell you, okay?” I tug her close again, rubbing my hands up and down her back.
She nods against my shoulder. “Okay,” she whispers.
“Okay.”
Chapter 17
Ash
Holy shit.
Holy.
Fucking.
Shit.
It’s a car.
And it’s not just any car. It’s a fucking 1967 Pontiac Le Mans Coupe.