SATIATED

My mother was late to a dinner party again. She was doing too many things at once. Pulling her shoes on and hobbling around with the straps unfastened while she reapplied a deep red lipstick. Tugging her bra strap into place, adjusting her cleavage in the low neckline of her dress. I was sitting on the bathroom floor, removing some toenail polish that had been on for two weeks too long. They were half chipped pink, half bare toenail. The room smelled like acetone and hairspray. I had a headache. She took a long drink from a bottle of cabernet, checked her phone. “Oh, thank God,” she said. “He’s running behind. Won’t be here for at least ten.” “Who is it, again?” I asked. “Luke,” she said. “He’s in sales. You’ve met him once or twice.” She was half listening, half slathering mascara on an eyeliner-rimmed eye. “I don’t remember that one,” I said. She leaned back from the mirror, squinted at me. “That one? What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I shrugged. “Your work friends. I’m just trying to remember who’s who.” She was already back to her reflection, assaulting the other eye with the mascara brush. “Damn it!” she said. She started rubbing at a spot of black on her eyelid, trying to erase the mistake without ruining anything else. A moment passed. I moved on to my right foot, a small mountain of cotton balls forming beside me. “You look great, mom.” She stood abruptly and crossed the bathroom to the full length mirror in her closet. She leaned down, fastened her left heel, struggled with the right buckle a little, then fastened that one, too. She took a step back. I watched her eyes watch her feet, her calves, her thighs. I watched her hands reach up, press against her stomach. Breathe in, breathe out. Frown slightly. “Do I look okay, Marianne?” “You look great mom. Swear.” I said again. Her eyes snapped to me, looked at my feet, my calves and thighs. I was paying very close attention to my right middle toe. There was a spot of pink polish that just wouldn’t budge. “I used to look just like you, you know.”

I closed my eyes. I couldn’t get that damned spot out. “I used to look just like you,” she said again. “I was just a little thinner and my hair was longer. I’d curl it and I’d wear the tiniest dresses that I could get away with. Every Friday. Your grandma wanted to lock me up, I’m sure you can imagine.” She laughed at herself, flapped the memory away with a manicured hand. Another drink of wine. “But I didn’t care. I’d let this boy or that boy drive me around town. Buy me a movie ticket or a cheeseburger, not that I’d eat it. But it was fun to let them spend and spend.” I gathered the cotton balls in my hands, stood and carried them over to the little trash bin by the mirror, bent down and dropped them inside. Her hand grasped my wrist as I straightened up. Her hand was a little too tight. She pulled me into the mirror beside her. Her eyes watched our feet, our calves and thighs. “Here’s an idea,” she said. “Why don’t you throw on something from my closet? I have a pretty little black dress that’s a little loose on me. I might even have some heels you can squeeze into. You can have a glass of cab and Luke can take both of us to the party.” I smiled with my mouth. “I wish, mom. Lots of calc to do this weekend.” She had wine in her eyes and her voice as she turned away from the mirror and looked at me. “Come on, Marianne,” she said. “It’ll be so much fun.” There was a car horn outside. Her eyes flitted over to the window and she was moving. She grabbed her phone, her purse, her keys. “I’ll be home by midnight,” she said over her shoulder, stumbling slightly as she moved towards the door but recovering quickly. “Don’t study too hard. Pantry’s full. Love you to the moon.” And she was halfway down the stairs. I heard the front door open, close, the lock turn.

I stood in front of the mirror, holding my right wrist in my left hand. Eventually I turned to my reflection and looked at my feet, my calves, my thighs. Pressed a hand to my stomach. Breathe in, breathe out. I turned and picked the cabernet up off the floor, switching off the bathroom light as I left the room. I walked downstairs, flicked the kitchen lights on. I opened the fridge, slid the bottle of wine into the side door, closed it. I shuffled through the pantry and pulled out a box of cereal. Back to the fridge for the milk. My hand stopped halfway to the gallon. My eyes burned in the cool air. The fridge smelled like acetone. My hand hung in the air, dropped to my side. I closed the fridge door, stood there, opened it again. I could hear every noise in the house as I pulled the cabernet from the side door. AVERY MORTON

Models Raya, Dallas Young Fashion Hobby Photography Katalina Enriquez, Nicole Scharff, Ian Alvarez Ward Design Liv Vitale 28 ISSUE 09