“Do you love this other man?”
“Charlie? No! God no. He’s…It’s not like that. I don’t want to be with any man. I’m a lesbian, Mom.”
“Then you commit to Chiti. Show her she’s the only one for you.”
Avery watched a chicken strut behind her mother, its head turning in tiny jolts like a glitching robot.
“And how do I do that?” she asked.
Her mother smiled and opened her hands.
“You give her what she wants.”
Avery hung her head.
“And if I can’t?”
Her mother dropped the piece of straw and brushed off her palms.
“Then you’re allowed to stop looking for penance and move on with your life.”
Avery looked up at the ash tree whose shade they were seated under. Ribbons of light fell between its leaves. A warm breeze gathered momentum and was met by a chorus of wind chimes.
“Are you okay out here, Mom?” she asked suddenly. “All on your own?”
Her mother kept her eyes on the egg in her hand.
“It’s not your job to worry about me, darling.”
How many times had Avery said that to her sisters? She moved so she was sitting next to her mother on the ground. When she was younger, she used to fantasize about taking her mother and sisters away somewhere, far from her father, someplace where they could live together unafraid. A world of only women and girls, that was what she dreamed of.
“Why don’t you come stay in the apartment with Bonnie and Lucky for a bit?” she asked. “Just while Dad’s gone. I’ll be there too.” She smiled. “It could be fun.”
Her mother put her hand on top of Avery’s and gave it a firm shake.
“We’re selling it, my love. It’s time to move on.”
Avery’s face crumpled.
“No, Mom. It’s too much loss so soon after Nicky. Please—” Her mother tried to say something, but Avery raised a hand. “I’ll pay for his rehab. I’ll cover the mortgage. Please.”
Her mother shot her a bemused glance from under a wiry eyebrow.
“How much money do you make?”
“A shit ton.”
This was an exaggeration, but she would make it work, and she needed to convince her. Her mother stood up and dusted off her swaths of black fabric, then offered a hand to help Avery up.
“No,” she said. “I don’t want you bailing everyone out anymore. Your sisters have to grow up. We all do.”
Avery took her hand and heaved herself to standing.
“But what am I meant to do?” she asked in a small voice.
Her mother raised a hand to Avery’s cheek and stroked it softly with the back of her knuckle. Avery had never seen herself in her mother, but she saw her sisters in her. Lucky had her sharp canines. Bonnie had her narrow nose. Nicky had her tulip-shaped face. She had planted pieces of herself in all her children. Avery was wondering which part was hidden inside her when she heard the tinkling sound of music notes. She looked down to find a cluster of chickens pecking at the colorful bars of the xylophone. They appeared to be playing together, each plucking in time with the others. It was a surprising, joyful sound.
“That is why chickens have a xylophone,” her mother said.
—
Avery surprised both herself and her mother by wanting to stay upstate longer, sleeping for two nights in the large wrought-iron bed beside her in one of her mother’s old nightgowns. She spent the days helping her in the garden, tending to the chickens, and reading from her father’s yellowing collection of Penguin paperback classics. They did not speak again with the directness they had when Avery first arrived; they had said what they needed to and could now spend time together in companionable quiet. It was the most time Avery had shared alone with her mother since before Bonnie was born, and she was surprised by how easeful it felt. She had always marveled at women who appeared to want to spend time with their mothers, planning weekend trips and mother-daughter days with evident delight, and she had secretly suspected that neither party could actually enjoy that time. Now, Avery thought with mild astonishment, she could perhaps be one of them, or at the very least understand the impulse. Her time with her mother had softened her all over, as a warm hand softens clay, and by the end of the second day she found herself longing to return to Bonnie and Lucky, to mold around them again and make peace. She only hoped they would let her.
—
On the third morning Avery woke up before the sun rose and took the earliest possible express train back to the city, letting herself into the apartment just as the sun was beginning to rise over the serrated skyline. She assumed her sisters would still be asleep—she was hoping to drop her stuff, then head out to buy breakfast from the diner on the corner as a peace offering—but, as she crept down the hallway, she heard a low strumming sound coming from the bathroom. Beneath the closed door was a bar of yellow light. Avery pushed it open to find Lucky sitting on the lid of the toilet, a cherry-red Gibson guitar in her lap. She glanced up and stopped playing as Avery entered.
“What are you doing?” Avery whispered.
“You’re back,” said Lucky, her expression momentarily opening, then closing again, like a fan. “Don’t you knock?”
“Is that your guitar?” asked Avery.
Lucky dropped the instrument between her legs with a hint of self-consciousness.
“No, I stole it,” she deadpanned. “Isn’t that what entitled messes do?”
Avery turned and carefully clicked the door shut behind her so they wouldn’t wake Bonnie. Lucky could have no idea how close to the bone that retort was; but she wasn’t stealing anymore, Avery reminded herself, she was done with all that. She’d had such clear intentions returning here, yet as soon as she was back in the presence of her sister, the waters muddied. Lucky evidently wasn’t ready to make up and, seeing this, Avery’s own resolve faltered. Why was it so much easier to love her youngest sister from afar?
