Pretty Hurts (Left 1.50)

I do my best to avoid her like the plague, because we butt heads nonstop. But I know how important it is for my mother to get us all together. My brother, Aren, drove down from Austin with his wife and two kids for the weekend, so short of being out of town for work, I needed to be here. I step out of the car, and bypass the front door, following the gleeful cries of children melding in with the conversation. I open the gate.

“Efia!” my mom calls as she hurries over and hugs me close. I adore my mother. She’s a petite powerhouse with a kind heart, sharp tongue when necessary, and an intelligent brain.

“Hey, Mama.”

“I’m so glad you could make it. You look tired. Are you getting enough sleep?”

“Usually, yes, but not today. I was up late helping Liv plan out her gender reveal party. She still refuses to tell me what they’re having, can you believe that?”

“Yes, I can,” my mother replies with a knowing look.

“Hey, I can keep a secret! I think they don’t even know.”

“Is that Efia? Let me look at you.”

The Southern twang makes me cringe mentally. It’s like a dog whistle to canines; I long to cover my ears and drown it out. Instead, I fix a smile onto my lips.

“Hi, Aunt Rhonda,” I say as I step away from my mother and find myself engulfed in a White Diamond scented embrace.

“You’re even more beautiful than you were the last time I saw you.” Pulling away, she looks me up and down. I force myself to relax. Her eyes are sharp, but she doesn’t have laser vision. She can’t see through my head scarf to the bald head beneath.

“Thank you. You look wonderful. Have you lost weight?”

She beams. “I can see why you’re so good at your job. You’re a natural charmer.” Aunt Rhonda glances behind me. “There’s no young man here with you?”

And here we go again with this bullshit.

“No, I’m not seeing anyone at the moment, Auntie.”

She clucks her tongue. “All that success you’re achieving in your field isn’t going to keep you warm at night, or be by your side as you grow older.”

Neither is your ex-husband. I muzzle the ugly words before they can slip out. She’s poking a bear with a stick. I’m only going to take it quietly for so long.

“Look at you brother, Aren, and his wife, Amanda. They’re happy. Aren’t Charlotte and Gregory adorable?”

“They are, aren’t they? I should go say hi to them. It’s been a while since I saw them last,” I say, successfully excusing myself without putting on my feminist cap and explaining women have the right to do what they want to these days. It’s all about the right to choose what’s best for each individual. The speech would fall on deaf ears with Aunt Rhonda.

“Remember those eggs of yours won’t last forever,” she says.

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that, Auntie. I don’t plan on having kids.”

Her mouth flops open and I give a bright smile and a saucy wink before I turn on

my heels and walk over to the pool where my five-year-old niece and seven-year-old nephew are playing with their parents.

“Aunt Efia!” they cry.

I laugh. “Hey, guys.” I kneel beside the swimming pool. “Are you having fun?”

“Yes. Are you getting in?”

“Not today,” I say, shaking my head. Charlotte pouts and I feel a tiny pang in my chest. I’d give her the sun and the moon, but right now I’m too afraid of judgment to even swim. I feel pathetic.

“Hi, Amanda. Hey, bro.”

“Hey, sis, long time no see,” Aren says with an easy smile. He’s a lot like my father—laid back and warm.

“I know, work’s kept me busy.”