Shauna's Inheritance
Tara Kristen Young
Copyright 2011 Tara Kristen Young
Exhausted, Shauna threw her keys in the general direction of the front hall table. She was unconcerned when they missed the intended bowl, despite that they had come within millimetres of knocking over the tiny clear vase, which held a dead violet. She pushed her way through the piles of shoes and coats that had never quite made it to the open and empty closet. When the shoelaces of her sneakers caught on the heel of a firmly lodged boot, she was forced to drop her backpack to brace against the wall. Her hand knocked the loosely secured real estate calendar, which fluttered to the floor. It was just as well. She did not want to be reminded of the date anyway. There was nothing happy about this birthday.
Fighting her way out of the last clutches of the booted and jacketed mound, the whistle of a kettle pierced through the air and did not stop until it had penetrated her core, evoking both worry and anger. Her mother was home from the hospital.
“What did Dr. Agrens say?” she called as she heard her pouring the hot water into a mug.
“That there is nothing wrong with me,” she called back. Though her tone was light and conversational, Shauna could hear the strain under it. Discussing her mother’s health always evoked a tense connection between them. Her mother would insist she was fine while Shauna would remain convinced otherwise.
Walking in to the smell of steeping peppermint, Shauna gave a stern look to her mother who, despite having no diagnosed illness, resembled a chemotherapy patient. Her skin had a greyish pallor to it and looked as though it had been stretched over frail bones. Her cheeks were sunken and her hair had fallen out in large clumps months ago. Like many cancer patients, she had chosen to cover her bald head with a colorful scarf. The usual hideous pattern of orange and violet flowers that screamed “The 70s” assaulted Shauna’s eyes. Her mother refused to wear anything else, even when Shauna had bought her several beautiful blue silk scarves.
Her mother’s thin fingers daintily reached for one of their many strangely ornate teaspoons so that she could extract the teabag, which she deposited into the sink to drain. A drop of tea splashed onto her shirt as it made its splat on the bottom of the sink. She ignored it.
“Did he say there is nothing wrong, or did he say he didn’t know?” Shauna accused as she sat down at the small, circular table that easily took up a third of the room.
Her mother shrugged as she too sat at the table. “How was school today?” she asked.
“Like it is every day,” Shauna grumbled, “full of superficial idiots who all think their lives are the worst.”
“Unlike you,” her mother said with a small smirk as she slowly tipped the contents of the navy blue mug into her mouth.
Shauna glared again. “I am NOT like those people. Millie Swanson actually whined that she should just go kill herself because her father insists on buying her a Volvo instead of the Mustang she wants for her sixteenth birthday next month! None of them understand what real problems are.”
At this expression of self pity, Shauna’s mother released a long, controlled sigh and set her mug down on the table. “You should be less judgmental. Wasn’t Millie Swanson one of your friends not long ago? I remember her offering to throw you a birthday party.”
Shauna mumbled gibberish and looked at the floor.
“What ever happened to that party idea?” her mother continued. “Are you having any friends over tonight?”
This question seemed so completely out of touch with the surrounding squalor that Shauna could only stare at her for several moments. “We are dealing with enough right now,” she said. “The last thing I want is a party.”
“We are not dealing with anything,” her mother replied sternly. “There is nothing wrong with me.”
Shauna’s outrage bubbled to the surface of her skin making her feel as if she was going to go in every direction at once. Instead of exploding, she aimed her exasperation directly at her mother. “Do you even look in the mirror in the morning? Have you seen yourself? What about your hair? Healthy people do not lose their hair in clumps. Healthy people do not lose a third of their weight without explanation. Stop denying it. We can’t even keep the house clean anymore. You used to be Martha-fucking-Stewart.”
“Hey!” her mother yelled as she slammed down her mug in mid-sip, more tea splashing onto her shirt.
Shauna had the decency to lower her head like a cowed dog. She hadn’t meant to swear in front of her mother and yet it felt good. It felt good to let out her emotions unhindered, to show her mother how much the denial of her obvious failing health really was affecting her.
Slowly, her mother stood and took the mug to the sink where she emptied the contents. As she began to wipe out the mug with a cloth, she said, “Being a teenager is a strange time, so I get that you are having trouble, especially since you have started worrying about me. It is also your birthday, so I will forgive your bad language this one time but only this one time. You are better than that. But I want you to relax. Don’t be as bad as Millie, obviously, but maybe you need to learn how to be a little more carefree.”
Shauna crossed her arms tightly in front of her chest and glared. Being a self-absorbed jerk was not something she had ever aspired to be and she could not believe her mother was so determined to ignore the real issue that she would be giving such horrible advice.
Her mother saw that she had failed to convince Shauna of anything. For a moment, she seemed unsure what to do. Finally, she walked over and kissed Shauna on the forehead. “Just relax. A teenager who has the world on her shoulders can do some pretty stupid things.”
These new words evoked Shauna’s anger anew and without her control. “I’m not going to get pregnant,” she said. Though she was thankful that she hadn’t yelled it, the words alone were enough to cross the line.
“I am going to take a rest,” her mother said through tight lips. “We can discuss this later.”
With her mother gone, Shauna leaned forward and let her head thump onto the table. The full impact of what she had just done ate at her organs like acid, causing an uncomfortable tickling and sinking sensation that kept nudging at the edges of nausea.
Her mother had been there every moment of her life, rooting for her and teaching her and she had lashed out in her own selfish grief over her mother’s health. It was her mother who was dying, no matter how she denied it. Millie Swanson may not get that mustang but she would have her father and her mother come to her birthday. This could be the last one Shauna had hers. As this realization wormed its way into her thoughts, so too did the fact that she was wasting this last chance, squandering it being too upset. Her mother had accepted the situation even if such acceptance did seem premature. What good was there in continuing to strain against it?
They had had so many happy birthdays in the past even if things didn’t always go perfectly. She snickered to herself with the memory of an ill-fated strawberry shortcake that had caught fire when they lit the candle set into the spray-can whipped cream from a dollar store. Never once had she felt like she had a single-mother. Due to an inheritance, her mother had never had to work and had devoted her life to Shauna. In fact, Shauna loved and saw her mother more than Millie Swanson did either of her parents. Maybe that was why the threat of losing her mother was so painful.
With a deep breath, Shauna decided to stop feeling sorry for herself and reclaim what was left of her birthday. Her mother may not be well enough to set a strawberry shortcake on fire but there was no rule that said Shauna couldn’t make her own cake. After checking the cupboards for the necessary ingredients and clearing a small space in the middle of the cluttered counter, she got to work.
It had taken sever
al hours by the time the cake was finished and roughly frosted with a mixture of butter, cocoa, and icing sugar. She figured this just meant her mother was able to get that needed rest. Now that the dessert was done, she walked to the stairs and called up to her.
There was no answer. She called again, this time with the promise of delicious birthday cake. There was still no answer.
Though her anxiety tried to reason that her mother simply had not heard, her heart began a tantrum within her chest, kicking repeatedly at her rib cage and holding her breath hostage until was sated with good news. Running up the stairs, she banged on her mother’s bedroom door. There was still no answer. She banged louder and harder upon the locked door, desperate to hear some answer, terrified that the