As Jane wondered if the strain of letting stuff go would make Kelsey spontaneously combust, an adolescent girl appeared at the threshold of the closet.
“Prudence, sweetie, I didn’t hear you come in.”
Prudence shrugged, impudent yet shy. Kelsey’s ex may have been a philandering cokehead, something Jane knew from her guilty-pleasure reading, but he was a hottie and had passed along those genes to Prudence. Jane made a mental note to getPeople,TMZ,Us Weekly,InStyle,Jezebel,BuzzFeed, and all rags of that ilk off her news feed. What if Kelsey factoids filled an entire storage bin in her brain and supplanted knowledge that was actually useful?
“Prudence, this is Jane. She’s getting me organized.”
Prudence chortled. “Good luck with that.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Prudence.” Jane spoke to children the same way she spoke to adults. She hadn’t liked being patronized when she was a child, and she was all about doing unto others.
Prudence eyed the various piles and picked up a pink camisole. “Are you getting rid of this?”
“I don’t know yet, sweetie. Mommy’s got a lot of decisions to make. Do you want it?”
“Oh god, no. It’s hideous,” Prudence said, her mouth curling in disgust.
If Jane ever did have children, she would not tolerate any petulant snark.
“Prudence has such a great eye for fashion. She’s like my mini-me!”
To a narcissist, a child was a mirror; all they saw was their own reflection. But if they didn’t like what they saw in their child-mirror, that meant trouble.
“No, I’m not, Mom. I hate it when you say that.”
“Sorry, sweetie, it’s only because I’m so proud of you. Did you have a good day at school? Want me to make you a snack?”
Jane cringed. The words “snack” and “nap” grated on her; they reeked of preschool, of infantilization and helplessness.
“No, I don’t. I feel fat.”
Talk about triggering! Jane had once made the mistake of bemoaning her feeling of being fat to her mother, who replied, “You’re not that fat.” Jane never forgot it.
She still had the habit of weighing herself daily, a self-flagellating ritual instilled by her mother. Her digital, Bluetooth-enabled scale synced with an app on her phone, storing each day’s verdict. It was a compulsion she both hated and treasured, a way to quantify things. Even if the number of pounds displeased her, the certainty soothed. It was an entirely objective measurement. But of what, exactly?
Kelsey ran her fingers through Prudence’s hair. “Don’t say that, honey. You’re beautiful.”
“Are you, like, silencing me? Because that’s not okay.”
“I’m so sorry, go do whatever you want, I have Jane for onlya couple more hours and she’s worth her weight in gold.” Jane flinched at the wordweight, and wasn’t thrilled withhave, either, as it suggested she was Kelsey’s possession.
But Prudence lingered over another pile and gingerly picked up a puce dress. “This is, like, the ugliest thing ever.”
Kelsey considered for a second and turned to Jane. “That is definitely a discard!”
For all her disdain, Prudence seemed in no hurry to leave. “Mom, you know Madison?”
“Of course, I know who all your friends are.”
“Well, she posted photos of her with, like, every girl in our class except me.”
“On Insta?”
“Yes! There was one I was in, but she cropped me out of it. And then they all went to a movie, and I didn’t even know about it, but they posted about it!”
Prudence was trying to hold back tears but lost the battle and then Kelsey’s eyes grew moist. While Jane hadn’t cried in years, she sometimes felt an unsettling longing to shed tears.
Prudence allowed Kelsey to wrap her arms around her. Over her daughter’s shoulder, Kelsey made an exaggerated pouty face at Jane. So commedia dell’arte.
