Jane wished she could peel away Kelsey’s layers of pain, compact them into little balls, then box them up with the ornaments.
“I get it. That’s a lot.”
“Yeah, it’s a lot. But you’re right, Jane. What the hell? Why not add my mother, too?”
It was midafternoon when they finally got to the garage. There were no cars in it, only hulking piles of jumbo-size household goods and pantry items purchased from Costco: toilet paper, paper towels, bottled water, bleach, detergent, cans of tuna, beans, corn, chili, jars of spaghetti sauce, packages of pasta. Costco: the apotheosis of American gluttony and excess, but also of American ingenuity and thrift. It looked as if Kelsey were stockpiling for Armageddon.
“Did you just buy all of this?”
“Yes. Jane, some of my friends who are, like, smart about this shit, said this bird flu thing is going to get crazy.”
“I don’t think it’s the bird flu. It’s a new virus.”
“Yeah, I don’t know what it’s called exactly, it doesn’t seem like anyone does, but I want to be ready in case, you know—I have heard people saying we could have lockdowns and quarantine and all kinds of insane stuff, so I figured better safe than sorry.”
“Then the question is, do you want to be able to use your garage to park cars, or do you want to turn it into a giant pantry?”
“I would like to be able to get our cars in... hmmm... I need more shelving on the walls, and then I’m sure there is a bunch of junk in here I could get rid of.... You think I’m crazy, don’t you?”
Kelsey looked at her expectantly. She genuinely seemed to want Jane’s approval.
“Not at all. Better safe than sorry, right?”
While Jane was shelving cartons of chicken stock, Prudence walked in from the driveway. Mr. Cuddles followed her cheerfully, tongue hanging out, even though he was strapped into one of those dog wheelchairs that propped up his hindquarters, his rear legs dangling helplessly.
“Prudence, look who’s here!” Kelsey called out.
“Hi, Jane. It’s always a total organizing emergency here, right?” Prudence said, rolling her eyes.
“No, not really,” Jane replied. “What happened to poor Mr. Cuddles?”
“His hips are totally arthritic, and he can’t walk without that. It’s really heartbreaking, but...” Kelsey was fighting tears. “I don’t know what else we can do, it’s not like there is a good hip replacement for dogs.”
Jane squatted down and petted Mr. Cuddles.
“He is a sweet boy. I’m sorry, it must be hard.”
“So hard!”
Kelsey reflexively pivoted to something lighter. “Hey, Prudence, show Jane the TikTok we did!”
Prudence groaned.
“Really, Mom?”
“What? It’s good! Show her.”
Prudence grudgingly took her phone out of her pocket and opened the app. TikTok was the latest social media scourge. Perhaps the worst thing about this new and entirely useless social media platform was that it made Jane feel old. Things burgeoned so quickly online, be it conspiracy theories or TikTok dances. Janewas only in her early thirties but felt that the world was moving at a frenetically disorienting pace. All the more reason to cling to those things—to those people—that made you feel moored.
As Prudence hit the play icon and held out her phone, Kelsey sidled up to them, resting her chin on Prudence’s shoulder. The music was a Cardi B deep cut that Jane didn’t recognize. At the start of the video, Kelsey stood a few feet behind Prudence as they busted out some perfectly synchronized hip-hop moves, shoulders rolling, hips gyrating. They took turns lip-synching the lyrics, and as Kelsey moved forward, Prudence moved back. All in fifteen seconds. They both looked so happy. Jane suspected that maybe underneath it all, Prudence really did have as much adoration for her mother as contempt. After all, the two often went hand in hand.
“You guys are great! You look like you’re having so much fun.”
Prudence shrugged.
“Yes, we were, Prudence! Admit it!” Kelsey turned to Jane. “Being a cool mom is so much fucking work.”
Jane was getting ready to go and Kelsey asked her to wait one minute. She headed upstairs and reappeared, fifteen minutes later, holding a Chanel purse.
