Mary Jane Jessica Blau (namjoon book recommendations TXT) 📖

I put the cup in the sink with the other whole dishes and then went to Izzy and fed her milk. “It means they lived through the crash. Through being thrown.”

“Are coffee cups alive?”

I laughed. “No. I’m using lived metaphorically. Or maybe anthropomorphically.” I tried to remember the lessons from English class.

“What does that mean?”

“I’m pretending the coffee cups were alive when I say they weren’t killed. But really what I’m saying is that of all the throwndishes, they were the ones that most often landed without breaking.”

“Why do you think the coffee cups weren’t killed?”

It was a good question. I went back to the sink and pulled up an unbroken mug. Then I rinsed it to make sure there were noshards of glass in it, and brought it to the table. “Don’t drink out of it until we really wash it. But let’s look at it andsee if we can figure it out.”

Izzy took the cup and turned it in her hand. “Maybe a circle is harder to break?”

“Yeah, I bet that’s it. You’re so smart!” I leaned in and kissed the mop of Izzy’s curls.

“But why?” Izzy asked. “Why is a circle harder to break?”

“Hmmm.” I recalled something from school about an arch being the strongest shape. That was why all those old Roman bridgesshaped like arches were still around, even though they were two thousand years old. But I couldn’t remember why. Somethingabout force, all sides pushing into each other and creating tension that binds. “When one of the grown-ups wakes up, let’shave them explain it.”

“Okay.” Izzy got down to business on another wedge of cheese and I went back to my task.

At last four Hefty bags were full and lined up in the dining room. The benches around the table were clean, but I kept Izzy on top of the table. I swept the kitchen floor, twice over.

“Can I go on the floor now?” Izzy asked.

“Nope. I have to mop. You can sing to me while I mop.”

“What should I sing?”

“Your number one absolute favorite song.” I loaded the unbroken dishes into the dishwasher and then placed the mop bucketin the sink and poured in some Mr. Clean. Izzy tapped a beat on her forehead with one finger. She was quietly singing thebeginning of many songs, like flipping through a card catalog, trying to find the right title. I turned the faucet to thebucket and filled it with water.

“Mary Jane! I have my song!”

I heaved the bucket out of the sink and onto the floor. “Should I count you in?”

“Yes! Wait. What’s that mean?”

“You’ll understand when I do it.”

“Okay. Do it.” Izzy gave me a very serious stare, anticipating the count-in.

“A one and a two and a three and a—” I pointed at Izzy and she belted out one of Jimmy’s songs from an album that we’d nowlistened to many, many times. At the parts where Jimmy’s voice turned to tossed gravel, Izzy tried to make her voice gravellytoo.

I mopped the floor and sang along at the chorus. When the song ended, Izzy took a deep, shoulder-rising breath and then startedall over again. She sang the song once more as I poured out the water and refilled the bucket for the second mop. Everyonewalked barefoot in this house—double-mopping was essential.

We were singing Jimmy’s song, I was harmonizing with Izzy’s gravelly chorus, when Jimmy came into the kitchen. He wore his cutoff shorts and no shirt or shoes. I tried to look away from the Woody Woodpecker tattoo on his thigh, but then found myself staring at the leather-and-feather necklace nestled into the fur on his chest. I moved my head up higher to Jimmy’s electric stare.

Jimmy was a tattooed drug addict who had used heroin just yesterday, and maybe destroyed this kitchen. Still, all the greatthings about him—including his handsomeness and charisma—remained as powerful as always. It was easy to see why Sheba lovedhim so much.

“Oh Jesus Christ, Mary Jane.” Jimmy turned his head away from me and stared at the floor. Then the sink. Then at Izzy on thetable. And finally back at me and then to the mop in my hand. His eyes were more sad than electric now. Even his bleachedhair looked sad; it hung, as if windblown, over his eyes.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Christ almighty, Mary Jane. Izzy. Ah fuck!” Jimmy slapped his hand into his head.

Izzy stared at him, her big eyes moving from me to Jimmy and back to me. I put the mop in the bucket and leaned the handleagainst the counter. I didn’t know what to do. Or to say. All this: the drugs, the breaking-things fight, and now the clearremorse were brand-new to me.

“Oh, Mary Jane.” Jimmy was crying now. Real crying, tears tumbling down his cheeks. He stepped into the kitchen and pulledme into him and sobbed with his face buried into the top of my head. I’d never seen a man cry in my life. Not even in a movie.

Jimmy’s shoulders shook and he made actual noises. He was trying to talk, but the crying kept pumping out of him. Izzy hopped off the table and ran to us. She put one arm around me and one around Jimmy and buried her head between our thighs.

“I’m so sorry,” Jimmy sobbed.

“It’s okay, Jimmy, it’s okay. We’re not mad!” Izzy said.

I tried to speak, but it felt like there was a rolled ball of Wonder Bread stuck in my throat.

“You shouldn’t have had to see this.” Jimmy’s words stuttered out through his tears.

“JIMMY! We’re not mad! We love you. We’re not angry.” Izzy spoke for the two of us. I still couldn’t get out a word.

Jimmy started crying harder and then tears were rolling down my face too. I tried not to make a sound, but I could feel littlehiccups coming out of me.

“It’s okay. It’s okay.” Izzy rubbed our legs with her tiny hands.

“It’s fine, I swear,” I finally said.

Jimmy pulled his head from mine, and held my face in his hands.