Irish heritage without freckles. Grace thought about painting them onto her arms when she was 10. Her mom left a tattoo magazine on the table by accident, and Grace thought she could create the beautiness she desired by drawing her own prints. But she quickly realized magic markers couldn't create the spots she wanted.
Grace took out the last article from her suitcase-- ironically a tattoo magazine. She flipped through the pages of purple and pink flowers, blue and green waters, all inked into men and women's arms, legs, thighs, shoulder blades. Page 47 displayed a man with "mom" red-plastered on his ass.
"Nice," Grace said, as she now heard her mom singing to her baked chicken.
Grace crawled on all fours down the hall to where her face hit the stairs that lead to the kitchen below. She could see her mom, swaying her hips as she took the chicken out of the stove. Grace would lay on her belly for hours as a kid, obsessed with her mom's movements. The way her dressed swished when she wisked the eggs for her favorite macaron pie; how her arms kneaded the dough for homemade bisquits. Or Grace's favorite: squeezing lemons for fresh lemonade. The pressure she used in her arms and hands, a constant and intense turning.
Grace rolled over and looked at the white ceiling as she remembered the blend of bitter juice and sugar on her tongue. Five years ago she left home for something better-- but closing her eyes, she couldn't think of anything better than the taste of her mom's lemonade.
Grace Pickering and Mark Stocktan are fictional characters crafted by Megan Blevins. Read previous posts to catch up on their story. Enjoy, Mb