They had not seen each other for fifteen years. Hadn’t spoken or texted in five. Her mother, Ayanna thought, looked young. Her posture was still good, always making her seem taller than she was. Opal’s hair was processed and straightened, so it gleamed black under the August sun. She was wearing a long dress with a floral pattern that felt so her. Dinky little roses. Ayanna couldn’t stop following her. She had nothing to say to this woman. The years had made that certain. She did not want to forgive her. She did not want or need a mother any longer. To invite her into her life would feel like a desire for conformity rather than for love or self-worth. But still, Ayanna followed her. Mesmerized by seeing the way she walked, the pure white Nikes on her feet, Ayanna felt her heart beat quick because that was Olivia’s stride, her way of walking, heel-toe, head high. A long scar on the back of her mother’s left forearm. Had her legs always been so thin? In one moment, they were so close to each other that if her mother had turned around, they would have been face-to-face.

Opal smelled different now. No more sweetie-pie perfumes and Irish Spring soaps. Her mother smelled like the sun was boiling the bourbon out of her. The large brown purse slung around her was probably filled with a pint. Ayanna didn’t think she was imagining it. Almost everyone else around them smelled like sweat and deodorant. Here was the sharp scent of liquor. There was a sway to Opal’s movements whenever the crowd had to pause. She bumped into people and made no attempt to apologize. Ayanna felt worse knowing her mother was still drinking. For years, Ayanna had worked to remind herself the whole thing with Olivia had been a series of bad decisions, that the end had been an accident, that there was nothing that could be solved by dealing out faults and blame. But smelling this proof, assuming the drinking was still because of Olivia’s death, it felt cosmically unfair her mother was here in the crowd after a night of heavy drinking and her dad—who, if there was blame to lather people in, deserved at least a healthy scrub of it—was comfortably at home with his nice new wife and cute sons, probably having a siesta right now.

“You can’t control anything but yourself,” Ayanna muttered. When she looked up, her mother had disappeared again.