Jolly

Parent Support Groups are Where Goodie-Two-Shoes Go to Die

The first time Mireille told her mother she’d  not speak to her again, Bettina stifled it.  A laugh. Don’t tip off a daughter about her ancestors. Everyone thinks they’re original.

Then Mireille moved twice, without a forwarding address. She blocked her number, and arranged for a skater boy to pick up her stuff— Damien? Damien’s brother? But didn’t that one disappear too?

In any case, a teen from the Christmas tree lot came to pick up Mireille’s suitcase from the ancestral manse. Bettina got the message. Mireille was gone. Gone Baby gone.

Bettina called the aunties. It was like a holiday tour. “Remember when Miri was just a baby in the pouf, that thing for Halloween?” Corrie asked.  Auntie Fran cried hard for a minute and then had to crawl back to lie on the floor. Her back was a mess.

“Remember,” said Auntie Took,  “When she made a cake for Xmas in that godawful green frosting? Jolly 4-Ever?”

Bettina took out an old polaroid of the “Jolly" cake sitting on the Christmas table. Such a clas…