Flight by Darren Hynes Page A

plates and plastic knives and forks.
“What’s all this?”
    Her mother comes closer. “With the layoffs and everything else going on, we figured that cooking would be the last thing you and Kent would want to do.”
    â€œHow did you know?”
    â€œIt’s all over the news.”
    â€œIs it?”
    â€œPoor Kent.”
    Quiet for a moment, then her mother adds, “How’s he holding up?”
    â€œHe’s fine.” She takes off her raincoat, drapes it across the back of a chair and then sits down.
    Her mother gasps. “Just look at you!”
    â€œThat’s enough, Mom.”
    Her mother starts plopping food on Emily’s plate: two chicken breasts, two scoops of macaroni salad, a scoop of coleslaw, and way too many fries.
    â€œDo you want my stomach to explode?”
    â€œEat it.” Her mother turns to Lynette. “Call your brother and grandfather in from the garage will you, sweetheart?”
    Lynette runs out.
    Emily peels a piece of skin from a chicken breast and puts it in her mouth; her mother’s eyes on her. She swallows despite its greasiness, its saltiness. She doesn’t want to be thin either. Or make herself sick by not eating. What good is she to the children then? She’ll need every bit of strength in Vancouver. There’ll be jobs to look for, an apartment to rent, a school for the kids that’s close by, welfare forms to fill out. That on top of all the emotional support her babies will need. Will she be able to keep them happy, she wonders? Content in a strange place without their father? What about herself? Will she be able to find happiness too?
    â€œDon’t count on Kent,” Emily says. “He hasn’t been home before eight in nearly a month.” She puts some macaroni in her mouth.
    â€œI wish your father was more like him.”
    She stops chewing. Looks up just in time to see her mother pick something invisible off her blouse.
    â€œI just mean that he works so hard. Not like that thing I married. If there was a job for sleeping your father’d be employee of the century.”
    Emily looks away, managing to swallow what’s in her mouth before pushing her plate aside.
    Her mother slides the food back.
    Emily glares at her. “I’ve had enough.”
    â€œYou’ve barely touched it.”
    â€œI’m not hungry.”
    â€œEat.”
    â€œI’m not a youngster.”
    â€œEat.”
    â€œYou EAT!”
    Her mother stares at her for a long time, then hauls out a chair and sits down. Snatches a fry from Emily’s plate and takes a bite. Chews. Swallows. Then says, “Is he behaving himself?”
    Emily looks up from the tablecloth. “Who?”
    â€œYou know who?”
    She pauses for a second, then says, “There’s isn’t a woman in this town that’s not envious.”
    Her mother reaches for another fry, holding it out in front of her as if it were a fine cigar. “Better than McDonald’s these chips are.” She puts the whole thing in her mouth this time. Leans towards her daughter. Talks while she chews. “He hasn’t laid a finger on you then?”
    She shakes her head.
    The older woman sucks the French fry grease from her fingers, then says, “All that men like Kent need is a strong woman.” Another fry. Another licking of lips. “Look at your father sure, no one knows the kind of trouble I had with him in the beginning – the boozing and the coming home at all hours, the light bill going down his gullet. The grocery money –”
    â€œWhy are you telling me this?”
    â€œHmm?”
    â€œWhy are you telling me this?”
    Emily’s mother stops speaking for a moment. Looks towards the porch door, then turns back to her daughter. “But look at him now. Doesn’t touch a drop, does he? Barely raises his voice, even when he’s contrary at me for one thing or another. Still the laziest