I woke up feeling tired. That stupid dream I had about the shark and the coral woke me up, and then I had trouble getting back to sleep. But at least I didn’t have that other dream about being in school and kissing . . . someone. All I knew was I needed to work off some of this stress.
I pulled on some shorts and a t-shirt. It was mid-September but that could still mean pretty warm temperatures in New Jersey. The sun was shining so I decided to take my chances. I went to the bathroom to splash some water on my face and brush my teeth. I grabbed my running shoes and checked my phone as I jogged down the stairs. Katya was in the kitchen with Nona.
“Good morning, Zoey,” Katya said. “How are you?”
Since Tony had the weekends off, Katya was our weekend aide. She was a tall, broad woman with an Slavic accent.
“Good. What’s up with you guys?” I walked over to my Nona and gave her a kiss on the cheek.
“I thought I might work on my obituary,” Nona said. “The ones I’ve been reading lately are all so cliché. I don’t want it to be boring or maudlin, so I’ve decided to write it myself. Did you know I was in jail? I’m not sure if I should keep that part in.”
Katya laughed and shook her head. “No obituaries. Today we do pottery,” Katya said.
“Pottery? Really?” I said in surprise.
“Good for building strength in hands,” Katya explained.
“Well, in that case I can wait on the obit. You think we’ll be working with nudes?” my grandmother asked.
“Nona, it’s early. Maybe save the dirty jokes for later.”
Katya laughed a deep, husky laugh. “I think maybe we work on a cup or plate, Rose. Naked men come later.”
“How much later?” Nona asked. “You know I’m not going to live forever.”
“Well now you have some incentive to keep going,” I said, then turned my attention to Katya. “Where’s Mom? At the gym?”
Katya nodded with a disapproving look on her face. “Yes. Why she go? Too skinny. Needs some meat on her bones! You too.” Katya smacked her own ample hips.
Besides her stellar eating habits, my mother hit the gym at least five times a week without fail. She did kickboxing, spin class, yoga, weight training. She was in better shape than I was. I’d be jealous if I didn’t have her same metabolism. I didn’t have to go crazy to stay in shape. Not yet, at least, although my mother was constantly telling me that would change in just a few years. But I did run when I could. Oddly enough, I actually enjoyed running. It helped me clear my head.
After I had a quick glass of milk, I said my goodbyes, left the house, walked down the steps of the front porch and started stretching.
“I saw you leave the house with one boy yesterday and come home with another. That’s not very nice. In my day, you left with the one who brought you.” Ugh. It was Mrs. Budnicki. She was sitting on her front porch, smoking. A second cigarette was tucked behind her ear for when she finished the first. She was wearing a housecoat and her hair was teased into a big, blond beehive. Given her personality, I liked to think she had actual killer bees in that beehive.
“You have a nice morning, Mrs. Budnicki,” I said and waved, pretending not to hear her comment. Then I put my earbuds in, my playlist on, and took off.
