The Vanishing of Mary White

Five

The next morning, I stumble into the kitchen, not bothering to greet my Mother standing by the stove. I'm on a mission, and it has everything to do with my lack of caffeine.

"Good morning," Mom laughs, pressing a kiss to my forehead as she passes to grab something from the pantry. The smell of eggs, and bacon reminds me of the most common food ordered at Pete's and I scowl at the memory as I fill my largest mug.

"Morning," I mutter, adding in creamer and stirring it. Mom sends me a look as she returns to fixing breakfast, seeming to understand I'm in a grouchy mood. She calls these my grinch syndrome; it's cute when I'm not in a mood.

"You got in late last night." She says pointedly, referring to my disregard of my curfew by a whole minute. For my parents, honoring my eleven o'clock curfew, which is new as a graduation present, means being home five minutes before the hour hand on our old, grandfather clock in the living room touches the eleven. I got home after the minute hand had surpassed it.

"I take it you've heard from someone." I guess, hopping onto the counter and watching her over the rim of my mug as I take a long swallow. My Mom hums in confirmation, mixing the eggs on the pan. My Mom and I are alike in only one way. I inherited her dark eyes, small nose and pointy chin, giving us our heart shaped face. The dark hair was a gift from my father, the only thing tying me in appearance to him. However, if the guessing game was based off actions and way of thinking; no one would guess I was my mother's child.

My Mama is spontaneous, and outgoing. She doesn't shy from the spotlight, and she doesn't back down. It's one of the many differences between us; I fear confrontation while she embraces it. In high school, Mom was voted most likely to become famous. She was a pageant queen, she cheered, and she was a prominent member of the drama club. Everyone thought she'd leave town the moment she threw her cap in the air on graduation day. But she didn't. She's never left town, not even for college. She stayed here to be with my Dad; because all she ever truly wanted was to be with him, and to raise a family.

Seventeen years later, and she still glows in the morning while doing something as mundane as cooking breakfast for us.

"Pete has always been an idiot." Mama mutters, rolling her dark eyes and depositing the eggs onto a plate. She holds it out to me, and I take it, not wanting to hurt her feelings by saying I'm not hungry. I set the plate next to me, knowing she's on my side because she allows me to stay on her spotless, marble counter. The only thing stopping her from going down to the diner is the backlash she'd get from her husband who hates confrontation; like me.

"He told me he didn't want to see me today." I push my eggs around on the plate, glancing up at her when she inhales a long, annoyed breath and turns off the stove.

"I should have made biscuits and gravy." She laments, sending me a soft smile when she notices the comment cheered me up slightly. They're my favorite: but she hates to make them because I only like it when it's from scratch.

"It's okay," I slump my shoulders, taking another swallow of my coffee as Dad enters the kitchen, holding the newspaper under his arm and halting when he notices me on the counter.

"Are you feeling alright, Dinah?" He teases her, greeting her with a short kiss before grabbing a plate. Mom eyes him, crossing her eyes and leaning against the counter side near the fridge.

"Did you hear what Pete Jackson did to our girl?" She questions, sending me a look before turning her curious gaze up at him. Dad frowns as he grabs a fork from the drawer and closes it with his hip.

"I didn't," He admits, setting his plate down at the island and taking a seat behind it so he can face us both. "I assume it wasn't good considering Jennie Mae is sitting on the counter."