Page 112 of Up in Smoke

Not wanting to pour soap on it if it’s already been washed, I hold it up and get Mesa’s attention. “Babe. Is this clean?”

She squints, and I study the glass, turning it through the light in the room.

“Bring that here,” Nana speaks up.

I shrug and walk back to the table. She reaches for the glass and immediately turns it over to look at the bottom. My eyes narrow as I study the red-stamped logo that seems oddly familiar.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Nana huffs. “I thought I had lost this.”

Mesa leans toward her. “I found it while I was cleaning the other day. It was tucked way back against the wall on top of the cabinets and covered in dust.”

“Well, I’m sure it was.” Nana nods. “It’s old. I had a client once. A friend, rather. She stayed with me for a while and had brought some things with her from back home.” She shakes her head like she’s reminiscing. “Gave this to me as a gift. Very special young lady.”

I give Mesa a questioning look.

“Nana used to live here in this house. She was a midwife,” she explains.

It must have been a long time ago, because since I’ve lived in Westridge, this place was vacant until Mesa moved in. I lean so close to the wine glass that I almost fall over.

“I don’t know this story,” Mesa says to her nana sweetly, having no idea what wheels are spinning in my head. “She was staying with you? Like, she lived here?”

“Oh, yeah.” Nana nods. She places the glass on the table, and I snatch it right up to look at the logo again. “Very young. Poor thing had nowhere else to go. I quite enjoyed having her here, actually. You wouldn’t believe how long she was pregnant. I started to worry when she hit forty-two weeks.”

Mesa lays a hand on Nana’s forearm and laughs. “Can you imagine?”

“What was her name?” I ask under my breath.

Nana doesn’t hear my question and continues telling the story to Mesa. “One time, I almost had a heart attack. She came riding into the backyard on a dang horse, just smiling away. I think she was five months at that time?—”

“What was her name?” I ask again, slightly louder this time.

“Oh.” She turns toward me and scrunches her nose. “Let me think. My memory is terrible these days.”

“I remember that girl. We planted those flowers after she left, remember?” Mesa’s mom chimes in, taking a seat at the table to join the conversation. “Her name was Iris.”

I set the glass on the table carefully, but it still sounds as loud as thunder in my ears.

Mesa covers her mouth. She looks at me, but my eyes move to scan the front door, the scuffs near the light switch in the living room, and the floors.

My lips part like I might speak, but no sound comes out. Mesa stands and slowly steps up beside me. She takes my hand, and I finally look at her. Instead of panicked shock, she smiles. A puff of air leaves my mouth as I shake my head in wonder.

I stuff my free hand in my pocket and clear my throat. “It sounds like that girl may have been my mother.”

The room falls silent like they’d all been eavesdropping. Nana eyes me from head to toe with a skeptical gleam in her eye. Eventually, she studies just my face, pursing her lips and tilting her head.

“How old are you?”

“Almost thirty-two,” I answer.

She nods. “What’s your last name?”

“Lathan.”

She nods again, much slower this time. “Have a seat, then. I’ll tell you all about it. Mesa? We’re going to need a lot of dessert at the table and something better than water to drink.”

Nana winks at me as I sit beside her. Instead of pinching my cheek or talking to me in a baby voice, she pats the top of my hand with her slender fingers.

“Isn’t this something?” she whispers so that only I can hear. “Since my granddaughter has told me some things about you, and I knew your sweet mother, I hope you don’t mind me saying that, if she were here, Iris would be fiercely proud of you.”

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