June 2024 Flash Lit 2.3 - Apple

“What does that even mean?” Jen said with full 13-year-old attitude.

Dee told herself it didn’t hurt, not really, to have her child angry at everything, but especially her.  She was lying.  No matter how normal it was for Jen to act out, it felt to Dee like she was getting stabbed to the heart.  Calmly, she said, “It means that you’re dear to me, beloved.”

 

“It’s stupid.  Eyes don’t have apples.”

 

“I didn’t make it up.  It’s in the Bible, I think.  Or maybe Shakespeare,” Dee said.

 

Jen snorted, “You don’t even know.”

 

“No, I don’t,” Dee agreed.  She was determined to find common ground with her child even if it had to be her own ignorance.

 

For a second, it worked.  Jen looked startled, like she had as a baby when Dee had blown a gentle puff of air at her when she squalled, just enough to break the cycle of crying with a novel sensation.  In that instant, Jen’s eyes softened, her posture melted a little, and her hands unclenched.

 

“Here’s your lunch,” Dee said.  “I’ll pick you up after school because you’ve got an orthodontist appointment.”

 

Jen took the insulated lunch bag from Dee and peered inside.  Dee held her breath.  Then Jen laughed.  “Nice one, Mom, putting googly eyes on the apple.”

 

“The apple of my eye needed an apple with eyes.”