Chapter 2 - The Things Nobody Asked Her About
Nia placed her mother's photograph on her bedroom desk.
For several minutes, she simply sat in front of it.
Her room still looked the way it had that morning. Her schoolbooks were scattered across the bed. A half-finished drawing lay beside her laptop. A lavender sweatshirt hung from the closet door.
Nothing had changed up here.
That was suddenly the problem.
Downstairs, an entire part of her life had disappeared while she was taking a chemistry test.
Nia reached for the photograph.
“Mom, I don't know what I'm supposed to do.”
The silence that followed was painfully familiar.
When Simone was alive, silence had rarely lasted long in their house.
She had music playing while she cooked, talked through movies even after promising she wouldn't, and called Nia into the kitchen to taste things that were already perfectly seasoned.
Every Sunday morning, Simone had made breakfast for the family.
Sometimes pancakes. Sometimes eggs and grits. Sometimes French toast with extra cinnamon for Nia.
After her mother's death, Nia had continued the tradition whenever she could.
She wasn't a particularly good cook.
But Andre always ate whatever she made.
At least he used to.
Recently, Sunday mornings had become rushed. Monique preferred coffee and toast, and Andre had started sleeping late.
Nia had never complained.
She had told herself people were allowed to change.
A soft knock interrupted her thoughts.
“Nia? It's Dad.”
She didn't answer.
Andre opened the door a few inches.
He was carrying a plate with a grilled cheese sandwich and apple slices.
“You missed dinner.”
“I'm not hungry.”
“I know.”
He placed the plate on her dresser.
For a moment, he looked at the photograph of Simone.
Then he looked away.
Nia noticed.
“Why can't you look at her anymore?”
Andre lowered himself onto the edge of the bed.
“It's not that simple.”
“Then explain it.”
He rubbed his hands together.
“Your mom and I had a beautiful life. But after she died, I didn't know how to keep living in this house without feeling like everything had stopped.”
Nia waited.
“When Monique came into my life, things started feeling possible again.”
“I never said you couldn't be happy.”
“I know.”
“Then why does your happiness mean Mom has to disappear?”
Andre looked down.
“I thought putting the pictures away for a while might help everyone adjust.”
Nia's face changed.
“You knew she was taking them down?”
Andre nodded slowly.
“I helped with some of the frames.”
That hurt more than Nia expected.
She had imagined Monique waiting until her father left the house.
She had imagined him discovering the empty wall and being as shocked as she was.
Instead, he had been there.
“Did you carry Mom's picture to that box?”
Andre didn't answer immediately.
“Yes.”
Nia stood and walked toward her window.
Outside, a neighbor was watering flowers.
A dog barked across the street.
The world was continuing normally, which felt almost insulting.
“There's a donation date written on that box,” she said.
Andre looked up sharply.
“What?”
“Monday. It says donation on the side.”
“I didn't agree to donate those photographs.”
“Then why does Monique think she can?”
Andre rose.
“I'll talk to her.”
Nia turned around.
“You keep saying that.”
He stopped at the doorway.
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“It means every time she changes something, you tell me you'll talk to her. And then nothing changes back.”
Andre stood there long enough for Nia to wonder whether he would finally argue with her.
Instead, he left.
A few minutes later, she heard voices downstairs.
Monique's voice was low but unmistakably irritated.
“I thought we agreed to move forward.”
Andre said something Nia couldn't hear.
Then Monique spoke louder.
“You cannot ask me to build a marriage while every room reminds me I'm living in another woman's house.”
Nia closed her bedroom door.
She picked up her phone and called her mother's older sister, Aunt Tasha.
Tasha answered on the second ring.
“Hey, baby. Everything okay?”
Nia tried to speak.
But her throat tightened.
“Nia?”
“They took down Mom's pictures.”
There was a pause.
“Who took them down?”
“Monique. And Dad helped.”
Tasha inhaled slowly.
“Where are they now?”
“In a box. They wrote donation on it.”
The silence lasted longer this time.
Then Tasha said, “I'm coming over tomorrow morning.”
After the call, Nia stared at her bedroom doorway.
The photograph in her hands was safe.
May you like
But she couldn't stop thinking about everything else that might already be packed away.
And for the first time, she wondered how much of her mother had disappeared without her even noticing.
