Family Fortunes

Aunt Mary’s apartment always smelled of strawberry incense, cigarettes, cat shit, and the cabbage she boiled as part of her “weekly detox”. The windows were permanently fogged up and the once white walls were covered in a sticky browny-yellow film. Every space not occupied by a cat, held a brightly printed pillow, antique lamp, stack of books, or porcelain figurines of wolves and fairies.

It was Vanessa’s favourite place in the world.

On that winter day, Vanessa walked along the creek behind the cul-de-sac all the way to the river on the north side and then to the part of town where the houses were tiny but the streets were straight and logical. In her pocket, she carried Aunt Mary’s gift from her mother, Ruth, who was Mary’s sister.

When Mary opened the door, she gave a raspy, “Come here, girl!” and enveloped Vanessa with her plump arms and soft bosom. She smelled of vanilla and earth and laughed as the two of them rocked back and forth. She was dressed in the red velvet robe, the one she wore on “special occasions”.  Her others—one for each day of the week—were only “a sorry woman’s sari” a joke Vanessa didn’t get until many years later.

Mary quickly ushered her into her favourite chair in the living room—a plush recliner that could only be described as “burnt orange”. Soon, she had a cat in her lap, a pillow under one arm, and a cup of mulled wine that warmed her inside and out in the chilly room. She chatted excitedly about her upcoming early graduation and starting college the next month.

Vanessa watched carefully as Mary opened the envelope with a perfectly manicured nail the colour of the wine she squeezed from a box throughout the day. She smiled and raised an eyebrow as if to say, “Well, well. What have we got here?” Usually, Ruth bought Mary candles or bubble bath.

As a rule, Ruth never went to Mary’s house, claiming an allergy to smoke. But Vanessa once overheard her mother tell a friend “I had to hose myself down with disinfectant. Absolutely vile. How can she live like that?”

Vanessa never understood why people said her mother and aunt were “chalk and cheese”. Chalk and cheese are both white, soft, and break easily. They were more like chiffon and chutney.  In high school, Mary derided Ruth’s “white suburban Stepford wife dream”, and Ruth sneered at Mary’s penchant for “hitchhiking god-knows-where, mixing with all sorts of low-lifes.”

Mary stared at the paper as if doing so would change the words. Her eyes were slightly narrowed and Vanessa could see the lines above her lips which her mother always referred to as “smoker’s wrinkles”. The voucher for a manicure was cruel on three levels—it was the type of impersonal gift you might get from a boss; Mary did her own manicures impeccably; and Mary rarely left the house.

Though Ruth was a housewife, it was Mary who spent the most time at home. In her 30s, the endless highways and unexplored towns that had been her freedom had become giant mouths threatening to swallow her whole. If she walked past the barrier of her sidewalk, she heard a deafening static like a broken TV. The first time it happened she thought she was having a heart attack or stroke. But after all the MRI scans and several more attacks, she was diagnosed with anxiety disorder and agoraphobia.

To supplement her disability income, she read palms. She predicted enough adulterous affairs, twins, heart attacks, and job offers to be considered “the real deal” and through word of mouth, often had as many as five clients in a week. Ruth had once said, “Clients? More like suckers. She takes their money for a lie and then takes their tax money to pay for her invisible illness.”

Mary put the voucher on a tall pile of magazines and smiled warmly at Vanessa. “Cash would have been better. I could have treated us to a pizza! Ah well, it’s the thought that counts, right? How about a refill of Christmas juice and then we’ll do that reading you’re always bugging me for. Consider it your Christmas and graduation gift.”

Vanessa jumped up, cat and pillow falling to the floor, and rushed over to give Mary a hug. She’d been begging for Mary to read her palm for years, but Mary had always said, “In the long run, it’s best not to know what’s going to happen.”

As she entered The Room, a spare bedroom whose walls had been painted with tree murals so realistic, Vanessa could almost smell the pine needles and hear the wind in the leaves. The only furniture was a table covered with a maroon velvet cloth and four chairs, all different sizes and styles. A cd player sat in the corner, playing “Rain Forest Meditation”. The heavy curtains were tied back and the bright winter sunlight made the room less creepy than usual.

Vanessa never told a soul her aunt saw that she’d have to search many corners of the earth before she found her true love. After graduating, much to the dismay of her parents, she joined the Peace Corps and was away for several years.

When Mary and Ruth’s mother died, Vanessa came home for the funeral, a man black as night on her arm. When she saw Mary, she gushed, “You were right all those years ago. Look, I found him. Best gift ever.” Zeke, having heard many a time that he was Vanessa’s destiny, smiled and thanked Mary. Ruth, who overheard the exchange, demanded to know what they were talking about.

After Vanessa recounted the entire romantic tale, the sisters locked eyes, on Mary’s face the slightest triumphant smirk. It was a look borne from a lifetime of the tug of war of hurt and payback.

Mary leaned and whispered in Ruth’s ear. “Maybe I should have just given her a voucher, eh?”