The Last Tale of the Flower Bride by Roshani Chokshi

Author:Roshani Chokshi
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2023-02-14T00:00:00+00:00

I caught my mother in the lone half hour before Jupiter came home. When I stepped into the kitchenette, I almost didn’t see her. She was indistinguishable from the brackish walls and scuffed furniture. Her dull orange sweatshirt matched the cloth spread over the dining table to hide its stains. Her hair was the same shade as the scorched cabinets. Jupiter’s house had never been a home at all but a mouth—a place that chewed and swallowed and fed on her so well she couldn’t even see how deep she was buried in its belly.

“Azure?” she said, blinking at me in confusion. “You’re home. Is something wrong?”

I hated the gentle way she said that. When I was little, she had been a walking flame, but fire requires feeding and either my mother didn’t know how to sustain herself or had stopped working at it. Over the years she starved and shrank until she was a matchstick, a short burst that quickly chewed down the wood and inspired no warmth.

“Azure?” my mother prompted. “Why are you here?”

The way she said it wasn’t cruel, only curious. I stopped at home once a week, but I always took pains not to be noticed. And she knew that.

“Indigo and Tati—sorry, Miss Hippolyta—want to take me on a trip overseas.” I thrust an official-looking form into her hand. Tati had given it to me that morning. “You need to sign this so I can get a passport and go with them. I can go, can’t I?”

My mother’s shoulders dropped. Her brow furrowed. “Azure, I . . . yes, I want you to go. I want you to see the world. I want that so badly—” She stopped, gathered herself, turned around, rummaged on the counter for a pen, and quickly signed the form.

I glanced at the clock. Jupiter would be home any moment. Whatever gentleness I detected in her voice would vanish. I heard her say my name softly, though I didn’t acknowledge it.

“Thanks,” I said, taking the form.

I didn’t stay once the papers were signed, and my mother didn’t stop me. Or maybe she couldn’t. Maybe she was too much a part of Jupiter’s house that no piece of her could stretch a finger toward me.

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