Mom
(Sarah's mom)
(My mom)
chatted as they walked through the hallways, eyeing Karyn up to make sure she wasn't in danger of fainting again. The trip to the kitchenette was a walk through a jungle of photos that sparked memories that felt as true as anything about her
(but I don't even know what's true about me)
and at the same time like stills from a movie she'd never seen. A photo of
(us)
Sarah and Paige and
(me)
Kara at the beach, arms around each others' shoulders touched off a memory like that, Mom lining up the shot with her phone while Daddy made goofy faces at them, her arm and Sarah's on Paige's shoulders, the smell of salt water nearby and on them, the burning heat from the July sun, the not-overly tacky bikini she was wearing because they'd slipped off to the beach on a whim and there was a Target on the way--
Wait. She had a bikini just like that, she'd been proud of it as the first bikini she ever allowed herself to wear because she wanted to show off her figure for the first time--
Why would she be proud of a bikini like that? It was fine for an emergency but she had the body for much better and they had the money for much much better--
(it's just a swimsuit)
(is it?)
She sat at the kitchenette table where she'd never sat in her whole life and where she'd eaten most breakfasts and lunches she could remember as
(Mom)
(Sarah's mom)
(Mom)
Mom flipped gorgeous pancakes onto her plate with a smile. Karyn was ravenous and so she tucked in and
(these are the same pancakes I've always had)
(these are the _same pancakes _ I've always had)
How could Bethany Black's homemade chocolate chip pancakes and Susan McMillan's homemade pancakes be the exact same? They could have used the same recipe but there would be different brands of ingredients and personalized control of different cooking surfaces.
But these were the exact same she'd always eaten. She'd swear to it.
She realized she'd gone silent and Mom might be worried, so she grabbed the first topic in her mind to replace the silence. "Do you remember that bikini I got when we went to the beach last summer?"
Susan
(Mom)
laughed wryly. "Yes, dear, I remember, I thought we were past this trauma," she replied. "I gave it away like you told me to, it's only a memory now, it can't hurt you." Karyn snorted a bit and almost choked on a pancake. Mom always had a way with comedic drama. The older woman smiled and looked at her. "You've always been our little fashionista," she added with a Mom Nostalgic Smile.
Karyn
(Kara)
(Kara)
Kara felt ... odd. Good, but odd. Like two bells had been ringing just out of time and were suddenly in perfect harmony. That was true. Since she was little, whether as Karyn or Kara, her memories were absolutely clear, clear as the perfect coming-home nostalgia of these pancakes, that she'd always had a grasp of fashion and a love of it and looking good and blending and matching
(but that's not true, I couldn't care less, I like jeans and sweaters)
(but it is true, it's fun and it shows you have self respect and it's stupid to limit yourself)
(you don't need to show it to have it)
(if you don't show it, you don't have it)
(if I don't show it, I don't have it)
(I show it because I have it)
(I have it)
(I show it)
Kara polished off her pancakes and hugged her Mom, feeling thoroughly good for the first time that day. She made a note to go bikini shopping for the summer.
