Maybe it was unfair of her to believe that Ma could suddenly be there. Second chances can be selfish.
What did she expect from her anyway? The woman always had one automatic response when it came to consolation.
“Ma, I fell.”
“Have a cookie.”
No matter the severity of the injury or injustice, that was her remedy. Her poultice.
Ma, I was raped by wolves on the way home from school.
Ma, my life is a garbage barge being carted slowly out to sea.
Ma, there’s a screaming emptiness inside me as wide and scoured as the Raptured world. No food will fill it.
“Have a cookie,” she’d say. “It always makes me feel better, and it’ll do the same for you. It’s magic.”
Beddy grew up to understand the transubstantiation involved, even if she didn’t know the word. And these things were hard to undo.
The robot woman greets her again. “If you would like to make a call, hang up and try again. If you need help, hang up and dial your operator.”
“Oh, SallyTron 5000, you’re the only one that understands me.” She laughs less desolately. A conceding laugh. You win, Life! You are a funny bastard.
She hangs up. Stands up and shakes her head. Shakes off the dark thoughts like rain from a slicker.
Todd or no Todd, the dance goes on. And even if she makes it in time for only one song, she is going to dance to that one song.