Gladys

Spider’s small for his age,” Mama said that night at dinner. “And the way he climbed the swing set was so reckless. He could have gotten a concussion or broken bone. No wonder he has stitches! I’m worried about him.”

Gladys picked up a chicken nugget shaped like the letter A, then set it back down. Mama hadn’t cooked a real dinner since Angela quit. They ate the same food she served the sprouts: chicken nuggets, carrot sticks, applesauce. No knives required.

“I hope he doesn’t have lead poisoning. Way too many houses around here still have lead paint,” Mama continued. “The landlords are responsible, but unless the town gets after them, nothing happens. And this town...”

Dada had specks of chicken coating caught in his humiliating beard. Today at Crooked River, they’d had him substitute in the candle-making building, and he wore Band-Aids on the backs of both hands. Melted wax was hot.

After a full day of taking care of other people’s children, most humans would want to talk about anything else. Not Mama. On and on she went about lead poisoning causing hyperactivity and poor impulse control. Gladys picked up an L-shaped nugget and set it next to the A.

“Gladys?” Mama paused. “You’re very quiet tonight.”

Within a few hours, two people, one Gladys thought was her best friend and one she hoped was becoming her friend, had both told her in no uncertain terms to get out of their lives.

Gladys was a total reject.

This was not something she’d ever felt before.

Though she must have! She must have felt it when her mother gave her up to foster care. Even tiny babies knew who their true mother was. Gladys saw this every day when parents came to pick up their children. Even Mateo, who adored Mama, basically leaped out of her arms when he saw his mother. When Gladys’s birth mother gave her up, Gladys must have known. Even her tiny, wordless brain must have understood—she was among strangers now.

Had she thought her mother would come back for her? When arms reached down to her, did she look up, hoping to see her real mother’s face?

“Sugar?”

Mama came around the table. She circled Gladys’s shoulders with her arms and rested her chin on Gladys’s head.

Gladys stared at her plate where she’d spelled out ALON in chicken nuggets. She couldn’t find an E.

“I know someone who needs a hug,” Mama said.

But Gladys didn’t need a hug. She tried to think of the word for what she needed but couldn’t.

This was another first.

She pushed back her chair, startling Mama, who stepped away with an oof.

“I hate chicken nuggets,” she said.

Mama looked baffled. “No you don’t,” she said.

“Guess what? Big news! You don’t know everything! Especially about me!”

She charged out of the room. She heard her mother start to follow, and then her father’s quiet voice.

“Let her go,” he said.

“But...”

“She’s growing up, Suzanna. This was bound to happen.”

What? What was bound to happen?