Just girl stuff, nothing more.

After a long day at work, I finally got home, but when I opened the door I noticed something strange. It wasn't the usual smell: not yesterday's food, not coffee... That smell that acts like a switch when you walk in, shutting out the noise of the day as you close the door behind you. This was different. Something dry, herbaceous and foreign that made me frown before I even hung up my keys.

When I walked into the living room, there they were: my mother and my aunt Laura. They'd come by unannounced, and since my mother has a key to my place, they'd let themselves in to wait. They were both sitting on the sofa, and their expressions were so odd that I stopped dead. They looked at me with an unnatural slowness.

They blinked with half-closed eyes and dilated pupils, and a silly smile floated across their faces, as if they weren't quite present. Between them, on the coffee table, there were two empty cups, and as I got closer I recognised the smell from the entrance: that same dry, herbal aroma now filled the whole room.

—Uh-oh, uh-oh, uh-oh —I said to myself—, let's improvise, let's hope it's not what I think it is.
—Mum? Aunt Laura?

They looked at me in silence and let out a complicit little giggle.

—Look, look, my girl's arrived —my mother said, pointing at me in a voice that was far too slow.

—Marisé, we dropped by your place without warning and since you weren't here, we opened up and came in. We made some tea from the jar we found in the kitchen, the one that said "tea". And we started laughing for no reason, at anything. And now, suddenly, we're feeling so lazy...

My aunt, after taking another sip, tried to get up. She couldn't. She sank back into the armchair and sang:

—Mariseeee! You have a very... very rich and spirited tea.

I hung my jacket on the back of a chair and dropped my keys on the hall table. Casually, I went over to one of the cups and sniffed it. I felt the ground give way beneath my feet. That wasn't tea. It was marijuana.

I recognised the smell instantly. It was the marijuana I'd stored in an empty tea jar and hidden in a kitchen cupboard. A friend had given it to me a week earlier, and I'd forgotten it was even there.

—Where did you get this? —I asked, looking at the teapot.

—We made some tea that was in the kitchen, in the glass jar that says "Tea" —my mother explained with infuriating calm.

—Well, we made an infusion, didn't we? And it's bloody brilliant, love. I'm so happy that even my knee doesn't hurt. Not even my knee.

Aunt Laura nodded vigorously, moving her head, which made her a little dizzy. She put a hand to her forehead.

—It's organic, for sure —she added—. Tastes a bit odd... but effective. —she changed the subject— Did you come by car? Because I've been seeing some colours...

—Mum... Aunt... —I said, sitting down slowly in front of them. *You haven't exactly had a tea infusion*, I thought to myself, not daring to come out with it all at once.

My mother blinked slowly and answered me as if she'd read my thoughts in my eyes:

—Oh no? What is it then?

I sighed, running a hand over my face. *Better not say anything so they don't get scared.*

—The tea's really nice, isn't it? —I finally came out with—. It's a tea a friend brings me when he travels to India.

There was absolute silence. My mother and aunt looked at each other. Then they burst out laughing. But not a normal laugh. They were cracking up.

They both doubled over on the sofa, hugging each other, tears streaming down their faces.

—Are you joking? —my aunt managed to say.—We feel like we're teenagers!

—Or like two kick-ass grannies! —Laura added, pointing at her sister and laughing even harder.

I stood there watching them, hands on my hips, not knowing whether to laugh, get angry or call a doctor. In the end, I decided to sit down with them.

—Well, if you're already high, at least you won't be alone —I murmured. Decided to keep them company.

—Mum, Aunt... —I looked at them with a mixture of tenderness and concern—. How much infusion did you have?

My mother made a vague gesture with her hand.

—Well... two cups each. Why?

—No reason —I lied—. Hey, are you hungry?

My aunt Laura suddenly lifted her head, as if she'd had a divine revelation.

—Actually, I'm starting to feel a bit peckish...

—How about cake? —she asked, eyes wide—. We could make a cake.

—A cake? —my mother repeated, lighting up—. A cake! Marise, love, do we have flour?

—And eggs —my aunt added—. And chocolate. Lots of chocolate.

—Deal! —they chorused in unison, like little girls.

I looked from one to the other as they both tried to stand up with zero coordination. My aunt Laura clung to the back of the sofa as if it were a lifebuoy in a storm, struggling to get up and follow my mother, who seemed to be walking in a straight line... towards the wall.

In the kitchen, I sat them both down on chairs by the table.

—Right —I said, taking control of the situation—. You sit here and keep talking. I'll make the cake. OK?

My mother entertained herself counting her fingers with a concentrated expression. My aunt Laura discovered her reflection in the microwave and was mesmerised.

—Hello, gorgeous —she said to her own reflection—. Do I know you?

—Aunt, that's you.

—I know —she replied with all the wisdom in the world—. But I like her.

I rummaged through the cupboards while my mother launched into a philosophical explanation about silicone spatulas.

—Look, Laura, spatulas are like life: sometimes hard, sometimes flexible, but always useful for turning things around.

—Deep. You're very deep, sister —Laura said, nodding slowly.

I'd already found everything I needed: flour, sugar, eggs, butter, baking powder and a bar of dark chocolate that I hide at the back of a drawer, knowing that sooner or later I'll end up finding it.

—Right —I said—. Let's make a chocolate cake.

—Can I crack the eggs? —my mother asked, with a mixture of excitement and danger in her eyes.

—No.

—Can I stir? —offered my aunt Laura.

—No.

—Can we eat chocolate while we wait?

—Yes, but leave some for the cake.

I gave them a few squares each from the bar to keep them entertained and started working. As I beat the butter and sugar together, I could hear the conversation of my two loved ones in the background, which had drifted into unexpected territory.

—You know what, Laura? —my mother said, staring into space—. Now I understand why cats stare at the ceiling so much. They must see things we don't.

—You're always so deep, sister —Laura replied—. But you're right. And milk, where does it come from? Milk comes from cows and cows... exist. It's a miracle.

—Milk is a miracle. Everything is a miracle.

—And the cake will be a miracle too.

—A chocolate miracle.

I smiled despite myself. It was impossible not to love them.

I added the eggs one by one, then the sifted flour and baking powder. The mixture began to take shape, silky and dark. I melted the rest of the chocolate in a bain-marie.

Meanwhile, the two of them turned philosophical and started debating which came first, the chicken or the egg.

—It's a surprise —my aunt declared—. Like everything in life.

—I wish everything were a surprise —my mother sighed—. Like today. Today has been a lovely surprise.

I poured the melted chocolate into the mixture and stirred vigorously. Then I greased a tin, poured in the batter and put it in the preheated oven.

—Thirty or forty minutes —I announced—. Now we wait.

—Waiting is the worst —said my mother—. Or the best. Depends what you're waiting for.

—And what are you waiting for, Mum?

My mother looked at me with liquid tenderness.

—I'm keeping watch so your cake doesn't burn.

I kicked them out of the kitchen and took the chance to change into my home clothes.

Half an hour later, the kitchen smelled of pure chocolate. The cake had risen perfectly, with that slight crack in the centre that made it look authentic. I carefully turned it out and let it cool for a few minutes while I set out three plates. Then I cut three generous slices.

—Time to eat —I said.

The three of us sat down at the table. My mother took the first bite and closed her eyes.

—This is... this is a chocolate orgasm —she declared.

—Mum, please.

—What? It's the truth. Laura, don't you think?

Laura, who had already devoured half her slice, nodded vigorously.

—Marise, marry me.

—You're my aunt, I can't.

—Oh, right. Well, marry your mother then.

—Can't do that either.

—Life's so cruel, not letting us women do everything we want —Laura said, and went back to her cake.

My aunt Laura put her fork down on the plate and sighed, her gaze drifting beyond the kitchen.

—You know, Marise —she said, playing with the cake crumbs—. When you reach a certain age, people think you've run out of adventures. That everything you had to live, you've lived. That you're nothing but memories.

My mother looked at her with complicity and nodded slowly.

—I sometimes look in the mirror —Laura continued— and ask myself: where's that girl who went backpacking through Greece at twenty? The one who snuck into a Rolling Stones concert? The one who had a fling with that Italian sculptor who only talked about marble and the light in Florence?

—The one you never told us his name? —my mother asked.

—I never knew it —Laura admitted with a mischievous smile—. He called me "the muse" and I called him "the artist". That was enough.

—And now, what? —I said.

—It's just that life takes its toll, Marise. Knees hurt, the body doesn't respond like it used to. You slowly become a ruin...

She leaned towards us, lowering her voice as if sharing a major secret.

—... but there are still a few Pompeii s left to discover, my dear.

My mother burst out laughing and Laura leaned back, satisfied with her own declaration, raising her coffee cup as if toasting.

We polished off the rest of the cake in no time. My mother put some music on through her phone —at some point during the process she'd accidentally learned to use Spotify— and started dancing on her own, and then she grabbed me. My aunt Laura declared herself "official DJ" and started playing eighties hits.

We danced for a while, laughing and stumbling, until tiredness began to mix with the last lingering effects of the high. I looked at the clock. It was almost two in the morning.

—Mum, Aunt, I think it's time for bed.

—Bed? —my mother protested, eyelids half-closed—. But we're in the best part...

—Mum, you're about to fall off your chair.

I set up the sofa for my mother and the guest room for my aunt, though in the end they both curled up together on the big sofa, covered by the same blanket, like when they were little. I tucked them in and went to my room, smiling.

At three-thirty in the morning, a persistent sound broke the silence of the house. My aunt Laura's phone was vibrating on the coffee table like an angry wasp.

Laura sat up with difficulty, rubbing her eyes. The high had worn off, but the herbal hangover gave everything a surreal feel. She looked at the screen. "Javier", it said. Her husband.

—Hello? —she answered in a groggy voice.

—Laura, where are you? It's three-thirty in the morning —her husband's voice sounded worried, almost irritated—. I called home and you didn't answer.

Laura blinked, trying to remember. Beside her, my mother was sleeping peacefully, a tiny string of drool at the corner of her lips.

—I'm at my niece's house —Laura replied with a calm she didn't feel—. Marise. I'm not coming home tonight.

There was silence on the other end of the line.

—What? —Javier asked, in a tone that mixed bewilderment with growing suspicion.

Laura sat up a little more, ran a hand through her messy hair and, with a dignity that only a recently stoned woman can muster, replied:

—It doesn't matter. You're not a woman, you wouldn't understand.

Another silence. Then my uncle Javier's voice, lower and more confused:

—But... Laura? Are you OK? Have you been drinking?

—I'm perfectly fine —she cut in, with an air of superiority—. We're doing... girl stuff. Don't worry. And don't wait up, I won't be home until tomorrow, and that's if I come back at all. Good night.

She hung up before her husband could reply. For a few seconds, she stared at the phone with a satisfied smile. Then she let herself fall back onto the sofa and closed her eyes.

My mother, who hadn't actually slept at all and had heard everything, whispered without opening her eyes:

—Laura... you're my heroine.

—I know —Laura murmured, snuggling under the blanket—. Now go to sleep, we've got cake for breakfast.

—Mum, aren't you going to call home?

—Didn't you hear your aunt? —my mother replied, in a tone that brooked no argument.

In the morning, when the effects had completely worn off, we woke up with a hangover that was more moral than physical, looking at each other with a mixture of embarrassment and complicity.

—Marise —my mother said, serious—. Did last night's dancing really happen?

—It happened. And I recorded it.

—Delete it.

—No way —I replied as I poured her coffee—. That video is gold. I'm saving it for one of your birthdays.

—Don't be mean —she answered, smiling.

My aunt Laura, however, had a slightly furrowed brow.

—Hey, Marise... Javier called me last night and I think I said something weird...

—You don't want to know, Aunt.

—That bad?

—That bad.

She sipped the last of her coffee. She decided that some memories of what had happened were best left unrecovered.

As I was finishing washing the cake tin, my mother came out with a sentence with astonishing naturalness.

—Marise, how about we make another infusion of that tea?

—Another one? —I said, drying my hands with the tea towel—. There's none left, Mum. It's eleven in the morning and I've got things to do.

She made a vague gesture with her hand, as if that were a mere unimportant detail.

—Well, we'll be off then. We've had a very pleasant evening. Haven't we, Laura?

My aunt Laura looked up.

—Very pleasant. I felt young again. And creative. Did you know I thought about starting to write again last night?

—No, Aunt, I didn't.

—Well, yes. I'm going to post it online, so everyone can read it.

And as she gave me a kiss on the cheek goodbye, my aunt whispered in my ear:

—Marise, tell your friend to bring some more of that tea from India. For me, because my friends won't believe me unless they try it.

I laughed and walked them to the lift.

—Take care —I said as the doors opened.

—Don't worry, love —my mother replied with a smile—, we'll come visit again another day.

—Yes, but give me some warning.

I watched them, still laughing at something only they understood, as the lift doors slid shut. The door closed and they were gone.

When they'd disappeared, I went back inside. Where the smell of marijuana and the echo of their laughter still lingered in the hallway.

---

mvf.