‘We have to get rid of it.’
‘What?’ Maya throws her arms up. ‘No!’
I roll my eyes and keep my stance firm, arms folded tight over my chest. ‘It’s old, Maya. It needs to go.’
‘But it’s perfectly fine!’ She crosses the room in three easy strides and throws herself on the faded red cushions as if to prove her point, except all it does is demonstrate exactly why we need to get rid of the damn thing, as dust clouds shoot up from the fabric and attack Maya.
She starts to cough and sneeze and instead of telling her ‘I told you so,’ I reach down to pull her off the ancient couch.
We look at the piece of furniture standing side by side. I can feel Maya’s sadness wafting off her like a scent. I don’t know why she’s so attached to it. There’s nothing special about it. From where I stand, it looks like any old sofa from the early 2000s, with tacky throw cushions and a threadbare blanket that matches the funky patterns.
‘It’s all we have of her,’ Maya finally says, her voice soft.
Ah, right.
‘We can’t keep it. What if it has bugs?’ Flora was always the rational one out of the three of us. Rational albeit a little depressing.
‘We can clean it!’ Maya insists. ‘Hire a professional! I’ve seen videos of people deep cleaning nasty, muddy, shitty carpets on the internet. Surely there’s someone out there who can banish the demons between those cushions!’
I turn to give her a deadpan look. ‘Banish the demons?’
‘Well, we can’t rule it out. Could be haunted.’ She shrugs and looks defeated.
I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose. I feel a headache start to build which is not uncommon when I’m around Maya.
‘We dig out an ancient couch from under a pile of Nan’s shit that’s probably older than all of us combined, and you’re worried it’s haunted and not infested with all sorts of things?’
‘Aren’t you?’ She looks back at me with wide eyes before sucking in a sharp gasp. ‘Oh gosh, what if she’s sitting there now. Oh no, did I just sit on her?’
‘You’re being ridiculous,’ Flora groans. I can’t blame her. We’ve been at it for hours; the sun is starting to set. ‘I’m putting the kettle on. You figure out what to do with this … thing.’ She waves her hands at it with finality then turns towards the kitchen without waiting for either of us to respond.
Maya looks between Flora and Nan’s old couch, and I watch as her eyes turn sadder with each passing second.
‘I don’t know, M … You’re the oldest.’
‘Yeah,’ she sighs. ‘You think Mum will be here tomorrow?’
I bite my tongue momentarily. ‘I don’t know. They were like oil and water.’
‘Yeah,’ Maya repeats and for a moment we sink into thoughtful silence, but I can tell the gears are turning quite loudly in her head.
‘Mum showed me her scars, you know.’
‘What? What are you talking about?’
Maya’s mouth kicks up into a bitter smile. ‘On the backs of her hands. They’re tiny so you can’t see them unless you hold them up real close. Apparently, Nan’s favourite was that old wooden ruler we found in her closet.’
I open and close my mouth for several seconds but I can’t bring myself to say anything. Maya looks me in the eye, her expression soft.
Flora’s voice booming from the kitchen makes me flinch. ‘Hey! How much longer are you going to talk about that ugly couch? I’m starving!’
Maya cranes her head towards the kitchen to call back, ‘Alright!’ Then she reaches for my hand and squeezes once before leaning forward to say, ‘Let’s get rid of it tomorrow morning, yeah? Ghosts be damned.’