Gone Lawn 64 : Ada Pelonia

Eloise gazes beyond the windowpane at a coffee shop in the metro, staring at the blurred figure of a woman behind a stroller across the street. Warmth spreads through her chest, and a surge of yearning rushes in. The thought of little hands grasping her finger and holding it tight reels in her mind, but she drowns it out by putting her earphones on. She locks her eyes on the laptop screen and takes a sip from her stale, brewed coffee—the only choice in the menu of overpriced drinks that won’t slash a quarter of her scant hourly wage.
Browsing through second-hand clothes for decent wear is often hit-or-miss, but Eloise knows that the best thrift stores lie on the outskirts of her hometown. She needs a cream-colored dress for her friend’s engagement party on the weekend, but her closet doesn’t offer any, as it brims with monotone shades of gray. Eloise scans the first rack and discovers a set of maternity dresses. She touches its hems, her hands itching to try them on until a sharp pang of guilt lances through her, the pile of overdue bills on her bed flashing in her mind. Eloise finds herself scudding past the exit faster than a gust of wind.
“Loi, you’re not getting any younger,” her aunt quips during one of their annual family get-togethers. The table buzzes with the same glaring murmurs—that time’s ticking, and her age is way past the numbers on the calendar. “At least have a kid, Loi. Your parents would love that.”
Grocery runs terrify Eloise during petsa de peligro because she has to figure out how a loaf of white bread, three cans of beans, and a few sachets of coffee mix will last for one week. A carton of milk is a luxury before payday, so she opts for powdered ones instead, searching the entire aisle for the cheapest brand until infant formulas halt Eloise in her tracks. A large size costs one-third of her salary, and she wagers that’s just enough for a month. She does the math in her mind, but the staggering number of zeroes only spurs a raging migraine.