My phone buzzed with a text on HowzitBru: Nevaeh, I have an urgent message from your mother.

My gut soured, as bile rose in my throat, causing my steps to stutter.

“What’s got you down, Nevaeh?” asked Laetitia, my best friend.

“Nothing,” I said, lifting my chin.

Laetitia stopped, shaking her head. “Nah, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” She crossed her arms, “Now tell me all your private business.”

A choked guffaw escaped. Got to hand it to Laetitia, she could make a professional mourner laugh until they cried real tears.

“That’s better,” she said, hoisting her hockey kit over her shoulder. “Now let’s hustle, or we’re going to be late to practice.”

I clutched my belly, “I don’t know, I think I’m getting sick.”

She took two big steps back. “You not pregnant, hey?”

I shook my head, trying to look weak and pathetic. “No, maybe that boiled egg I had at lunch was off.”

She wrinkled her nose, “Okay, okay, I’ll tell coach. But you know she’s going to think you were faking.”

As soon as Laetitia is out of site, I go back to my phone. Ma?

I haven’t seen my mother in five years. She died in a train accident. I’ll never know if she was dead before the flames engulfed her carriage. I still have nightmares of her screaming, trapped in the metal box as flames seared her skin. Five years, you think I’d be over it. Everyone assumed I was over it after she’d been dead a year. “Children are so resilient,” I’d hear people say at church, teachers talking in the hall, whispers amongst parents who watched our hockey games from the side lines.

But my heart has never gotten over it.

A taxi hooted, and I hustled over. When it pulled off my stomach lurched, and leaving me to wonder if God was now punishing me for lying to Laetitia. Because as I glanced at the message again, I really did feel like I was going to throw up.

My phoned buzzed again: Nevaeh, your mother loves you and wishes she could be in the kitchen making you peppermint crisp tart right now.

My stomach heaved. “Stop, driver, I’m going to be sick.”

The entire taxi sucked in their collective breath, as the driver slammed on the breaks. I was out on the street, puking into the pavement, as I heard the taxi scream off. It was amazing anything was coming out, since I’d only had a banana and a boiled egg all day. But there you go, bodies are weird.

I couldn’t stop thinking about the message. Peppermint crisp tart, once my favourite dessert of all time. I hadn’t had a bite since Ma died. I avoided sweets these days.

As I stumbled on the pavement, making my way home, my mind whirled: Who could be so cruel to bring this up? Why now? Why after all this time?

It hurt. I’m telling you, the pain was bad.

But what if it was true? What if Ma was somehow contacting me from the grave?

***

Tell us: What do you think is happening? Is Nevaeh’s Ma really trying to get a hold of her?