occupant. “You have a new friend,” she said, hoping she sounded happy about this development.
“Maybe,” said Alder, and she started for the house.
When the kids were in bed, Dana pulled the dental-insurance binder from the desk in Kenneth’s office, a square little room on the first floor he’d claimed when they bought the house. On the wall by the desk, he had taped the children’s pictures and notes. “TO DADY,” one declared in uncertain crayon, “A BG LLYN.” Dana had written in pencil along the bottom, “a big lion.” It was drawn in slashes of orange, with red for the tongue, teeth, and eyes. Inexplicably, its tail was green. Under the Scotch tape at the four corners, the paper was several shades lighter.
“Dad, Your The Best!” gushed a pink-and-purple birthday card from Morgan. It was almost two years since she’d written it, the most recent addition to the wall. Now the collection served as a sort of two-dimensional time capsule from the days when his fathering was a daily occurrence.
Why didn’t he bring their pictures with him when he moved out? Dana wondered, saddened and a little annoyed. Should she take them down? If she did, would it be a harsh indicator of his removal from their lives? But if she didn’t, their arrested development would become more and more blatant. Which was worse?
Through the open door, she heard Alder say, “Connie.” The silence after that one brief utterance seemed to go on for minutes.
“Are you done?” Alder said, annoyed. More silence. Then, “Fine, just let me know when it’s my turn to talk . . . How you look ? When have you ever cared how you look to other people? . . . It’s Dana , for godsake. She’s, like, the least judgmental person on the planet. She loves every body.” The words seemed complimentary, but the tone was not. Dana frowned.
“I’m fine . . .” Alder went on. “Yeah, despite all that, life here is totally great . . . Well, you don’t—. . . You don’t—. . . Could you stop interrupting me for once? . . . Okay, I just called to say could you please have my car fixed? . . . Because it’s not her responsibility, and besides, she can’t afford it . . . Because I just know . . . You say I’m so intuitive, and you’re all proud of it until I pick up on something you don’t feel like knowing . . . No, it is true . . . Like the time you were dating that chiropractor guy? I told you he was a loser . . . Okay, whatever. Can you please get my car fixed? . . . I’m asking you nicely . . . Nice does too count for something . . . Forget it, then . . . Good night, Mother . . . No, I’m calling you that because you’re my actual mother . . . Good night.”
CHAPTER 12
B Y FIVE O’CLOCK ON FRIDAY, MORGAN HAD HUNG streamers in the dining room, taken them down because they looked babyish, and put them back up because the room looked boring without them. She was thinking of removing them again because boring was better than babyish when Alder strode past. Morgan flagged her down with, “Did you have streamers at your twelfth birthday party?”
“Oh . . . um, no. Connie doesn’t do store-bought stuff. She thinks it’s unimaginative.”
“Well, what did you have, then?”
“She let me and my friends paint anything we wanted on the living-room wall. But she got kind of disgusted with all the rainbows and ‘Girls Rule,’ and she painted it over the next day.”
Morgan glanced at the streamers. “These look bad, don’t they?”
“They’re okay.” After a moment Alder said, “I like those china cups your mom has with the handles that curl up at the bottom. When we’d come here for holidays, she’d always use them.”
“You haven’t been here for a long time. Since Grandma died, I think.”
Alder’s eyes went unfocussed for a moment. “Yeah,” she said.
“Are you going to be around tonight?” Morgan asked hopefully as she yanked at the streamers.
“No, I’m hanging with a friend.”
“Does Mom
“Maybe,” said Alder, and she started for the house.
When the kids were in bed, Dana pulled the dental-insurance binder from the desk in Kenneth’s office, a square little room on the first floor he’d claimed when they bought the house. On the wall by the desk, he had taped the children’s pictures and notes. “TO DADY,” one declared in uncertain crayon, “A BG LLYN.” Dana had written in pencil along the bottom, “a big lion.” It was drawn in slashes of orange, with red for the tongue, teeth, and eyes. Inexplicably, its tail was green. Under the Scotch tape at the four corners, the paper was several shades lighter.
“Dad, Your The Best!” gushed a pink-and-purple birthday card from Morgan. It was almost two years since she’d written it, the most recent addition to the wall. Now the collection served as a sort of two-dimensional time capsule from the days when his fathering was a daily occurrence.
Why didn’t he bring their pictures with him when he moved out? Dana wondered, saddened and a little annoyed. Should she take them down? If she did, would it be a harsh indicator of his removal from their lives? But if she didn’t, their arrested development would become more and more blatant. Which was worse?
Through the open door, she heard Alder say, “Connie.” The silence after that one brief utterance seemed to go on for minutes.
“Are you done?” Alder said, annoyed. More silence. Then, “Fine, just let me know when it’s my turn to talk . . . How you look ? When have you ever cared how you look to other people? . . . It’s Dana , for godsake. She’s, like, the least judgmental person on the planet. She loves every body.” The words seemed complimentary, but the tone was not. Dana frowned.
“I’m fine . . .” Alder went on. “Yeah, despite all that, life here is totally great . . . Well, you don’t—. . . You don’t—. . . Could you stop interrupting me for once? . . . Okay, I just called to say could you please have my car fixed? . . . Because it’s not her responsibility, and besides, she can’t afford it . . . Because I just know . . . You say I’m so intuitive, and you’re all proud of it until I pick up on something you don’t feel like knowing . . . No, it is true . . . Like the time you were dating that chiropractor guy? I told you he was a loser . . . Okay, whatever. Can you please get my car fixed? . . . I’m asking you nicely . . . Nice does too count for something . . . Forget it, then . . . Good night, Mother . . . No, I’m calling you that because you’re my actual mother . . . Good night.”
CHAPTER 12
B Y FIVE O’CLOCK ON FRIDAY, MORGAN HAD HUNG streamers in the dining room, taken them down because they looked babyish, and put them back up because the room looked boring without them. She was thinking of removing them again because boring was better than babyish when Alder strode past. Morgan flagged her down with, “Did you have streamers at your twelfth birthday party?”
“Oh . . . um, no. Connie doesn’t do store-bought stuff. She thinks it’s unimaginative.”
“Well, what did you have, then?”
“She let me and my friends paint anything we wanted on the living-room wall. But she got kind of disgusted with all the rainbows and ‘Girls Rule,’ and she painted it over the next day.”
Morgan glanced at the streamers. “These look bad, don’t they?”
“They’re okay.” After a moment Alder said, “I like those china cups your mom has with the handles that curl up at the bottom. When we’d come here for holidays, she’d always use them.”
“You haven’t been here for a long time. Since Grandma died, I think.”
Alder’s eyes went unfocussed for a moment. “Yeah,” she said.
“Are you going to be around tonight?” Morgan asked hopefully as she yanked at the streamers.
“No, I’m hanging with a friend.”
“Does Mom
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