If You Were Here by Jen Lancaster Page B

(curtain) fist.
    The only way to beat Babcia is to blithely ignore her threats. “So how’s Miami?”
    “Yellow,” which I take to mean “sunny.” At this point, I’m pretty sure her dialect is a ruse employed solely to lend authenticity to her business. I mean, she’s been living in the States for almost sixty years; it’s time to make “the” happen. “Listen, I buy something. You put in house.”
    Oh, this can’t be good.
    I try to sound gracious. “Thank you, Babcia. May I ask what it is?”
    “Is cross. Very big. Tall like man. Much gold.”
    “Wow, Babcia, that sounds awesome; I can’t wait to see it!” My tall-like-man gold cross will hold a special place of honor.
    In my new garage.
    “When move?”
    “We close on the house Monday and we head out the day after that. My friend Ann Marie’s coming into town tomorrow so she can see it before we go. Perhaps she can give me some ideas about where to put your beautiful gift.”
    Ann Marie and my grandmother have always been kindred spirits, but ever since Ann Marie downed a shot of Babcia’s jet fuel, they’ve had a particular affinity for each other.
    “She good girl, not like you. You tell her come work here.”
    “I will. I’m sure she’d be delighted to quit practicing law and move her whole family down to Florida to be a maid.”
    “YOU DON’T MOUTH-SMART.”
    “I’m teasing you, Babcia. Anyway, how’s it all going? What’s Mom up to? And Jess—is she going to start that grad school program?”
    “No more talk bye.” Babcia puts the phone down with a bang. She’s not rude so much as deeply efficient. After she delivers her message, she sees no point in hanging around for chitchat. Our phone conversations are like tearing off a bandage—painful and vaguely annoying, but ultimately over quickly.
    I return to Mac and his box stack. “Babcia needs to talk with you.” Mac instantly blanches. “Honey, I’m kidding . Why are you so afraid of her? She’s, like, eighty pounds!” 67
    He stares into the distance while he appears to be shaking off a chill. “Evil takes many shapes and sizes.”
    I mentally snap my fingers. “Speaking of evil, we’re doing a walk-through with Vienna on Friday to assess damages for our security deposit.”
    “During the day, or is she going to pay us another middle-of-the-night visit?”
    “She said three o’clock, but a.m. or p.m. is anyone’s guess. Ann Marie may still be here, so I’m rooting for a.m.”
    “Have they ever met?” Mac wraps a portion of tape around a box containing manuals for appliances we had four apartments ago.
    “Nope. But I imagine if they do finally encounter each other, we’ll see it on the news.”
     
    “Mmm-hmm, that is indeed Jake Ryan’s house.”
    I cast a sidelong glance at Ann Marie, nodding to herself in the passenger seat. “You say it like there was a semblance of doubt.”
    “I didn’t doubt you; I simply need to see things for myself.”
    We exit the car and make our way to the front door. The weather has warmed to the point where coats aren’t necessary, so I’m clad in a fleece pullover and yoga pants. Ann Marie’s done up in her usual early-spring uniform of slim-fit oxford, rose pink corduroy Laura Petrie pants, and a cashmere wrap looped artfully around her shoulders. For an extra splash of color, she’s held her honey blond bangs back with a floral silk scarf. I’ve long since stopped making Stepford Wives jokes around her; she takes them as a compliment.
    “Let’s go in.” The seller’s agent couldn’t be here, so she gave us the lockbox code. I clumsily release the key and open the door. “The place is a little rough around the edges, but the inspection wasn’t bad. Most of what we’ll concentrate on is painting, papering, and swapping fixtures. We’ll need to do some minor bath upgrades, too, but that’s not a huge deal.”
    “Noted.”
    Ann Marie is completely silent while I lead her on the tour. She’s always quiet when