Replenishing Lip Balm with Pome-granate Oil. I massaged it slowly into my lips without opening my eyes.
Precious came running into the room, her toenails clicking on the oak floors. I wondered if she needed them trimmed.
She might even enjoy some polish. She jumped up on the bed and snuggled in beside me.
When my cell phone rang, I felt like I was underwater and didn’t have the energy to kick my way to the surface. I let it ring until it stopped. My house phone rang next, on the table, right beside my ear. I couldn’t see the caller ID from this position. I thought about twisting around so I could see it, but it felt like way too much effort. It rang again. And 86
C L A I R E C O O K
again. Precious jumped on my stomach and gave me a worried look.
“Okay, okay,” I said. I reached over and picked up the phone. “Bella’s Beauty Bag,” I said, just to try out the sound of it for my kits.
“Bella,” the voice on the phone sobbed. “It’s Lizzie,” she added, as if I wouldn’t know Craig’s daughter’s voice anywhere.
I sat up fast, and Precious went sliding off me like I was a ski slope. I reached out to pet her, so she’d know it was an accident. “Lizzie, honey,” I said. “What’s wrong?” For a second I had this crazy idea that Craig was dead, though everything in me knew I couldn’t get that lucky.
She kept sobbing. I’d known her long enough to just wait it out. “I’m right here, Lizzie,” I whispered.
Finally, she took a deep, ragged breath. “My mother sucks,” she said.
“Where are you?” I asked.
“At school.”
“Already? That’s early.”
“Whatever. She thinks I should be on the premed track, but whose life is it anyway. And I totally know what I want now.
They have the best culinary arts major here. I could have my own show on the Food Network. I even have a name for it—
Radiator Ramen Noodles and Other Rad Recipes for College Survival. ” She sniffed loudly in my ear.
“Wow,” I said carefully. “That’s a really interesting idea.”
“I knew you’d get it,” she said. “Can you talk to my dad about it? He’s being such a loser.”
Craig had moved out over a year ago. I knew teenagers were self-absorbed, but she had to have noticed we weren’t together anymore. “Lizzie,” I said. “I don’t think I’m the best Summer Blowout
87
person to talk to your dad. Maybe . . .” I reached hard for a maybe.
“Don’t even say it,” Lizzie said. “Sophia’s a total bitch.” She sniffed again and let out a little sob, possibly a bit forced this time. “Please?” she added in the little girl voice I’d never been able to resist.
• 12 •
TULIA BROUGHT HER KIDS TO THE MEETING EARLY, and settled them in chairs, since all three of them needed haircuts. Today both Tulia and the kids were dressed in jeans and white T-shirts, so possibly she’d gone from color coding her children to creating a full family uniform. I made a mental note to ask Mario for his opinion on this later.
A few of the stylists had come in before the meeting started to practice some new twists on French braids. One of them, who had tiny seashells hot glued to hairpins and worked into her braid, was poking chopsticks through a braid she’d just finished on the stylist in front of her. I listened to them buzzing about The Best Little Hairhouse in Marshbury while they worked. I wondered if any of them would head across the street to find out if the grass was greener. Hairstylists are almost as nomadic as gypsies.
Sophia and her mother, Linda, aka ex-wife C, showed up early, too, and Sophia was doing a full foil on her mother’s hair. A timer went off, and Sophia opened a foil to check the progress, then began taking out the rest of them.
“Are those lowlifes?” one of the stylists asked.
I looked at Sophia. “You betcha,” I said before I thought it through.
Sophia gave me a dirty look. “Takes one to know one,” she said.
“Ooh,” I said. “That’s
Precious came running into the room, her toenails clicking on the oak floors. I wondered if she needed them trimmed.
She might even enjoy some polish. She jumped up on the bed and snuggled in beside me.
When my cell phone rang, I felt like I was underwater and didn’t have the energy to kick my way to the surface. I let it ring until it stopped. My house phone rang next, on the table, right beside my ear. I couldn’t see the caller ID from this position. I thought about twisting around so I could see it, but it felt like way too much effort. It rang again. And 86
C L A I R E C O O K
again. Precious jumped on my stomach and gave me a worried look.
“Okay, okay,” I said. I reached over and picked up the phone. “Bella’s Beauty Bag,” I said, just to try out the sound of it for my kits.
“Bella,” the voice on the phone sobbed. “It’s Lizzie,” she added, as if I wouldn’t know Craig’s daughter’s voice anywhere.
I sat up fast, and Precious went sliding off me like I was a ski slope. I reached out to pet her, so she’d know it was an accident. “Lizzie, honey,” I said. “What’s wrong?” For a second I had this crazy idea that Craig was dead, though everything in me knew I couldn’t get that lucky.
She kept sobbing. I’d known her long enough to just wait it out. “I’m right here, Lizzie,” I whispered.
Finally, she took a deep, ragged breath. “My mother sucks,” she said.
“Where are you?” I asked.
“At school.”
“Already? That’s early.”
“Whatever. She thinks I should be on the premed track, but whose life is it anyway. And I totally know what I want now.
They have the best culinary arts major here. I could have my own show on the Food Network. I even have a name for it—
Radiator Ramen Noodles and Other Rad Recipes for College Survival. ” She sniffed loudly in my ear.
“Wow,” I said carefully. “That’s a really interesting idea.”
“I knew you’d get it,” she said. “Can you talk to my dad about it? He’s being such a loser.”
Craig had moved out over a year ago. I knew teenagers were self-absorbed, but she had to have noticed we weren’t together anymore. “Lizzie,” I said. “I don’t think I’m the best Summer Blowout
87
person to talk to your dad. Maybe . . .” I reached hard for a maybe.
“Don’t even say it,” Lizzie said. “Sophia’s a total bitch.” She sniffed again and let out a little sob, possibly a bit forced this time. “Please?” she added in the little girl voice I’d never been able to resist.
• 12 •
TULIA BROUGHT HER KIDS TO THE MEETING EARLY, and settled them in chairs, since all three of them needed haircuts. Today both Tulia and the kids were dressed in jeans and white T-shirts, so possibly she’d gone from color coding her children to creating a full family uniform. I made a mental note to ask Mario for his opinion on this later.
A few of the stylists had come in before the meeting started to practice some new twists on French braids. One of them, who had tiny seashells hot glued to hairpins and worked into her braid, was poking chopsticks through a braid she’d just finished on the stylist in front of her. I listened to them buzzing about The Best Little Hairhouse in Marshbury while they worked. I wondered if any of them would head across the street to find out if the grass was greener. Hairstylists are almost as nomadic as gypsies.
Sophia and her mother, Linda, aka ex-wife C, showed up early, too, and Sophia was doing a full foil on her mother’s hair. A timer went off, and Sophia opened a foil to check the progress, then began taking out the rest of them.
“Are those lowlifes?” one of the stylists asked.
I looked at Sophia. “You betcha,” I said before I thought it through.
Sophia gave me a dirty look. “Takes one to know one,” she said.
“Ooh,” I said. “That’s
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