London Is the Best City in America by Laura Dave

something was going on.
    “Pick it up,” he said.
    “You pick it up,” I said, trying to hand him the phone.
    “No way.” He pushed the phone back toward me. “Don’t be paranoid. Pick up the phone and find out what she wants. She probably just wants to tell you something about the caterer being late, or last-minute guests canceling. Or how messy you left your room.”
    It was ring four. He didn’t say anything else, but he kept looking at me, waiting for me to do what he said. I gave him a dirty look, but then I picked up the phone anyway.
    Our mom was midway through a sentence before I even said hello. She was whispering. “ . . . The Moynihan-Richardses are broiling chicken. On the caterer’s grill in the backyard. I’m watching through the kitchen window.”
    I tried to picture her huddled into the corner, leaning up against the window frame—incognito in her green sweat suit—the curtain pulled back just enough so she could get a solid peek.
    “You’re lying,” I said.
    “Would I lie about something like that? And can you tell me, please, where did they even get the chicken? Not from me.”
    I didn’t know what to say to her.
    “Who eats chicken? For breakfast?”
    I put my hand over the receiver. “You need to talk to her,” I mouthed to Josh. “Please.”
    He shook his head, and pointed toward the stick-figure sign marking the men’s restroom. Then he got up and headed that way.
    I took my hand off the receiver.
    “Not to mention the fact that your father’s a mess,” she was saying. “What did you give him to drink last night? He had a beer for breakfast and is saying crazy things about hairs of dogs.”
    Dogs. Crap. I didn’t want any further reminder of where Josh and I were headed. We’d be there in an hour now, less than an hour, and who knew what was waiting for us after that? Who knew what was waiting for him?
    “You two should just stay away from here this afternoon, okay? Stay away until five or so, if you can. The fewer people here, the better.”
    I let a deep breath out, glad for some good news. At least we weren’t going to be suspicious for staying away from the house all day, wouldn’t be missed. We’d just be following the rules.
    “Now, what’s going on with you?” she said. “How is everything? How is Meryl holding up?”
    “Oh, well, you know Meryl,” I said. “She tries not to let these things really get to her.”
    “You know, that’s funny,” she said. “Because that’s exactly what Meryl said when she called here a few minutes ago looking for you guys.”
    I felt my eyes opening wide in disbelief. Total panic. She knew we weren’t with Meryl. She knew! I looked in the direction of the bathroom, but Josh had disappeared inside. I considered hanging up the phone, pretending later that we’d just gotten disconnected. She would keep calling back, though. I knew this. I knew she would leave a good seventeen messages on my voice mail if she couldn’t get through.
    “I can’t believe you lied to me,” she said.
    It didn’t seem like the ideal time to point out that it was Josh’s note, Josh’s lie. But I wanted to. I wanted off the hook. Twenty-six years old, and—inside—I was still a tattletale.
    “But you know what? It doesn’t matter,” she said. “You don’t need to tell me. Because I already know. What do you think? He’s my son. Obviously I would know something like this. And don’t give me any of your niceties about how Josh doesn’t want to worry me. Since the twenty-one and a half hours I was in labor with him, I’ve lived the majority of my life worried.”
    I moved my now-empty plate farther away from me, the smell of leftover syrup starting to make me queasy. “Easy with the imagery,” I said.
    “The point is,” she said, “if Josh didn’t want to worry me, he wouldn’t be off easy-riding.”
    “Easy-riding?”
    “You know, getting on a Harley. Cruisin’ down the highway.”
    I looked at the receiver as if it would