I lived there. I stuck my key in the lock, let myself in.
"Mom!"
"No mama aqui, " a squeaky muffled voice said.
I walked over to the hall closet, pulled open the door.
My mother waltzed out, fl uffing her hair. "Hi c hérie ! Let me look at you. The hair! Divine. Oh lordy, lordy, is that a manicure?" she squealed. "Have I died and gone to heaven? I must tell Maria. I'll just grab my bag and go."
She was fast. She almost made it to the door before I said, "Stop right there!"
She stopped. Mid-stride. And slowly turned, giving me a little shrug. "It wasn't right that everyone was out there, just waiting. Hungry. I had to do something."
I held up a hand. "It's okay."
"It is?"
"It is."
Before I forgot, I said, "You need to call Tam. She doesn't want a baby shower—"
She held up her hand. "Already taken care of. I spoke to Tamara earlier. She also agrees that you look fabulous, but couldn't call, something about the cameras and hackers. I'm sure there's a story there, but I couldn't get it out of her. Anyhow, we've come up with something else."
I tossed my backpack on the couch. "Something else?"
" Pah , don't worry. It's all taken care of."
For some reason, I was suddenly worried.
"Now tell me all about this," she said, motioning to me with grand sweeps of her arm. "You look just gorgeous, Nina. Gorgeous."
"Thanks."
"Tell all."
"You've already heard it all from Ana."
"Secondhand hearsay. I want all the details."
"It's a long story," I said, heading into the kitchen.
"I have time. Where are you going?" she asked.
"To get some glasses—and tequila."
"Ooh! I'll get the limes."
After downing one shot of tequila (my limit), I felt much better.
"Have you heard anything about Mrs. Krauss moving in across the street?"
My mother poured her shot glass to the rim, her third. She held up the bottle, an offer to me. I shook my head. I was driving later.
"She might have mentioned something."
I looked out the kitchen window, over the heads of the revelers. A split story, the house across the street had been vacant for nearly two months, but only on the market for two weeks. It was overpriced, in my opinion, but since the housing market had skyrocketed in this area, even the older homes felt the boom.
I hoped and hoped Brickhouse Krauss couldn't afford the place. How much could a Catholic school teacher's pension be anyway?
I noticed one of the picketers, a chubby fellow with a grainy salt and pepper beard, buzz cut, and big, wide eyes glance over his shoulder toward the house. "Buzz" looked guarded, as if he was hiding something. Hard to hide something with a giant picket sign reading REALITY TV IS IMORAL written on it. And harder to be taken seriously with immoral spelled wrong.
What was he up to, that Buzz?
Footsteps pounded the stairs. Riley rarely did anything gracefully. Or quietly. Things were always being slammed around. "I'm leaving," he called out.
Before I could get a "'Bye" out of my mouth, the front door opened and then slammed shut.
My mother hadn't seemed to notice. "We've got to take you shopping," she declared. She licked salt off the top of her hand, then downed the tequila. "Your wardrobe has got to go." She snapped her fingers. "A bonfire! With marshmallows!"
"We are not burning my clothes."
" Pah . Fine. But we still must shop. My treat!"
"Sorry, I already have plans to shop with a friend."
"Wshtyrmma?"
Amused, I glanced at her. "The lime, Mom. The lime."
She took it out of her mouth, dabbed her lips with a napkin. "Without your mama?"
"Sorry. First come, first served."
She pouted. Then brightened.
Oh no.
"Handbag shopping, then! I've been waiting for years to get rid of that suitcase you carry around!"
"It's a leather backpack, not a suitcase."
"It has to go! It doesn't match the new you, c hérie. " She giggled.
The new me. People were noticing. That had to be a good thing. Or so I told myself. "Maybe we should put the tequila away."
She slapped my hand as I reached for the
"Mom!"
"No mama aqui, " a squeaky muffled voice said.
I walked over to the hall closet, pulled open the door.
My mother waltzed out, fl uffing her hair. "Hi c hérie ! Let me look at you. The hair! Divine. Oh lordy, lordy, is that a manicure?" she squealed. "Have I died and gone to heaven? I must tell Maria. I'll just grab my bag and go."
She was fast. She almost made it to the door before I said, "Stop right there!"
She stopped. Mid-stride. And slowly turned, giving me a little shrug. "It wasn't right that everyone was out there, just waiting. Hungry. I had to do something."
I held up a hand. "It's okay."
"It is?"
"It is."
Before I forgot, I said, "You need to call Tam. She doesn't want a baby shower—"
She held up her hand. "Already taken care of. I spoke to Tamara earlier. She also agrees that you look fabulous, but couldn't call, something about the cameras and hackers. I'm sure there's a story there, but I couldn't get it out of her. Anyhow, we've come up with something else."
I tossed my backpack on the couch. "Something else?"
" Pah , don't worry. It's all taken care of."
For some reason, I was suddenly worried.
"Now tell me all about this," she said, motioning to me with grand sweeps of her arm. "You look just gorgeous, Nina. Gorgeous."
"Thanks."
"Tell all."
"You've already heard it all from Ana."
"Secondhand hearsay. I want all the details."
"It's a long story," I said, heading into the kitchen.
"I have time. Where are you going?" she asked.
"To get some glasses—and tequila."
"Ooh! I'll get the limes."
After downing one shot of tequila (my limit), I felt much better.
"Have you heard anything about Mrs. Krauss moving in across the street?"
My mother poured her shot glass to the rim, her third. She held up the bottle, an offer to me. I shook my head. I was driving later.
"She might have mentioned something."
I looked out the kitchen window, over the heads of the revelers. A split story, the house across the street had been vacant for nearly two months, but only on the market for two weeks. It was overpriced, in my opinion, but since the housing market had skyrocketed in this area, even the older homes felt the boom.
I hoped and hoped Brickhouse Krauss couldn't afford the place. How much could a Catholic school teacher's pension be anyway?
I noticed one of the picketers, a chubby fellow with a grainy salt and pepper beard, buzz cut, and big, wide eyes glance over his shoulder toward the house. "Buzz" looked guarded, as if he was hiding something. Hard to hide something with a giant picket sign reading REALITY TV IS IMORAL written on it. And harder to be taken seriously with immoral spelled wrong.
What was he up to, that Buzz?
Footsteps pounded the stairs. Riley rarely did anything gracefully. Or quietly. Things were always being slammed around. "I'm leaving," he called out.
Before I could get a "'Bye" out of my mouth, the front door opened and then slammed shut.
My mother hadn't seemed to notice. "We've got to take you shopping," she declared. She licked salt off the top of her hand, then downed the tequila. "Your wardrobe has got to go." She snapped her fingers. "A bonfire! With marshmallows!"
"We are not burning my clothes."
" Pah . Fine. But we still must shop. My treat!"
"Sorry, I already have plans to shop with a friend."
"Wshtyrmma?"
Amused, I glanced at her. "The lime, Mom. The lime."
She took it out of her mouth, dabbed her lips with a napkin. "Without your mama?"
"Sorry. First come, first served."
She pouted. Then brightened.
Oh no.
"Handbag shopping, then! I've been waiting for years to get rid of that suitcase you carry around!"
"It's a leather backpack, not a suitcase."
"It has to go! It doesn't match the new you, c hérie. " She giggled.
The new me. People were noticing. That had to be a good thing. Or so I told myself. "Maybe we should put the tequila away."
She slapped my hand as I reached for the
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