Charmed Thirds_ A Jessica Darling Novel - Megan McCafferty [86]
Believe me when I say that these comments were made without a trace of irony.
“I'm being hyperbolic,” I said.
“Hyper—what?”
“Forget it,” I said, watching Marin shake her little fist at a red-haired boy a head taller than she was.
Bethany jumped up. “Marin! Listen to Mommy! Stop that! Play nice!” Bethany turned to me. “She thinks she's the queen of the playground and can boss the other kids around.” She sat back down. “You're overreacting.”
“Easy for you to say. You already graduated from college.”
That my parents paid for my sister's Stockton State College “education” (the best five and a half years of her life!) yet won't fund my Ivy League degree is a cruel, cruel joke. Okay. Maybe I'm not being fair. Stockton cost about $8,000 annually—roughly one quarter the price of a year at Columbia. And her degree really has done her good. After all, you can't hang out at the park with your kid and shop for coordinating head scarves and flip-flops (or whatever else Bethany does to fill the endless expanse of nonworking days) without a college education.
Oh, that's right. You totally can.
“You should be happy for them,” Bethany said. “They've got this amazing new home. Mom's new business is thriving . . .”
“Really?” I asked.
“Yeah, Darling Designs for Leaving is booked through the end of the year. You didn't know?”
I shook my head.
“How could you stay with them for a whole month and not know?”
“We don't talk much.”
“Maybe you should talk to them more,” she said. “Maybe you'd get along with them better if you did.”
“I doubt it.”
“Why?”
“Every time I talk to them they have something shitty to tell me.”
“Marin! Listen to Mommy!” Bethany yelled, jumping up. “We don't hit with shovels!”
Marin froze in midswing, then dropped her weapon.
“Mom's a savvy businesswoman?” I asked. “That's so weird.”
“Why is it weird?”
“Well, the real estate thing always seemed more of, like, a hobby than a career. I know she was good at it and all, but it was hard to take her seriously because I've always thought of her as you know, just a mom . . .”
Bethany's oceanic eyes turned dark and stormy. “Just a mom?!”
“You know what I mean . . .”
A never-before-seen vein popped out of my sister's forehead.
“Just a mom. That's your problem, Jessie. You don't have a clue just how many sacrifices Mom made for us. She stayed home to raise us. And as someone who is making the same decision, I can tell you that playing with a baby all day gets pretty boring.”
She furtively looked around to make sure no one had heard her. Then she pulled a pair of oversized aviator sunglasses out of her Prada diaper bag, as if to disguise herself for the rest of her diatribe.
“Yes, you heard me. I love Marin, but there are only so many tea parties I can sit through before I want to scream. I'm sure Mom felt the same way, but she did it for the same reason I'm doing it: She didn't want anyone else taking care of her daughters. She only went into real estate part-time when you were too busy with after-school activities to be considered a latchkey kid. Did you ever think that maybe she wanted a career all those years she was home with us? That after thirty years, she's tired of being just a mom? That they're not paying for Columbia—a school they were against because it's so expensive and you didn't get a scholarship—because they're finally giving you the freedom you've begged for since you were three years old? That maybe, just maybe, she bought the house of her dreams because she's tired of putting her dreams aside for a daughter who never seems to appreciate it?”
Stunned. I was positively stunned by my sister's speech. And not just because (a) the only time I'd seen her this worked up was when MAC discontinued her favorite lipstick color and (b) she sounded exactly like my mother. No, I was mostly shocked because I was certain that she was 100 percent right. Even now, this realization doesn't make me any happier about my poverty, but at least I can sort of understand it. Sort of, but not quite.
“And while