Fiction Ruined My Family - Jeanne Darst [39]
“I can see that. Why are you on the floor? Did you girls break my pull-out? That’s a very expensive couch I’ll have you know.”
“Jeanne has crabs. And she gave them to me,” came from under Julia’s pile across the room.
“What?” Mom said, pulling at her cigarette.
“Nothing. Nothing. She’s kidding.” I threw one of my heels at Julia.
“What did she say?” Mom asked.
“Nothing. She’s kidding around.”
“So why are you girls on the floor? I thought you said the pull-out was very comfortable.”
“It is. We just were too drunk to pull it out last night.”
“No we weren’t.” Julia pushed the blankets off herself abruptly and sat up. “Jeanne got crabs and gave them to me.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Jeanne. You’ve got lice?”
“Yeah, but they’re in our pubes,” Julia said.
“This is what you get for going to a state school, Jeanne. Why you couldn’t get in somewhere decent I’ll never understand. You’re so bright.”
“Mom, I didn’t get them at Purchase. Maggie gave them to me over Thanksgiving.”
“Honestly,” Mom said, going to the kitchen. I glared at Julia.
“Thanks a lot.”
“No, thank you. Fucking carrier.”
Doris came back into the room. “Now, who wants some coffee? It’s Gevalia. It’s Swiss.”
I got up, taking my pile of blankets in my arms, and headed for the bathroom. I stopped at the hall closet and opened the door. Julia was behind me.
“What are you doing? Please tell me you’re not putting those back in there! We’ve got to quarantine all bedding and blankets. Go get some garbage bags from the kitchen,” she ordered. We bagged up all our bedding from the previous night and shoved it into the closet, took showers and reconvened in the living room.
Doris was doing the New York Times crossword when we came back in and sat with our coffees. I don’t know why I expected to smell something coming out of the kitchen—I was having a Pavlovian moment, I guess—but I did. Bacon maybe, or those baked eggs in the ramekins with the olive oil and rosemary and oregano and Parmesan cheese on top she used to make. The lack of bedrooms was new, but the complete absence of food I had seen before. She stopped cooking for Dad before she left him and now there wasn’t even any food in the house ever. Mom was trying to starve us out of her life.
“Merry Christmas, dollies.”
“Oh shit, it’s Christmas,” I said to Julia, “the pharmacy’s not going to be open and I doubt any others will be open, either.”
“For what?” Mom said, eyes down on her crossword.
“Crab stuff,” Julia said loudly, knowing I hated explicitness.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. That again?”
“I used the medicine like six times now,” I said, defending myself.
“Six times? Well, then you’re fine.”
“So why are we still itching?” Julia sipped her coffee. “Anybody want to explain that?” my sister said, seeming to suggest that we had been the victims of foul play.
“You’ll have to give the medicine a chance. They’re probably in their death throes. I honestly don’t want to hear about it again. Can’t we just have a nice Christmas?”
Mom’s eyes welled up underneath her enormous Yves Saint Laurent wraparound tortoiseshell glasses, which might have doubled as welding goggles in a woodshop on the Côte d’Azur.
“Yes, yes,” I said, hoping to cut her off before she went too far into Divorced Ladyville.
“Is there a Rite Aid on Fourteenth Street?” Julia said.
“No one is going down to Fourteenth Street today. I mean it. I can’t take all this silliness. I really can’t, girls. Don’t push me because I am about ready to have a breakdown here.” Mom looked up from her crossword and wiped a tear from under her glasses. Weepylady was back.
“Okay, okay, Mom—easy, champ.” I got up and went to her bony shoulders and began to rub them.
“Now, when does school start up again for you girls?”
That night we opened up our presents at Gissy Towers. One by one Eleanor, Katharine, Julia and I unwrapped four black leather miniskirts from Ann Taylor.
“Aren’t they adorable?” Mom said. She loved giving presents as much as she liked getting them, no matter how big or small, silly or serious. Besides