Girls in Pants - Ann Brashares [53]
Carmen had come to the conclusion that her mother wasn’t, in fact, part of this strange class when she peered farther in to the back and saw the familiar angle of dark hair. Christina was easy to miss because even with her big round belly, she seemed to be shrinking against the wall.
Everybody was a couple and Christina was alone. Why was that? The current exercise involved the men massaging their wives’ shoulders, and Christina just sat there.
Where was David? Carmen watched in puzzlement until Christina reached up her arms to massage her own shoulders. That was all Carmen needed. The ache in her chest caught her by surprise and propelled her straight through the door and into the room.
“Can I help you?” the instructor asked her.
“Hold on just a sec,” Carmen said. She went to her mother. “What’s going on? Where’s David?”
Christina’s eyes were pinkish. “There was a big emergency on his case. He had to fly to St. Louis,” she whispered. To her immense credit, there was lots of sadness in the way she said it, but no blame. “What are you doing here, nena?”
“Valia has physical therapy,” Carmen explained.
Christina nodded.
The instructor appeared in front of them. “Are you registered for this class…?” she asked Carmen. She didn’t say it in a snotty way, but she obviously preferred complete order.
Carmen looked from the instructor to her mother and back again. She pointed to her mother. “I’m her partner.”
The instructor looked surprised. Politically, it was her responsibility to be open to all kinds of couples. “Fine. That’s fine. We’re starting with some labor massage techniques. Just follow the rest of the class to get started.”
Carmen situated her mother between her knees and began massaging her tense shoulders. Carmen had strong hands. She felt like she was good at this. She heard a little hitch in her mother’s breathing, and she knew Christina was crying.
But she knew Christina was crying because she was happy, and that gave Carmen her own feeling of happiness unlike anything she’d felt in a long time.
Hey, you beautiful girls!
My dad just sent me a pile of stuff from Brown.
My roommate’s name is Aisha Lennox. Doesn’t that sound cool?
I’m gonna live with her. We’re gonna know her. How weird is that?
Bee
Lena thought the drawing of Effie would be the easy one. She didn’t dread it. She didn’t overprepare. She sauntered in. Lena was not a saunterer, and for good reason, she decided. She always ended up regretting it.
“Where do you want to be?” Lena asked. “Your room? Your bed? Someplace else?”
“Um.” Effie was painting her toenails. “Can you just do it here?” She was sitting on the floor in front of the TV in the den. Some reality show was blaring. Effie had her chin resting on her knee and was giving full attention to her toenail, as though it were one of the more demanding things she’d ever grappled with.
“I guess,” Lena said. “Do you mind if I turn the TV off?”
“Leave it on,” Effie said. “I won’t watch.”
Lena didn’t question this. She had an instinct that bossing your model around was no way to get her to loosen up. No matter how stupid she was being.
Lena settled on a profile. Effie’s knees bent, her chin down, her toes flexed. She started sketching.
Effie was no Valia. She moved around as though modeling for Lena’s picture wasn’t even on her to-do list.
“Sheesh, Ef. Can you hold still?”
Effie flashed her a look. She went back to her toenails.
Lena tried. She really did. It was hard to draw a moving hand. Lena let it blur. It was hard to draw someone’s character when they kept their face turned away. She tried to suggest