Sisterhood Everlasting - Ann Brashares [5]
“Hi, sweet. Just checking in.”
“Okay.” At least her voice was broken in now.
“How are things?” Her mom sounded relaxed, which meant she probably hadn’t talked to Effie yet. She usually called her two daughters in a row, and Lena and Effie agreed, it was always better to get the first call. Her mom was a worrier. After she talked to Effie, she was tight with concern about all the parties and the credit card debt and the crazy goings-on. After she talked to Lena, she was tight with concern about the absence of parties and credit card debt and crazy goings-on. Lena insisted that her mom worried about Effie more, but Effie insisted that no, it was definitely Lena.
“She’ll die in her bed alone or with cats” was Effie’s cheerful summary when anyone asked about Lena. But then, Effie’s idea of a quiet night was getting home from the clubs at three instead of five.
“How’d you sleep?”
Her mom always asked that, however near or far from sleep Lena might have been. “Fine.” That was how she always answered, however well or unwell she’d slept.
“Did you have lunch?”
Lena glanced up at the clock. Should she have? “Yes.”
“What did you eat?”
“Mom. Why do you need to know that?” It was as though her mother believed if she stopped asking, Lena would stop eating. If she stopped calling, Lena would stop talking. If she stopped bothering her, Lena would cease to be. It wasn’t enough she had given Lena life at the beginning. Her mom seemed to feel the need to do it every day.
“I don’t. I was just asking.”
She loved her mother and depended on her mother, and yet every single word her mother said annoyed her.
“A turkey sandwich. How’s Dad?”
“Fine. I talked to Ariadne about the painting. She says forty by forty-eight would work, but do you have anything with more blue?”
“With more blue?”
“She’s redecorating. She bought a new couch.”
“Seriously, Mom. More blue?”
“I’m just passing along what she said.”
“I don’t have any other landscapes that size. I have figures, but they aren’t blue.”
“Lena, don’t sound mad. She wants to support you.”
Lena knew that. And she could have used the sale. If she didn’t want her mom pimping her paintings to suburban friends with blue sofas, she’d have to submit to showing her paintings in the normal way. Two times she’d been given spots in group shows, once in Providence and once in Boston. Both times she’d sold her paintings and gotten unambiguously positive write-ups in the local press, and both times she’d gotten an outbreak of cold sores so bad she could barely eat for days. When the dealer called to read her the review in the Herald, her feet sweated straight through her socks. Even good things could be traumas to her.
“Well, who knows. Maybe the muse will come.” Her mom wanted to wrap it up without an argument. Lena heard her turn off the car.
“The muse doesn’t get to pick the color.”
“I’ve got to go, darling. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Lena hung up and glared at her feet. The next time the phone rang, she wouldn’t answer. She would let it ring itself out. She would be like Bee and lose her phone, maybe even stop paying the bills until the phone company turned off her service. Then she could enjoy a little quiet and not have to invent turkey sandwiches or defend her way of being.
But the phone began to ring less than an hour later and she didn’t let it go. What if it’s Tibby? She knew it wasn’t, but she couldn’t suppress the thought. When was the last time Tibby had called her? When was the last time Tibby had even responded to an email? But she thought of Tibby’s recent text and she couldn’t let the phone go past the second ring, even though it was obviously not Tibby, but rather Effie, or possibly Carmen telling her what movie she should rent tonight.
In some way she didn’t like to admit, Lena was always waiting for a call. Not from the people who were always calling, but from the ones who never did.
“Bridget, what are you doing?”
Bridget looked up. Eric was mostly blotted out by the setting sun as he strode up the walk, pulling his tie loose and his collar apart as he always