Anger pulses in her temples. She shoves the phone back into my hand, and I find no Mel on the other end. “Did you hang up on your mother?” I ask.
“She’s just so unreasonable!”
Eli, who isn’t exactly clued into the drama, inquires, “What’s the matter?”
“I guess my grandmother’s dying,” huffs Kayla. “And Mom wants to drive all of us down to Southern California to pay our last respects.”
“What’s wrong with that?” Eli seems genuinely confused.
“Nothing, except I don’t have any ‘first respect’ for June. I barely even know her. And the idea of an eight-hour trip, cooped up in a car with my sisters and mom, is enough to make me crazy. She wants to leave tomorrow, too. Said she’d pick me up around nine.”
“What about you?” He aims the question in my direction. “Are you going?”
I shake my head. “I know June too well, and don’t have any respect for her, either. But that’s not really a secret, is it? Let’s eat.”
The terse subject change lasts only long enough for the kids to carry plates and silverware to the table. Eli and I dive in, but Kayla picks at her salad, fuming.
“Stow your pissy attitude and try the ahi,” I suggest. “Like I said, Eli’s a pretty great cook, and this is outstanding.”
Eli shoots me an appreciative wink, but Kayla responds, “Not hungry.”
“You were hungry before your mom called,” he observes.
“Yeah, well, the idea of death isn’t a great appetizer.” Her eyes roll up from her salad, drill into mine. “Maybe as a main dish . . .”
The little hairs on the back of my neck lift in warning. “What does that mean?”
She looks down again immediately. “Nothing. I just can’t find a decent reason to go.”
“You don’t really have to,” says Eli, deflating slightly. “You’re eighteen. She can’t tell you what to do anymore.”
Fact is, Mel hasn’t been in charge of Kayla for a while now, any more than Cavin can control Eli, who actually broke into my San Francisco house “just for fun” and pretty much comes and goes here at will, all expenses paid by his parents. Same goes for Kayla, who I’ve witnessed sauntering into Mel’s house after a three-day bender with her previous boyfriend, expecting no questions asked and certainly no consequences. A little respect is called for, but all I see in either of them is a bloated sense of entitlement and, in Kayla’s case, a troubling dependency on her partners.
“Hey, Eli,” I nudge. “Would you mind finding a decent bottle of something red and opening it for me? I believe your father left the wine boxed up in the office until he gets the racks built.”
“Sure thing,” he says. “But only if you’ll share.”
I shrug. “Depends on which vintage you choose.”
“Selfish.”
“Of course. But not about everything.” I wait till he’s out of earshot. “So what’s the real problem, Kayla? Surely it’s not the travel, and you’ll only be away a few days.”
She stares at her plate. “It’s just . . . I don’t trust him.”
“With me?”
“Not you specifically.”
Uh-huh. But I’ll leave it alone. “Look. The best way to keep a guy interested is to act like you don’t care what he does. Then he’ll wonder what you’re up to, too. Mutual distrust can create a powerful connection.”
“You’re just saying that.”
“I mean it. Anyway, what’s the point of digging your fingernails into someone who isn’t masochistic?” Okay, the reference was a bit esoteric.
“I don’t get it,” says Kayla.
“Why try to hang on to a person who’s determined to stray? You can’t demand fidelity. If he really cares about keeping you, he’ll be anxiously waiting for your return. If you have to worry about what he’s doing behind your back, dump him, unless what he can offer you is worth the concern. There are lots of men in the world. Eventually you’ll catch the right one.”
“But what if Eli is the right one?”
“Then he’ll pass the test and all will be well.”
At the sound of his approaching return, the conversation dies and Kayla actually picks up her fork and takes a bite of tuna. “Yum. This is good.”
Eli arrives in time to hear the compliment. “Hey, I’m not just great in the sack, you know.” He places a bottle on the table in front of me. “One glass or three?”
It’s a pricey Bordeaux. “One, I think. Even if it wasn’t among the more expensive bottles, your father should be home any time now.”
“(A) like I told you, my mom doesn’t care if I have a glass of wine with dinner, so I highly doubt my dad would. And (B) selfish.”
“(A) like I told you, I’m only selfish about some things. And (B) let’s ask your dad when he gets here. Meanwhile, would you mind playing sommelier?”
“Whatever I can do to please you, Lady Tremaine.” Eli goes to the kitchen for a corkscrew and wineglass.
“Who’s Lady Tremaine?” asks Kayla when he returns.
“The wicked stepmother in Cinderella,” he explains.
“And how did you know that, Eli?” It definitely piques my curiosity.
He grins and opens the Bordeaux. As the cork nudges out, he says, “I know many things. But in this case, I wrote a paper comparing the original Grimm version, the Disney representation, and the movie Ever After. Only Disney made her a wuss, by the way.”
“This was at the Athenian?” I ask.
“Yeah. Honors English. We had to pick a classic fairy tale and compare it with modern versions.”
“So, why Cinderella?”
“I liked the name Aschenputtel?”
Kayla looks confused. “What?”
“That’s what the Grimms called her. And she was kick-ass. Ever After was closer to the original. Drew Barrymore rocked that part. All women should be like that—strong, assertive, not afraid to go after what they want.”
I glance at Kayla, who is none of those things, and wonder if the message sank in at all. Probably not, but maybe it will, and a few days away from Eli can only help. Still, to underline it, I ask, “Do you really mean that, Eli? I thought you preferred the kind of girl who’d wait on you.”
Kayla shoots me an “I want to kill you” look.
Eli doesn’t notice, because his gaze meets mine head-on. “If waiting on me is a means to an end, that’s one thing. If it’s a personality flaw, that’s another. I want someone who’s not afraid to be my equal; who might challenge me, even.”
Wow. If that didn’t get through, nothing will.
“Are you up to challenging him, Kayla? How assertive are you?”
Something surfaces in her eyes, something sinister. Her hand lunges sideways, snatches at Eli’s arm. “Assertive enough to fight for what’s mine.”
Eli and I both are stunned into momentary silence. He recovers before I do. “Hey. First of all, I don’t belong to you. People can’t own people. You’re definitely worth keeping around, though.”
The girl is unstable, but at the moment I’m feeling uneven myself. Part of me wants to applaud her. The bigger piece wants to make it very clear she could never be a match for me, if that’s where she was going, and I have to believe it was.
Clarity. Fight fire with facts masquerading as weak humor. “Eli’s not all that, anyway, Kayla—”
“What the fuck?” interrupts Eli. “I’m all that and a whole lot more than you could ever imagine. I happen to be experienced.”
I ignore him. “But if he matters to you, damn sure stand your ground.”
“Don’t worry,” she snarls. “I plan to.”
Well okay, then.
We’ve just about cleaned our plates when Cavin gets home. The clock claims it’s after seven. He’s definitely put in an extended day and, wondering how often this might happen in the future, I realize I’ll need to make a new friend or two or, even without the burden of friendship, find someone to hang out with every now and then. Someon
e other than Eli.
“Looks like I missed dinner,” Cavin says, scouring the leftovers in the kitchen.
“Don’t worry,” Eli calls, “there’s plenty for you.”
Before long, Cavin appears with a plate of food and a glass in need of wine. “I haven’t had a bite since breakfast, and I’m starving. Who cooked? This looks great.”
“I did,” volunteers Eli.
“Hey, I helped,” reminds Kayla. “And I helped with the shopping, too.”
God, I wish she wouldn’t sound so desperate. “That’s true. You did. And I’m grateful to both of you.” Now I turn my attention to my husband. “Long day. Hope it was uneventful.”
“Tedious, actually.” He fills his glass to the brim and, before he takes a sip, bends to collect a kiss. “I think I’m ready for another honeymoon. Can we leave tomorrow?”
“Sure,” quips Eli. “You two run along. We’ll take care of everything here for you.”
“Including my patient load?”
“How hard could it be? Take two Vicodin twice a day, see you next week.”
Cavin snorts. “As if it could be that easy.”
I clear my throat. “Even if it were that easy, unfortunately, I believe I’m scheduled for an MRI in the morning.”
“Crap. That’s right.” Cavin sits and goes to work on his belated dinner.
Eli stands. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I’m finished here. K-K?”
My hackles rise. “Why must you insist on a pet name? The one her parents gave her is perfectly fine.”
Kayla jumps to her feet. “It’s okay, Aunt Tara.”
Way to challenge him, girl.
“Since your mom will be here first thing in the morning, you should probably throw a few clothes into a suitcase tonight, don’t you think?” I ask.
A scowl pinches her face, and I see what she’ll look like when the years whittle lines around her eyes and mouth. More Graham than Mel in her middle age, I think.
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“Good idea,” says Eli, sliding an arm around her shoulder and pulling her close. “That way we won’t have to wake up too early tomorrow, and that means we can stay up later tonight. Let’s have some fun.”
He leaves it to Cavin and me to decipher his meaning, which isn’t exactly hard to do. Once they’ve disappeared down the stairs, Cavin comments, “I take it your sister is picking up Kayla?”
“She is.” I give him the details of Mom’s condition.
“Are you sure you don’t want to go along? I can postpone those tests for you.”
“I’m positive.”
He sips his wine, mulling something over in his head. Finally, he says, “Toward the end of my mother’s life, I thought I hated her. She’d deteriorated into quite a horrible woman, though once in a while a glimpse of her good side managed to shine through. But once she was gone, I wished I’d tried harder to interact, or at the very least told her I loved her once in a while. I still wrestle with guilt.”
Guilt is mostly lost to me, denied by brain chemistry. I don’t think I miss it. “There are a couple of major differences. One, my mom doesn’t have a good side . . .” Even the relatively sane part of her was mean as hell; the half fueled by her borderline personality disorder was off-the-charts vicious. “And, two, telling her I loved her would be a lie, something I have zero need to go out of my way to do.”
“I hope you don’t come to regret your decision.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t.”
Regret and guilt are interlinked.
eleven
M Y TESTS WERE ARRANGED for ten a.m., so I’m happy when Melody arrives a little ahead of schedule, at quarter to nine. I’m expecting her, and the coffee is hot and fresh when the doorbell rings. When I open the door, my jaw drops.
“Oh my God. What did you do?”
Her hair, which she has forever worn long and naturally silver, is cut very short and dyed close to its original copper red, with blond highlights. She grins. “Like it?”
I move to one side to let her in. “I . . . I . . . Yeah, I suppose I do. I just never thought this day would come.”
“I got tired of the same old look, the operative word being ‘old.’ ”
“I always thought it was rather attractive on you. Plus, gray hair has become the ‘in’ thing now, you know. So you were really just ahead of the trend.”
“Guess I’ll have to start a new trend, then. Is Kayla ready?”
“I haven’t seen her yet this morning, but I’ll go check. Want a cup of coffee while you’re waiting?” I start toward the kitchen.
“The girls are in the car, so I probably shouldn’t. Although, it does smell inviting.”
“Just brewed. Come on. Might as well amp up for your drive. I’ll pour you a cup and you can take it to go if you don’t finish it before Kayla makes an appearance. Do you want me to invite Suz and Jessica in?”
“We’ll never get out of here if you do, and they’ve got their phones for entertainment. They’ll be okay for a few.” She follows me into the kitchen. “So, how’s married life? And where is your husband?”
“Cavin went into the hospital early. He has back-to-back surgeries this morning. And so far, married life is pretty darn good, despite his hectic schedule.” Of course, he returned to work only a couple of days ago. I could very well grow weary of it.
“I suppose I should be grateful Graham’s just a lowly pediatrician. His hours are relatively steady.”
Right, so she can expect when not to expect him. I locate a travel mug in the cupboard, point to the Mr. Coffee. “Help yourself. There’s milk in the fridge and sugar on the counter. I’ll go check on Kayla.”
I rotate too quickly on the wrong leg, forgetting the state of my knee, which screams at the mistake. “Christ!”
Almost supernaturally, Eli materializes at the top of the stairs. “You don’t have to be so formal. All my friends call me JC,” he jokes.
Kayla appears seconds later, overstuffed backpack in hand. “Mom! What did you do to your hair?”
“She decided to update her image,” I tease, wiping pain tears from the corners of my eyes.
“Really? Well then, she’d better let me take her clothes shopping,” replies Kayla. “Those jeans are, like, ugh.”
She has a point.
Mel joins our loosely assembled group, coffee in hand. “I’ll have you know these are Old Navy.”
“Right. Old lady Old Navy,” says Kayla, giggling.
She’s not too pissy, anyway. At least not until Melody suggests, “We should probably hit the highway. We’ve got a decent drive ahead of us.”
At that, the girl’s demeanor changes. “I’d fucking better get shotgun.”
Our heads swivel and Eli demands, “Why’s everyone staring at me? I didn’t teach her the F-word. Come on, K-K. I’ll walk you to the car.”
Mel shoots me a “what the hell?” look.
I shake my head. “Beats me. She claims she likes it, that she’s never had a nickname before. I’ve told them both how I feel about it. Now I think he’s just doing it to spite me.”
“Why would he want to do that?”
I borrow the explanation Charlie once provided for Eli’s unpredictable behavior. “Entertainment.”
Melody smiles, but then she sobers. “Is there anything you’d like me to tell Mom?”
I mull it over for a minute or two, but the first thing that comes to mind is the latest dream I had about her. “Tell her to beware the zombie apocalypse.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously, tell her I wish she would have tried harder to be a decent mother, that trying to connect with someone after relentlessly driving them away for decades is impossible on any real level. Tell her she never gave us a chance, that if it wasn’t for personal ambition we’d probably be waiting tables or stripping for a living. Tell her I feel sorry for Will because he’s just another in a long line of losers she’s used and abused as meal tickets, with a little good l
ovin’ tossed in for dessert. Tell her science is right. Smoking’s bad for you. Tell her I don’t forgive her, and her offer to forgive me isn’t only unnecessary. It’s laughable.”
Melody opens her mouth to object. Closes it again. But finally, she says, “You’ve told her all that before.”
“True. But I want her to know death changes nothing.”
Bam. Sounded heartless, even to me. But considering my mother is largely responsible for my lacking a heart to begin with, every sentiment was fair.
“I think I’ll just stick to the zombie apocalypse.”
“Probably the best plan.” I consider small talk, but she’s anxious to get on the road and I’ve got an appointment looming. “Will you be dropping off Kayla on your way home?”
“I’m sure that’s what she’ll want.”
“Plan on staying long enough for a real conversation. I mean, if you want one and Graham doesn’t mind. We can take the girls to the beach or something.”
“I’ll definitely consider it. And I don’t care what Graham thinks about it.”
Hmm. That’s different, too. Has my little sister finally grown up?
I escort Mel to the front door, and when I open it, we find Eli and Kayla on the front step, lip-locked, with all four hands in highly inappropriate places. “Ahem. You two might not care what the neighbors think, but I do. Save the foreplay for behind closed doors.”
“Not only that,” Mel says to Kayla, “but your sisters are watching.”
“Hey, they have to learn this stuff sometime, don’t they?” Eli’s tasteless joke lands with a thud.
Mel’s glare could level a linebacker. “I don’t subscribe to the ‘watch it live’ theory of sex education, thank you very much. Now if you’ll excuse us. Kayla?”
The girl actually jabs her tongue into Eli’s mouth as a good-bye gesture. Mel stalks off, pretending not to notice, but I’ve got a feeling it will lead to some intense communication once they’re in the car. Now that might be entertaining.
“Enough already,” I tell them. “Don’t keep your mother waiting, Kayla.”
With a massive, melodramatic sigh, she finally joins her family for the long, slow ride to hell. Eli doesn’t wait to watch them drive away, but instead goes straight inside, with me on his tail.
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