Life and Other Inconveniences(88)

“Thank you,” she said, hugging me back. She stepped away and got a tissue and wiped her eyes. “I hope it’s okay that I told you. I wanted Jason to tell you, but I said if he didn’t, I would. I guess he took the easy way out.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“God, of course! Who do I think I’m talking to? Honestly, I think you’re a saint for being so generous with him.”

“I also think I’m a saint.” She grinned. “Hey, Jamilah, there’s one thing. Courtney and Robert have never met Riley, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

“Totally understandable. I can’t believe the way they’ve treated her. Or not treated her. And believe me, I’ve given them a piece of my mind about that.”

“Really!”

“Of course! They’re horrible. Courtney is so fake. For years, I thought if I just kept scratching away at the surface, something else would be there. Nope. She’s all surface. You know what she calls Owen and Duncan? ‘My black grandchildren.’ I’m always introduced as her black daughter-in-law. You know. Just in case someone might miss that. It’s like it ups her social status to whip out my race whenever possible. In case people are blind and can’t see for themselves. My parents hate her.”

“She’s always been a climber. When I was a teenager, she would try to crawl so far up my grandmother’s butt . . .”

“She still does. She tries to make it seem like she and Genevieve did their best with you, agonized over your wild ways and tried to woo you back home, but you were extremely selfish and out of control.’”

“I was a pregnant grocery clerk living with her grandfather, going to city college part-time.”

Her mouth dropped open. “You and I need to go out for a glass of wine.”

I smiled. “I think that’s a great idea.”

From the kitchen counter, her phone chimed, and she picked it up. “Jason’s on his way with all three kids. You’re welcome to stick around.”

“Actually, I’m having a sleepover myself. My friend from Chicago is coming, and do you know Beth Guida? The florist?”

“Sure.”

“Of course you know her. You live here. She’s my bestie from high school, and we’re going to take advantage of Sheerwater.” I paused. “Too bad you can’t come.”

She tipped her head. “Do you mean it?”

“Yes! Is there any reason Jason can’t spend the weekend with his three children?”

She smiled. “Give me five minutes, and I’ll pack my bag.”



* * *




*

If there was anything better than four women sitting on a deck, drinking margaritas and watching the sunset, I didn’t know what it was. Minuet sat on my lap, curled into a tiny cinnamon bun shape. Mac was in the side yard, barking at nothing, and the other three dogs were elsewhere, farting and shedding and doing their thing.

“I can’t believe you walked away from this house,” Calista said. “I could live here with Satan and be happy.”

“With Justin Bieber, even,” Beth said. “Or the Kardashians.”

“I love the Kardashians,” Jamilah said. “Don’t judge me.”

“Too late. I’m sorry.”

Everyone snickered.

“Calista,” Beth said. “Have you met the staff? Sheerwater has a staff. A cook and a driver and a live-in housekeeper. And a fleet of purebred dogs.”

“No butler? Sad,” Calista said. “I should’ve been born an heir. Would’ve made my student loans a lot easier to pay off.”

“Okay,” I said, “first of all, I’m not an heir, and my student loans will be smiling at me when I’m on my deathbed. Secondly, the cook hates people, food and cooking, so it’s not what it sounds like. The meat is gray, the soup is Campbell’s, and she’ll bite you if you try to make something yourself,” I said.

“Is it hard, being the one percent?” Beth said, and we all laughed.

“Thirdly . . . are we on three? The housekeeper sits on the couch and makes Riley nurse her infected, fungal toenail—”

“No!” Jamilah said. “Give me custody. That’s clearly child abuse.”

“—and hasn’t used a vacuum cleaner since the nineties. The many dogs, some of whom humped you when you came in and are even now peeing on your suitcases, rub their butts over the carpets, puke and poop everywhere. Watch where you step.” I paused. “The driver is kind of awesome. And single, Beth.”

“And gay, Emma,” she said.

“He is? Shoot. I didn’t know.”

“He’s been dating the postmaster for at least ten years. Where have you been?”

“Chicago,” I said, and maybe it was the tequila, but we all thought that was hilarious.

“So, Emma,” Calista said, “you haven’t asked me if you have Ebola or leprosy or exploding head syndrome since you came out here. Did you retire from being a hypochondriac?”

“Oh, no! There goes my hobby!” It was true. Maybe because I was around someone who did have a brain tumor, but I hadn’t been testing my neurological function as much as I usually did. “Speaking of that, what do you think about Genevieve?”