The Smart One and the Pretty One Page 2

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. I talked to Mom about it. She was actually laughing at me for being so upset. Dad sent that e-mail without even asking her. Anyway, you should call them, of course, but don’t worry. Everything’s okay.” Her voice broke on the last word and there were little sighing sounds. It took Ava a few seconds to realize that her sister was crying. “I’m sorry,” Lauren said, her voice thick. “I’ve been doing this ever since I got the e-mail, even though I know everything’s fine. I think it was the shock of thinking Mom could be that sick.”

  “I know what you mean,” Ava said. “But she’s not, right?”

  “But what if something goes wrong? Or there’s a next time and it’s more serious? They’re getting old, Ava.” She took an audible deep breath. “Anyway, you should call Mom now. But remember—don’t overreact.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” Ava said. She hung up on Lauren and called home.

  Her father answered. “Finally you call.”

  “I only just got your e-mail a few minutes ago,” she said. “But I spoke to Lauren and—”

  “You called her before you called us?”

  “Your line was busy,” Ava said. “And she called me, which by the way is what normal people do when they have to give scary bad news. They pick up the phone—they don’t send mass e-mails telling people their mother has cancer.”

  “I had to do it by e-mail,” he said. “You know how touchy you girls are. No matter who I called first, the other one would have been hurt.”

  “That’s not true,” Ava said.

  “It is true,” he said. “Lauren called us right away, you know.”

  Ava let out a slow breath between her teeth. “May I talk to Mom?”

  “I think you should,” he said seriously and put her mother on the phone.

  Her mother sounded oddly cheerful. “It’s good to hear from you, sweetie!” she said. “How are things at work?”

  “Fine,” Ava said. “How are you?”

  “I’m so fine it’s embarrassing,” Nancy said. “I’m sorry about that e-mail. Your father wanted you girls to know as soon as possible that I’m dealing with this thing, but it’s really nothing all that serious.”

  “Tell me exactly what the doctor said.”

  “He said I have a few cancerous cells in my breast. It’s hardly even a lump—just the beginning of one.”

  “How’d they find it?”

  “Oh, something showed up on a mammogram and then they did a biopsy and it came back positive.”

  Ava felt vaguely that a good daughter would have already known that her mother was having breast cells biopsied, but she hadn’t. She wondered if Lauren had.

  Her mother was still talking. “—the thing about this family,” she said. “I love you all dearly, but little things become big ones. First your dad with that over-the-top e-mail, and then Lauren calling up sobbing as though the world had ended and insisting on coming home—”

  “She’s coming home?” Ava said. “She didn’t tell me that.”

  “Day after tomorrow. I told her not to, but she insisted. She’s been living across the country from us for years and suddenly she can’t be apart from me for one more day. She can be so melodramatic.”

  “Yeah,” Ava said. “I’ve met her.”

  “But since she is coming, I thought we could all have dinner together Friday night. Can you make it?”

  “I’ve got to check,” Ava said, pulling her keyboard closer so she could get to her online calendar.

  “You have to come,” her mother said. “It’s my dying wish. You have to honor your mother’s dying wish to get her family together.”

  “That’s not funny,” Ava said.

  “It’s a little bit funny,” her mother said. “See you on Friday.”

  Chapter 2

  Time for a toast,” Lauren said, standing up. She was wearing a silk slip dress, which she had layered over a pair of wool and silk capri leggings, a look that practically screamed “autumn in L.A.” to her—which is why she had bought the whole outfit right before flying back home. She raised her glass to Nancy. “To our mommy. Because we love her and should remember to tell her so even when she’s not sick.”

  “Hear, hear,” Ava said, raising her own glass to her lips.

  “To my wife,” said their father. “Whose health is precious to us all.” He drank.

  “Had to rewrite me, didn’t you, Dad?” Lauren said.

  “She’s not my mommy,” he said.

  “I liked both versions,” Nancy said.

  Lauren looked at her mother’s familiar, very pretty face, framed by fire-red hair (L’Oréal Preference Intense Dark Red, she knew now as she hadn’t as a child), and felt a sudden ache. She had barely seen her mother in the last few years, hardly spent any time with her since going off to college in New York. Once she had moved across the country, she pretty much only ever bothered to call home when she was walking somewhere, which meant she was usually distracted and in a rush. But that fear she had felt when she read the e-mail her father sent, the fear that had sent her flying across the country to see her mother immediately—that had shaken her up, made her realize that knowing her mother was always waiting for her back home was what allowed her to roam freely, and that if she ever lost that base, she would come crashing down, alone and scared.

  The doorbell rang as they set their glasses down. “Who would come by now?” Jimmy said. “It’s dinnertime.”

  “Probably a solicitor.” Nancy pushed her chair back.

  “I’ll take care of it,” Lauren said. “You sit.” She ran to the front door and threw it open. A young Asian girl stood alone there, wearing what was unmistakably a school uniform: a blue and white plaid jumper and a white polo shirt. She had long straight black hair pulled back by a matching plaid headband. “Hey, who ordered the little girl?” Lauren called out.

  Nancy emerged from the dining room. “Oh, hi, Kayla!” she said. “How are you? Kayla lives next door,” she said to Lauren, gesturing toward the south side of the house.

  “I’m very well, thank you,” the little girl said. She spoke very gravely and precisely. She held up a large yellow envelope. “My mother said I could come ask you about this. My school is doing a walkathon. Would you be willing to sponsor me? It’s for a good cause.”

  “Of course,” Nancy said. “Let me just get my purse.” While she went to get it, Lauren and Kayla were left alone again.

  “It’s a good thing to do,” Lauren said, feeling that, as the adult, she was responsible for making conversation. “Raising money for charity.”

  “Uh-huh,” Kayla said.

  “What is the cause?”

  Kayla stole a glance down at the big yellow envelope she held in her hand. “Cerebral palsy?” she said.

  Nancy returned with her purse. As she opened it and pulled out her wallet, Lauren said to her, “I thought the whatstheirnames lived next door. You know. The ones who had that yearly Halloween party.”

  “They haven’t lived there for years,” Nancy said. She handed Kayla a couple of bills. “Here’s twenty dollars, sweetie.”

  “Thank you.” Kayla carefully tucked the money into her envelope.

  “I want to sponsor you too,” Lauren said with sudden conviction. “Just let me get some money.” She ran to the family room to get her purse. She took out her wallet and opened it up—and realized she only had two dollars left.

  “Shit!” she said out loud, desperately searching through all the folds of the wallet, hoping she would find a twenty hidden and forgotten somewhere. But those two dollars were it. She could write a check, but her checking account was completely depleted and bouncing a check to a charitable organization probably guaranteed you a seat by the fire in hell. Lately she had been charging everything—she would deal with the repercussions later—but she doubted Kayla could accept a credit card.

  She threw her purse on the sofa, angry at it. She had wanted to make the little girl like her, and now s
he was going to look like an idiot.

  Then she spotted Ava’s handbag.

  “Here!” she said, running back into the foyer a minute later. “Take this.” She thrust thirty dollars at Kayla.

  “Wow, thanks,” Kayla said and put it in the envelope. Then Nancy told her to say hi to her parents and they watched as Kayla crossed their front yard and was safely welcomed back inside her house.

  “Man, she’s cute,” Lauren said as Nancy closed the door.

  “You should see her little brother. I may have to steal him one day and raise him as my own. We lent them our power drill once, so I think it’s fair.”

  “What was all that about?” Ava asked as they returned to the dining room. She had stacked a bunch of dishes while they were gone and was on her feet, about to carry them into the kitchen. Jimmy was still sitting at the head of the table, sipping his wine. Lauren had never seen him clear a dish in her life.

  “The little girl next door was collecting for some charity,” Lauren said.

  “Kayla?” Ava asked Nancy, who nodded. “I love that kid,” Ava said. “She’s like a forty-year-old CEO in an eight-year-old’s body.”

  “Oh, I had to raid your wallet, A,” Lauren said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I didn’t have any cash, so I borrowed thirty bucks from you.”

  “Borrowed?” Ava repeated. “As in you’ll pay it back?”

  “One hopes,” Lauren said cheerfully. “You should have seen her earnest little face—I had to give her something.”

  “It’s easy to be generous when it’s not your money,” Ava said.

  “I would have been generous with my own money. I just didn’t happen to have any. And you’re a rich lawyer.”

  Ava turned to their mother. “You see why this is annoying to me, don’t you?”

  “She certainly should have asked you before taking your money,” Nancy said. “But at least it’s for a good cause.”

  “See?” Lauren said. “Everyone wins.”

  “Except me,” said Ava. “I’m out thirty dollars and Kayla thinks you’re the generous one.”

  “Oh, who cares?” Lauren said. “She doesn’t even know us.”

  “That’s not the point,” Ava said.

  “What is?”

  “I don’t know,” Ava said. “But if I ever find you in my wallet again without my permission . . .” She didn’t bother to finish the threat, just picked up the stack of dishes and headed into the kitchen.

  “Oh, I’m scared now,” Lauren said with a laugh. She looked up to find her father glowering at her. “What?” she said.

  “You don’t think,” he said. “You don’t ever stop to think.”

  There was no answer she could make to that familiar refrain, so she just slumped in her seat feeling misunderstood and waited for someone to serve her dessert.

  Another glass of wine took care of any lingering resentment Ava might have had, and a couple of hours later the girls were sprawled out companionably in the family room, their parents already gone up for the night.

  “This house is so cozy and wonderful,” Lauren said with a contented sigh. “You’ve never seen my apartment, have you? It’s a studio and it looks out on a brick wall and the whole building smells bad. It sucks, Ava. This is how I grew up”—she gestured around at the pretty, warm, slightly messy room they were in—“and now I live in a shithole.”

  “If Dad heard you using that kind of language—”

  “He’s asleep,” Lauren said. “And I’m twenty-six years old. And he’s asleep.” She put her wineglass down and hugged her knees to her chest—she was perched precariously on the edge of a low ottoman, despite the fact that there were several comfortable armchairs and a sofa in the room. “The point is, when I come back here and remember how nice it is, I wonder why I’m living there and not here.”

  “Uh, maybe because you’re an adult?” Ava said. “Growing up means you stop living with your parents.”

  “Guess I’m not grown up, then.”

  “You can say that again,” Ava said and then suddenly sat upright. “Wait a second. Are you trying to tell me something?”

  “You mean like that I quit my job and I’m moving back home to live for a while?” Lauren said. “Nah. It’s nothing like that.”

  “Oh, good,” Ava said. “Because I thought maybe—”

  “I got fired from my job and I’m moving back home to live for a while. Completely different. Oh, and I also got evicted from my apartment.”

  Ava’s mouth fell open. “Seriously? What happened? How did you get fired?”

  “My boss found out I had some credit problems.”

  “She can’t fire you because of that,” Ava said. “That’s not right.”

  “Oh, she didn’t,” Lauren said. “Not exactly.” She unfolded her legs and reached for her wineglass again. “My boss— ex-boss—Saralyn—she’s not a bad person, but she can drive you crazy. She thinks she has to turn everything into a morality lesson. I mean, I know that if I spend more than I make I’m going to end up in debt. I don’t need some idiot boss lecturing me like I’m four years old.”

  “So what did you do? Get mad and quit?”

  “Not mad so much as—” Lauren stopped and shrugged. “Well, she started the truth-telling, not me. If she wanted us to be brutally honest with each other, I certainly wasn’t going to hold back.”

  “Oh, God, Lauren. And you also managed to get evicted at the same time?”

  “Not exactly,” Lauren said. “That was an exaggeration. But the landlord was getting pretty nasty. He even turned off my hot water.”

  “That’s illegal,” Ava said. “Even if you haven’t been paying rent, that’s illegal.”

  “Well, it’s also possible I just forgot to pay the gas bill.” She laughed and Ava did too, but the laugh ended in a sigh. “I’ve already shipped all my stuff out here,” Lauren said. “I just shoved it all in boxes and called UPS—Dad paid for that. So I’m out of there.”

  “But you love New York.”

  “Loved,” Lauren said. “Past tense. I want to try L.A. again.”

  “Okay,” Ava said. “If you want to move back home for a little while, fine.”

  “Thanks for the permission,” Lauren said with a roll of her eyes, which Ava ignored.

  “But you need to have a plan and a definite move-out date. How long do you intend to be here?”

  “Jesus, I don’t know,” Lauren said. “I’ll see what happens.”

  “I have an idea,” Ava said. “I just need a pen.” She jumped to her feet and tugged a cabinet door open. A bunch of papers flew out and swooped down onto the floor. “Whoa!” she said. The cabinet shelves were bursting with shoeboxes and baskets and stacks of old pictures and drawings and photos and school essays—all the paper relics of their childhood. “What a mess,” she said, shoving a stack of photos back from its precarious placement at the edge of one shelf.

  Lauren got up and came over to her side to peer in at the mess. Glancing sideways, Ava noticed that with neither of them wearing shoes—they had both kicked them off at some point that evening—they were roughly the same height. Usually Lauren wore very high heels, so Ava always thought of her little sister as being significantly taller. But she actually wasn’t.

  A photo had fallen on the floor. “Look,” Ava said, picking it up. “This is exactly why you shouldn’t be living at home.”

  “Why? Who is that?”

  “Fiona. Dad’s aunt. Look at her—she was a good daughter who lived with her mother her entire life. When Rose died, Fiona was like fifty-five and had never been married and had barely ever left the house she was born in. She inherited enough money to do whatever she wanted. So what did she do? Stayed in the same house, hardly ever went out, never got married, and died a decade later, the most boring person who ever lived.”

  “You give her a run for her money.”

  “Shut up. The point is she never had a life because she didn’t have the sense to mo
ve out of her mother’s house when she was still young.”

  “I’m nothing like her,” Lauren said. “I moved out of my mother’s house and I’ve had plenty of boyfriends. Besides, back in those days, if you lived with your mother, it was because no guy would marry you. Now tons of people move back in with their parents—”

  “And never leave again,” Ava said. “It’s not a positive step, Lauren. Learn from Fiona.”

  “Fine, I’ve learned.” Lauren snatched the photo out of Ava’s hand and shoved it in the cabinet. “Boring cautionary tale over now. Scary great-aunt goes back in the closet where she belongs.”

  “Of course, that could have been the problem right there,” Ava said thoughtfully. “Being in the closet, I mean—it is possible she was gay at a time when that would have been unacceptable.”

  “Some girl-on-girl action for Great-Aunt Fi,” Lauren said with a smirk. “Now there’s a thought.”

  “Not one I want to dwell on,” Ava said. “Anyway, the point is, if you’re going to move in with Mom and Dad, you have to agree to a checkout date. One you’ll stick to. Which is why we’re going to put it down in writing. If I could just find a pen . . .”

  “Forget it.” Lauren slammed the cabinet shut. Some pieces of paper that hadn’t been pushed back far enough got caught in the door and she pulled them out and tossed them on the table. “I don’t need to put it in writing. Do you really think I want to live with Mom and Dad forever?”

  “No,” Ava said. “But—”

  “End of discussion.” Lauren threw herself onto the sofa—lying down the long way, so there wasn’t room for Ava. “Let’s do you now,” she said. “In the interest of sisterly . . . interest. Let’s talk about how you’re almost thirty and you haven’t had a decent boyfriend or the prospect of one since—when? Law school?”

  “Lauren—”

  “It was law school, wasn’t it?”

  Lauren always knew how to push her until she had to rise to her own defense. “Of course not. I’ve had relationships since then.” Ava sat on the little orange slipper chair she always thought of as their mother’s, since Nancy tended to sit in it when they were all in the family room.