Read Online Ask Again Later by Jill A. Davis - Free Book Online

months older than I am. I was the tomboy, and Marjorie could keep a bow in her hair all day. She didn’t own sneakers. Cried when my mother tried to buy them for her. A detail that always troubled me.
    â€œHow did you become a socialite exactly?” I ask.
    â€œI don’t know, but the pressure is getting to me,” Marjorie says. “I’m still going out five nights a week. It’s crazy. I can’t even fit at this table anymore. This is so depressing.”
    â€œYou’re pregnant. Cut yourself some slack. Start staying home at night,” I say.
    â€œThere’s just too much going on to stay home and, on top of all that, Dory and Nevin disagree constantly,” Marjorie says.
    â€œFew things are as troubling as when your life coach and your food coach are feuding,” I say. “Seriously, who among us could choose sides?”
    â€œAnd I’m stuck in the middle,” Marjorie says.
    â€œA person with two watches never knows what time it is,” I say. “Fire one of them.”
    â€œEasy for you to say,” Marjorie replies.
    â€œYou’re right. Fire both of them,” I say. “This is why you have no money, by the way. Which I know was going tobe your next question. They keep signing you up for things you can’t afford, and you keep saying yes.”
    â€œYou really care about me, don’t you?” Marjorie says. “No one else talks to me like that.”
    â€œ I don’t talk to anyone else like that,” I say. It’s a relief to speak the blunt truth, and to be loved for it instead of loathed.
    â€œI’m so emotional right now, and I hate Malcolm,” Marjorie says. “You know what I caught him doing this morning?”
    â€œWhat?” I ask.
    â€œSitting down to pee!” Marjorie says.
    â€œThat son of a bitch!” I say.
    â€œIt’s not funny,” Marjorie says.
    â€œWell…” I say.
    â€œI’m about to have a baby. I need someone strong. Not a man who sits to pee,” Marjorie says, looking like she may cry.
    â€œMaybe his willingness to sit to pee means he’s the ultimate male. Not afraid of stereotypes and posturing,” I say. “Why should men have to stand up to pee?”
    â€œHe called you, didn’t he? He told you to say that!” Marjorie says.
    â€œI’ve been at Sloan-Kettering all morning with Mom,” I say. “She had some pre-op testing, and she’s really into the relaxation workshops. I think she has a crush on someone in the class. The lumpectomy happens in a few weeks.”
    â€œI’m really sorry. I’ve been talking about myself thewhole time,” Marjorie says. “How is Mom doing? She hasn’t told me anything. Keeps saying she doesn’t want me to stress out while I’m pregnant. How big is the tumor?”
    â€œSize of a pea,” I say.
    â€œI was going to ask which food they compared it to—orange, grapefruit, cantaloupe. Worried it would sound insensitive,” Marjorie says.
    â€œYou? Insensitive?” I say.
    â€œA pea is good news,” Marjorie says, brightening.
    â€œThat’s what her oncologist said, too,” I say. “But it’s still hard to get excited about good-bad news. I need to work on that, I guess.”
    â€œHow’s she handling it?” Marjorie asks.
    â€œShe’s in intense organizing mode,” I say. “Meaning very worried.”
    â€œWhat about you?” Marjorie says.
    â€œMelancholy half of the time,” I say. “Annoyed the other half. But most of the time, you know, things are remarkably the same, which is both comforting and kind of a shame.”
    â€œIt sounds like things are going well, all things considered,” Marjorie says. “Especially if you don’t factor in the part where you quit your job, moved in with Mom, and left Sam just hanging out there.”
    â€œIs that payback for the comment I made