Read Online Every Happy Family by Dede Crane - Free Book Online Page A

as she thinks of them. Before yesterday’s meeting with Faye, their so-called real mother, they both should have popped a handful.
    â€œDon’t you think it smells?” She knocks her knee against his.
    â€œLike what?”
    â€œLike the inside of a dry-cleaning bag.” She reaches and twists on his blower too. “The air from these fans is more of the same.”
    â€œIt’ll change when we take off.” His voice is groggy and he looks incapable of opening his eyes. Was three Ativan one too many? She just thought because he’s so tall...
    As the plane taxis out to the runway, instructional videos flare onto every seatback. She’s in the middle seat, Les and his long legs on the aisle while a large man reading the New York Times fills the window seat. Wearing pressed chinos and collared polo, the man has a storm of dark grey curls on his square head, a defined goatee. She guesses fifty-five to her forty-five, a Spanish background, from Barcelona, no, Brazil, Buenos Aires. Good Air? Is that what that name means?
    Under the armrest, his generous thigh, like that of a body builder gone to fat, presses warm along hers. She doesn’t mind. There isn’t nearly enough touching in this world. Faye, her own flesh and blood, didn’t even bother to stand when she and Les arrived, but shook hands across the table. Shook fingers.
    Annie pretends to read the airplane magazine as she checks out her neighbour. He’s big, but big all over, well-proportioned. She’s never had a really large lover. Markus was chubby but not what she’d call fat. Charlie had a beer gut and lovemaking required angles. Faye, who at sixty-five is a Pilates instructor, looked shrink-wrapped in her skin, her posture a goddamn pencil. She’d ordered sashimi, steamed vegetables and seaweed salad, announcing to no one in particular, “I don’t do starch or red meat.” That was after Annie ordered udon noodles with pork. “A large hot sake,” she added to her order in terror, her morning lithium be damned. When the sake arrived and a third doll-sized cup was placed on the table, Faye held up her palm like a stop sign. “Not for me.”
    â€œSo,” Annie leans in behind her seatmate’s paper. “Are you coming or going?”
    His paper collapses in a heap on his generous lap. He looks amused and she likes how he takes his time answering. The skin on his face is smooth and lightly tanned. He doesn’t have a fat face.
    â€œIf going means going from home then going.”
    â€œOh?”
    â€œBrother’s wedding. Second marriage.”
    No foreign accent, an educated-sounding voice. “You’re from New York, then.”
    â€œJersey.”
    â€œSo what does a man from Jersey do in Jersey?”
    â€œArchitect.”
    â€œWow.”
    Bowing his head slightly, he raises a humble hand that has dimpled indentations where knuckles should be. “Industrial designs, not art galleries or skyscrapers.”
    â€œStill. Wow. My nephew is studying architecture. In British Columbia.”
    She’d done a handshake analysis workshop last year, a kind of prescreening for men. To make better choices. Glad to have chosen a flattering push-up bra this morning, she wants to shake his fat hand.
    â€œSo you’re coming?” he asks.
    â€œComing home, yes. I’m in industrial design too, sort of. Clothes. I repurpose used fabric among other things.”
    â€œRepurpose?”
    She pinches up her pants. “Canvas tarp dyed navy blue. These?” Maroon braids run down the pant leg’s outer seam. “Vinyl upholstery from old diner booths.”
    â€œI’m impressed.”
    She lowers her voice. “Lined with wedding gown satin. Lovely against the skin. In the early days of women’s pants, they were all satin lined. Keeps you warm in the winter and cool in the summer.” Annie had driven Les crazy fretting over what to wear