appeared elegant. Their eyes had the same downward slant. On Anna, they looked exacting; on Colin, mysterious. He also got better hair, darker and thicker. Just a year ago, when Anna realized she had reached her full height, she’d said to her brother, “Two of your inches. They should be mine.”
Colin had given her twenty bucks and suggested they call it even.
When it was time for Anna to board the train, Colin hugged his sister, mussed up her hair, and said, “For now, suck it up. In three years you’ll never have to live there again.”
2006
Boston, Massachusetts
Lena stood on the threshold of Anna’s bedroom, or the bedroom that Anna had once inhabited and was now inhabiting again, though it had been redone as a guest room. Unlike the first time she’d occupied the space, the room showed little evidence of the person who lived there. The guest-room walls, set off by a flowery duvet, were painted white with pastel trim. Anna thought the white was a statement beyond a preference for white. When Anna was sixteen, while her parents spent a weekend in Vermont, she had found a shade of red like the blood from a fresh wound and painted three of her four walls with it. A wild standoff ensued, which Anna naturally won. Two years later, on the very afternoon Anna departed for college, Lena had those blood-red walls sandblasted.
Lena no longer ventured over the threshold, Anna noticed, although she couldn’t remember when she’d first noticed it. Anna looked at the clock. It was eleven fifteen at night.
“What are you doing tomorrow?” Lena asked.
“I’ll start with a long nap,” Anna said. “Maybe eight hours.”
“You should get some air. Do something outside,” her mother said.
“Are you having a luncheon?” Anna asked.
The last time she’d been asked to leave the house, her mother was entertaining. Anna was no longer the type of daughter a mother could show off. Not that she was ever that type, but for a few years there, on paper, Anna could spark the occasional daughter-envy in the luncheon set, if you didn’t have too deep a conversation about her. But those days were long gone. Anna was now thirty-one years old, living at home, doing virtually nothing at all. Well, not exactly nothing.
“I am having a few people over from the committee,” Lena said.
There was always a committee. Anna never pressed her for details.
“What time will they be arriving?”
“Around eleven thirty.”
“I will be long gone by then.”
“Susan will be sorry she missed you,” Lena said, without irony. She hovered in the doorway. Lena was the sort of woman who found questions beyond the banal—
Where did you get those gorgeous shoes?
—rude or intrusive. But her daughter had never made any sense to her. Now more than ever. And after what happened, well, Lena had begun asking more questions because that sort of thing could not happen again. Lena wouldn’t stand for it.
“What do you do with your days?” Lena asked.
“I go to meetings.”
“Besides meetings.”
“I read. I take walks. I drink coffee. I think about what I’m going to be when I grow up.”
“Well? Have you come to any conclusions?” Lena asked, folding her arms in a defensive posture.
“No,” Anna said.
“I hope this is something you’ve been discussing with Dr. Stein.”
“Mom, he’s a psychiatrist, not a career counselor.”
“For two hundred dollars an hour, he should be both.”
“I can move out, if you’d like,” Anna said. She wished her quiet threat had more power. Anna’s medical school debt and dismal job prospects had left her in the red. She had some small savings from her trust fund, most of which had been blown on medical school and drugs. She had only what her parents gave her, and that left her at their mercy.
“I don’t want you to move out, dear. But if you could keep me apprised of your schedule, I’d appreciate that.”
“Of course,” Anna said.
“I was once a Supreme Court
Colin had given her twenty bucks and suggested they call it even.
When it was time for Anna to board the train, Colin hugged his sister, mussed up her hair, and said, “For now, suck it up. In three years you’ll never have to live there again.”
2006
Boston, Massachusetts
Lena stood on the threshold of Anna’s bedroom, or the bedroom that Anna had once inhabited and was now inhabiting again, though it had been redone as a guest room. Unlike the first time she’d occupied the space, the room showed little evidence of the person who lived there. The guest-room walls, set off by a flowery duvet, were painted white with pastel trim. Anna thought the white was a statement beyond a preference for white. When Anna was sixteen, while her parents spent a weekend in Vermont, she had found a shade of red like the blood from a fresh wound and painted three of her four walls with it. A wild standoff ensued, which Anna naturally won. Two years later, on the very afternoon Anna departed for college, Lena had those blood-red walls sandblasted.
Lena no longer ventured over the threshold, Anna noticed, although she couldn’t remember when she’d first noticed it. Anna looked at the clock. It was eleven fifteen at night.
“What are you doing tomorrow?” Lena asked.
“I’ll start with a long nap,” Anna said. “Maybe eight hours.”
“You should get some air. Do something outside,” her mother said.
“Are you having a luncheon?” Anna asked.
The last time she’d been asked to leave the house, her mother was entertaining. Anna was no longer the type of daughter a mother could show off. Not that she was ever that type, but for a few years there, on paper, Anna could spark the occasional daughter-envy in the luncheon set, if you didn’t have too deep a conversation about her. But those days were long gone. Anna was now thirty-one years old, living at home, doing virtually nothing at all. Well, not exactly nothing.
“I am having a few people over from the committee,” Lena said.
There was always a committee. Anna never pressed her for details.
“What time will they be arriving?”
“Around eleven thirty.”
“I will be long gone by then.”
“Susan will be sorry she missed you,” Lena said, without irony. She hovered in the doorway. Lena was the sort of woman who found questions beyond the banal—
Where did you get those gorgeous shoes?
—rude or intrusive. But her daughter had never made any sense to her. Now more than ever. And after what happened, well, Lena had begun asking more questions because that sort of thing could not happen again. Lena wouldn’t stand for it.
“What do you do with your days?” Lena asked.
“I go to meetings.”
“Besides meetings.”
“I read. I take walks. I drink coffee. I think about what I’m going to be when I grow up.”
“Well? Have you come to any conclusions?” Lena asked, folding her arms in a defensive posture.
“No,” Anna said.
“I hope this is something you’ve been discussing with Dr. Stein.”
“Mom, he’s a psychiatrist, not a career counselor.”
“For two hundred dollars an hour, he should be both.”
“I can move out, if you’d like,” Anna said. She wished her quiet threat had more power. Anna’s medical school debt and dismal job prospects had left her in the red. She had some small savings from her trust fund, most of which had been blown on medical school and drugs. She had only what her parents gave her, and that left her at their mercy.
“I don’t want you to move out, dear. But if you could keep me apprised of your schedule, I’d appreciate that.”
“Of course,” Anna said.
“I was once a Supreme Court
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