sat very still. I held my breath. In the darkness, the fireflies flared suddenly and then went out, making random patterns in the air. It was the first time my mother had ever told me a story that wasn’t out of the Bible; the first time, too, I ever felt sorry for her, or for any grown-up.
“That’s what a broken heart looks like,” she said, and stood up. “Like a haunting.” She turned to go inside, but at the last second she looked back at me. “It isn’t worth it, Sandra. Remember that.”
Well. I wish I had. Things might have turned out a whole lot different with me and Martin. And who knows. My brains might have stayed where they belonged.
MINNA
I t took Minna forty-five minutes to get Caroline into bed after she polished off three-quarters of a bottle of vodka in under an hour. Caroline’s face was swollen and streaked with makeup, and there was a little dried vomit on her lower lip.
Minna rolled her mother over, onto her side, pushing against the warm fat flesh of her thighs and stomach, thinking of a documentary she’d seen once where a half-dozen men had strapped a beached whale with hooks and ropes and pulleys and tried to haul it back to the water. She wished she could sink a hook straight into her mother’s fat ass and heave. At some point, Caroline had taken off her pants, and Minna was disgusted by the sight of her cheap nylon underwear, full seated and worn thin in places, clinging desperately to her thighs like lichen to the side of a rock.
Minna was tired. Something kept twisting in her stomach, an alien pain; she should never have come back. She thought of calling Dr. Upshaw but knew it would just make her feel worse. She couldn’t even make it two days in the old house without cracking. Pathetic.
There had to be someone else she could call, but she couldn’t immediately think of anyone. She was half tempted to call Greg, Amy’s father, just so she’d have something to pin her anger to: nail it down, give it a name, the way she had enjoyed shoving thumbtacks into the corkboard map she’d had as a kid. Find Sweden .
But Greg was still at work, and she’d never get past his secretary. She was only allowed to call him between the hours of 7:00 and 8:00, when he was commuting back to his home in Westchester, back to his wife and his real kids, as he’d once slipped up and referred to them, and half the time he screened her phone calls, anyway. The checks still arrived regularly, though, thank God. She’d burned through four jobs in three years. Fired from two, laid off from two. She had less than two thousand dollars in her savings account.
Amy believed that her dad was a firefighter, a hero, and dead.
There was Alex, whom she’d been fucking recently, and Ethan, who still wanted to fuck her. But they never actually talked, not about real things. Some bullshitting over dinner, flirtation in the back of a cab, and maybe some back-and-forth in the morning, just so it didn’t feel too cheap.
She didn’t have female friends. For the most part, she didn’t trust other women, and other women certainly didn’t trust her. There had been Dana—Minna was still sorry about how that ended. Stupid. Dana’s boyfriend hadn’t even been good in bed. Kind of soggy and spongy and bland, like wet toast. She didn’t know why she had done it.
She never did.
She went downstairs to get her cell phone from the study, where she had left it, and found Trenton suctioned like a giant starfish to the carpet, dominating almost all the free space in the room, staring at the ceiling. He sat up on one elbow when she opened the door.
“What are you doing?” Minna was in the mood to get angry at someone.
“Listening,” Trenton said, and returned to his back. “Do you hear that?”
He’d probably gotten into their mom’s booze. Or maybe he was stoned. This might normally impress Minna—if Trenton had weed, it meant he actually had friends, or at least a friend, to buy it from—but today she
“That’s what a broken heart looks like,” she said, and stood up. “Like a haunting.” She turned to go inside, but at the last second she looked back at me. “It isn’t worth it, Sandra. Remember that.”
Well. I wish I had. Things might have turned out a whole lot different with me and Martin. And who knows. My brains might have stayed where they belonged.
MINNA
I t took Minna forty-five minutes to get Caroline into bed after she polished off three-quarters of a bottle of vodka in under an hour. Caroline’s face was swollen and streaked with makeup, and there was a little dried vomit on her lower lip.
Minna rolled her mother over, onto her side, pushing against the warm fat flesh of her thighs and stomach, thinking of a documentary she’d seen once where a half-dozen men had strapped a beached whale with hooks and ropes and pulleys and tried to haul it back to the water. She wished she could sink a hook straight into her mother’s fat ass and heave. At some point, Caroline had taken off her pants, and Minna was disgusted by the sight of her cheap nylon underwear, full seated and worn thin in places, clinging desperately to her thighs like lichen to the side of a rock.
Minna was tired. Something kept twisting in her stomach, an alien pain; she should never have come back. She thought of calling Dr. Upshaw but knew it would just make her feel worse. She couldn’t even make it two days in the old house without cracking. Pathetic.
There had to be someone else she could call, but she couldn’t immediately think of anyone. She was half tempted to call Greg, Amy’s father, just so she’d have something to pin her anger to: nail it down, give it a name, the way she had enjoyed shoving thumbtacks into the corkboard map she’d had as a kid. Find Sweden .
But Greg was still at work, and she’d never get past his secretary. She was only allowed to call him between the hours of 7:00 and 8:00, when he was commuting back to his home in Westchester, back to his wife and his real kids, as he’d once slipped up and referred to them, and half the time he screened her phone calls, anyway. The checks still arrived regularly, though, thank God. She’d burned through four jobs in three years. Fired from two, laid off from two. She had less than two thousand dollars in her savings account.
Amy believed that her dad was a firefighter, a hero, and dead.
There was Alex, whom she’d been fucking recently, and Ethan, who still wanted to fuck her. But they never actually talked, not about real things. Some bullshitting over dinner, flirtation in the back of a cab, and maybe some back-and-forth in the morning, just so it didn’t feel too cheap.
She didn’t have female friends. For the most part, she didn’t trust other women, and other women certainly didn’t trust her. There had been Dana—Minna was still sorry about how that ended. Stupid. Dana’s boyfriend hadn’t even been good in bed. Kind of soggy and spongy and bland, like wet toast. She didn’t know why she had done it.
She never did.
She went downstairs to get her cell phone from the study, where she had left it, and found Trenton suctioned like a giant starfish to the carpet, dominating almost all the free space in the room, staring at the ceiling. He sat up on one elbow when she opened the door.
“What are you doing?” Minna was in the mood to get angry at someone.
“Listening,” Trenton said, and returned to his back. “Do you hear that?”
He’d probably gotten into their mom’s booze. Or maybe he was stoned. This might normally impress Minna—if Trenton had weed, it meant he actually had friends, or at least a friend, to buy it from—but today she
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