I don’t answer, but my silence is probably enough of an answer in itself.
Returning to my nails, she says, “Here’s the thing, Frankie. It’s not like the movies. These people don’t just run around committing criminal acts for the fun of it…well, maybe some of them do. But I doubt those people last long, because nobody wants someone like that working for them. Anyway, the point is, sometimes bad thingshaveto happen—to prevent worse things. I came to terms with that a long time ago. It’s the only way I can live with it.”
“All for the greater good?”
“Yeah.” She glances at her phone. “Crap, I almost forgot! It’s two hours later there.” Dialing Livvie on FaceTime, she warns, “Don’t touch anything. You’ll smudge the polish.”
“Family spa night!” Livvie shouts from the phone screen. Her hair is pulled back with a headband, her youthful skin gleaming, gold crescent-shaped gel pads stuck under her eyes even though I know for a fact that she doesn’t have undereye bags. She squints at the screen. “You guys look like mimes!”
Charlie and I laugh.
“It’s Australian pink clay!” Charlie says defensively. “It detoxifies and tightens without drying. We’re going to look ten years younger.”
“Oh, please. You’re both perfect just as you are. And will you look at you two in your frilly robes,” Mom exclaims, leaning into the frame. “You look like old-timey movie stars!”
We strike dramatic poses for her, and she raises a flute of champagne and then takes a sip. The conversation turns chaotic and lively. It warms my heart.
“How’s the little baby bean?” Livvie peers closer to the camera as I try to show off my small bump.
“Letting me eat, finally,” I say with a grateful sigh. “And making me pee. A lot.”
Mom claps. “The tea is working then?”
“Like a miracle.Thank you,” I say.
“Wonderful! I was worried baby Azetta was going to malnourish you,” Mom says.
I give Charlie a quizzical side-eye.
“Azetta? Did you just come up with that, Miriam?” Charlie wrinkles her nose.
“Of course,” Mom says. “It’s a delightful name. Don’t forget, I named the three of you and I did an excellent job of it.”
Livvie cocks her head. “I was thinking more of like a Panina or Regatta. Something strong and no-nonsense.”
“Panina as in…panini? Like the sandwich?” I ask. “And isn’t a regatta a boat race?”
“How about Tiramisu?” Charlie suggests. “Tira for short. So cute!”
“Yeah, real cute. Why not Olive Oil?” I say dryly.
“I think Olive is great!” Livvie shouts.
“Well,” Mom cuts in, “I suppose if you insist on sticking with Italian, Flavia or Druscilla might be better? Or, wait.Delfina Bellanti. Say it with gusto, all of you.”
“Del-fina Bell-anti!” Livvie says with a theatrical Italian accent, kissing her fingers.
Charlie follows suit in a low-toned, male voice.
I don’t participate, though I’m happy to see Charlie chiming in with real glee.
“You’re all losing your minds. I’ll name my own kid, thanks. And it’snotgoing to be Delfina Bellanti. What if it’s a boy?” I pause. “Oh God, please don’t tell me your boy names. I don’t even want to know.”
We all burst into laughter. Finally the banter calms down, and Livvie asks about how the horses are doing.
“They’re just fine. Nothing to worry about. I took Ytse for a ride the other day,” I say.
She pouts. “I’m jealous. I miss them so much. Though I have to admit…I do kind of love getting to sleep in and have a little fun without worrying about getting to the stables twice a day. I’m still working out though, so I’ll be in top form when show season comes around again.”
