Page 11 of Play Nice

“Have you ever read Mom’s book?” I ask.

“Clio!” Leda says, scandalized.

“What?”

“No, I’ve never read that book. I’ve never wanted to read that book. I don’t even think about it,” Leda says.

“I think about it,” Daphne says. “Sometimes. I looked it up on Amazon once. It’s got a few reviews. Not good ones. Just, you know, wackos who believe in all that. I’ve never read it. I don’t want to either.”

“Don’t tell me you have,” Leda says, pointing her spoon at me. “We promised.”

“I kept my promise. I haven’t read it.”

“Good,” Leda says. “It’s a bunch of lies. Lies making bad memories even worse. I know it’s hard to accept.”

“Accept what?” I ask.

“Who she really was,” Daphne says. “And when you go to her funeral, you’re going to hear stories about her that aren’t true. Not for us, anyway. None of those people were there when we were kids. When we were alone in that house with her.”

I nod, swirling the melty remains of the split. “Do you think she really believed? About the demon?”

Leda says “No” at the precise time Daphne says “Yes.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Daphne says, shaking her head, “if she believed her delusions or not.”

“She was an alcoholic and a narcissist and a terrible mother,” Leda says, setting her spoon down and sitting up straight, lifting her chin. “And I have to be honest—I’m not sad she’s gone.”

After a moment, Daphne says, “Me either.”

“Wow.” I reach up to my neck and fiddle with my new charm, my diamond-eyed snake.

“It’s good we have each other,” Daphne says, eating some banana mush.

“Yes,” Leda says, revealing a small tube of hand sanitizer that she spritzes into her palm.

Daphne and I both turn our hands over, and Leda sprays us, too. She puts the tube away and for her next trick, materializes some lip balm that she passes around the table. We’ve always been good at sharing, never the types to fight over toys or clothes or the spotlight.

Daphne gathers our napkins and carries them over to the trash.

“I’m sorry I volunteered Tommy without getting your approval first,” I tell Leda. “I’m sorry you don’t want me to go.”

She waves a hand. “It’s fine. Might be for the best. You’ll come back understanding what I tried to save you from.”

I blow a raspberry.

“How many times do I have to prove that I’m right about everything?” she says, standing.

“You’re lucky you found Tommy,” I say, leaning back in my chair.

“Ha-ha. Let’s go home. I want to walk off that ice cream before bed.”

We leave Dreamies, Dad chauffeuring us back to the house. Tommy and Leda go for a walk around the neighborhood, Dad and Amy go to bed, and Daphne and I smoke a joint out on the old playset.

We sit on parallel swings passing it back and forth, kicking dirt, pointing out constellations.

“I can’t see shit anymore,” Daphne says, squinting at the sky. “Not without my glasses.”

“Didn’t we used to have a telescope?”