Page 53 of Play Nice

“What?” she asks, frazzled. I don’t know why she called; I just picked up and said the thing I want to talk about. That’s why I picked up. If I had nothing to say, I would have ignored her call. She’s not fun on the phone.

“I hooked up with the neighbor and he left me a note. Dad found it and got all dad about it.”

“What did the note say?” she asks.

“Had fun last night, let’s do it again,” I say. “Basically that.”

“You shouldn’t have had it out for him to find. And what was he doing at the house?”

“Pest control.”

She sighs. “You said you would handle the house yourself.”

“I am,” I say.

“You’re not. You’re involving Dad. How many times has he been over there?”

“Not a lot. There were dead mice in the garage. Stuck in glue traps. Not whole mice either. Parts of them. Wouldn’t you ask Tommy or Dad for help disposing of a mouse head stuck to a glue trap? Head only, Leda. Just a head. No body.”

She doesn’t say anything. I don’t even hear her breathe. I check to make sure we weren’t disconnected.

“Leeds?”

Still nothing.

“Leda, are you there?”

“You’re reading the book,” she says. She’s not angry, her tone isn’t accusing. That’s what makes it so scary.

“What are you talking about?” I ask, going with denial, because how would she know? There’s no way. “What do dead mice have to do with the book?”

I, of course, know about the priest coughing up half a mouse in Demon of Edgewood Drive. But how would Leda know said incident was featured in the book if she never read it?

“What aren’t you telling me?” I ask her.

“Nothing,” she says, her voice going high and squeaky. “Nothing. Just…we all agreed you would do this on your own. Part of being an adult is cleaning up your own messes.”

“Did you call to lecture me or…?” I ask, taking a bite of my PB&J. It tastes like nostalgia. Sweet at first and then whatever. I swallow and wash it down with White Claw.

“I was checking in,” she says.

“So, yes,” I say. “How’s Tommy? Tell him I miss him.”

“I will,” she says. “Actually, I called to tell you about Holly.”

Leda loves to gossip, but being so risk averse, she can do it only with me, someone who doesn’t know any of the people she knows in Boston. Apparently, Holly is cheating on her husband with her hot tennis instructor. I don’t really know if he’s hot, but it makes the story more interesting if I imagine he is.

“He was hiding in the closet. Like in a movie!” Leda says. I picture her sipping white tea on her white couch while Tommy does a crossword puzzle in the other room.

I don’t envy her life, but sometimes I envy her contentment in it. What must it be like to get so much out of so little?

“Good for her,” I say. “Our time on this earth is but brief. Here for a good time, not a long time.”

Leda scoffs. “Please. She’s having her cake and eating it, too. She’s selfish.”

“She’s your friend.”

“Not a close friend,” she mumbles. “Of course you’d take her side.”