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“And? What do you think?”
“She seems sweet.”
Getting Dad to say something unkind was like getting the tooth fairy to leave more than a quarter. “You think all of his girlfriends are sweet. Do you remember her?”
He looked confused.
“From when we were little! She was my grade.”
“Really? No, I don’t.”
&nb
sp; I snorted. Mom would remember. I wondered whose side she would take.
We pulled up in front of the house. It was a Model Number 3, out of the seven different housing plans in the neighborhood. David and I had mockingly called it Three Point O growing up, since our first house had been of the ram-shackled farmhouse variety. In this development, neatly cut lawns containing copses of trees framed pale pastel houses. Middle-schoolers roller-skated and biked past, kids I’d baby-sat as a teenager but who probably didn’t even remember me.
“In here!” Mom hollered when we opened the door. I kicked off my shoes and dropped my purse, heading into the kitchen. Mom stood at the counter, chopping carrots into thin rounds.
“Hi, Mom. L’shana tova.”
“Hello, sweetheart!” She put down the knife and gave me a quick, hard hug. “Happy New Year! How was your trip?”
“It was fine. What’re you making? Sweet carrots?”
“Just for you.” She moved us apart a foot, keeping her hands on my arms. “Did you gain a few pounds?”
“Mom.”
“It’s all that processed take-out food. Is that the coat Daddy and I bought you? It looks good. But what is that shirt? Is that a hole in the hem?”
“It’s comfortable,” I said defensively as she scrutinized the near-invisible rip. I actually thought the red V-neck looked good, though I should have known better than to expect my mother not to notice the hole.
Mom, of course, looked perfect. She’d managed to bake cakes and pies throughout my childhood without gaining an extra pound, juggling housekeeping and child rearing along with a career in law. When she was twenty-three, she lived in Chicago working as a paralegal. I doubt she once had to weigh the pros and cons of a new pair of boots versus eating Ramen for three weeks.
“Hey, Rach.” My brother came up from behind Mom and wrapped me in a bear hug.
“David!” I squeezed him back. Despite being taller and three years older than me, our shared coloring and features meant we’d been mistaken for twins as children. I’d missed him, when I wasn’t busy being irritated by him.
He stepped back, gave me a stern look, and gestured someone else forward. “Sophie, you remember my sister, right?”
I’d last seen Sophie Salisbury at graduation five years ago, when she stepped on my robe and made me trip as we all walked into the stadium to take our seats. I would have been perfectly happy to let another five years go by without seeing her.
Now, she stood before me in a short blue dress, her heavily highlighted hair flowing free and straight over her shoulders. She was just a little too pretty, too thin, too perfect, enough that she resembled Barbie more than a real person. I wondered if her golden glow was of the sun-cancer or tanning-booth-cancer variety.
David gave me another look that said behave.
Sophie smiled. “Of course I do.” She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around me in a delicate, limp hug. “I’m so glad you could come!”
She’d stunned me into immobility. What was that supposed to mean? This was my house. She was the stranger.
“Why don’t you girls set the table?” Mom suggested. “Dinner’s almost ready, and people start arriving at six-thirty. David, go get the drinks from the garage.”
“Of course,” Sophie chirped, already taking the plates out. I tried not to scowl as I removed the silverware. I followed her into the dining room, watching with no little disdain as she lay each plate down with a flourish.
Okay, I had to get a grip. Maybe she had changed. We had both grown up, right? Sophie might be an amazing person.
“Are you going to the reunion?”
