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“Didi! Hey, girl, what’s up?” I say cheerily as I brush some ceiling dust off the wall.
Honestly, do we need new drywall? I think distractedly, I wonder if paint and a picture rail would solve this. Maybe save us a couple of days. I should ask my dad.
“Joe? Um, you called me?” she says, her voice slow and cautious.
“Oh, right! Hey… I just want to give you an update. Looks like we’re good. I mean, it’s not great. It’s probably not going to be everything that you planned. But we will be on schedule. The opening is good to go.”
“What? Seriously?” comes her hurried response. “Oh my God. I thought you were calling to tell me that we were going to have to cancel! That is so great!”
“Just count yourself lucky that my dad is some kind of genius,” I smile.
I know I should be more stern with her, but at this point, all I can feel is relief.
“Yes! A genius! That’s what I’ve always said!”
This feels good, I have to admit. Really good. So good, I’m having a hard time remembering why I did not want to be a part of it at all.
“So can you send me a video?” she asks carefully.
“A video? Of what?”
“Like, the space. Like just walk around. So Martha knows—”
“Hold on, Martha knows what I’m doing here, right? You told her, right?”
“I don’t know… told her what?”
I stop walking and plant my feet, perching my fist on my hip.
“Didi, did you tell her that the gallery didn’t get done? That we are trying to play catch-up?”
I hear her cough, twelve hundred miles away.
“Didi?”
“Joe, what’s to tell? You just told me everything was going to be finished, right? So what would be the point?”
“I don’t know… Maybe letting her know how I spent fifty thousand dollars in less than two weeks? Don’t you think she’s going to wonder about that?”
“Oh, she barely pays attention to any of that kind of stuff,” Didi replies breezily. “I don’t even think she will notice.”
“But if she does notice, you’re okay with her laying everything on me? Is that what you are telling me?”
“Joe, you are really being dramatic about this,” she snaps.
I freeze in place, grinding my molars together. It feels like Didi is pushing me in front of the bus, yet again. She does this when she feels cornered. She looks for a shield, I figure.
“How are you feeling?” I ask her. “How is your leg?”
“I can barely feel it!” she giggles. “Or anything else, for that matter.”
My stomach tightens. She did break her leg just a few days ago. It should be pretty sore.
“Oh, you got some good pain relievers?”
“Joe, I got the best pain relievers! The absolute best.”
“You have to be careful with those,” I tell her, aware that I sound like I am mothering her. “They sound pretty strong.”
