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She shoved my shoulder again.
“Don’t shove me,” I snapped, shoving her back.
“Girls,” Mom warned.
As we had our entire lives, we ignored her.
“You’re crazy,” Lottie told me. “All this shit going down with Dad and you workin’ in a titty bar!”
I shoved her again. “Nothin’ wrong with working in a titty bar,” I retorted.
“No, you’re right, there isn’t anything wrong with working in a titty bar, exceptyouworking in a titty bar. You aren’t the kind of girl who works in a titty bar.”
She shoved me and then she yanked my hair.
“What’s that supposed to mean? And don’t you yank my hair!” I yanked hers back.
“Girls,” Mom repeated, realizing from lots of experience that the hair yank was a significant escalation in hostilities.
“I’ll yank your hair if I wanna yank your hair!” She yanked it again and I shoved her. She ignored my shove and kept talking, “Always taking it all on your shoulders, not calling, telling me you needed money, taking two jobs. You’re an idiot.”
“I’m not an idiot!” I yelled.
“You are, you should have called,” she yelled back.
“I didn’t want to worry you. I wanted you to live your life,” I told her.
“You and Momaremy life, stupid.” Then she shoved me again. “I’m moving back to Denver.”
I shovedbothher shoulders.
“Are not!” I shouted.
She grabbed on to my hair, yanked and didn’t let go.
“Am too!” she yelled.
Then we went down, mostly yanking each other’s hair and yelling, “Let go!” But we also rolled around, she bit my shoulder and I elbowed her in the ribs. It was nothing we hadn’t done before, though the last time we did it we were in junior high.
All of a sudden, we were soaking wet. We froze and looked up and Mom was holding an empty plastic pitcher. Then we looked down at ourselves. We were wet through. Lottie was okay. She was already wearing a skintight black tank top. Though her mascara was running down her cheeks.
I was wearing a white, long-sleeved, scoop-necked T-shirt, which had been rendered virtually see-through with the water. I was also wearing my laciest bra. You could see it, but thank God it was holding up and not exposing thewholeshow.
“My two girls, rolling around on the floor of a coffee house. Goodness gracious,get up,” Mom snapped, standing and utilizing the Diva Threat pose much better than I could do it, even with one arm.
We got up.
I turned to Lottie.
“Are you really moving to Denver?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she answered.
“But you love LA,” I said.
“Johnny and I split up. LA’s shit without Johnny and I miss the mountains. I’m comin’ home.”
She smiled at me.
