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“You’d hate starvation more.” Although secretly, Mom would probably get off on the weight loss, and the pointed look Lenny got said what words didn’t, that Mom thought Lenny could benefit from a good strong dose of starvation. As if that was something either of them would truly know the pain of.
All Mom said was, “That’s why we should go out.”
Lenny threw herself into an armchair. “You know what we said about eating out.”
“I have to get used to people staring and whispering sometime.”
“No.” Lenny frowned. “Well, yes, but that’s not what I’m talking about.”
“I cleaned up the kitchen.” Mom waved her arm like a game show hostess and when Lenny didn’t laugh she said, “You’re mad about the groceries.”
Not mad, just exasperated and so very tired. “We agreed that you’d do the grocery shopping and help me keep the apartment tidy.” Which Mom was singularly useless at doing after a lifetime of household staff.
“I hate going to the market.”
“We had this discussion. You’re home during the day, I’m at work, and Fin’s not here. I’ve got both our jobs to do, and you agreed to help out.”
“I can never find anything. I know you said I’d get the hang of it. I don’t want to. Anyway, we’ll have groceries tomorrow. We should go out tonight.”
There was a lot to unpack there. The thing to focus on was tomorrow. “You promise to go to the market tomorrow.”
“I’ll order online. I thought we’d go to that nice little Italian where they have that gelato that keeps winning awards.”
Lenny opened her mouth and closed it again. Mom made that nice Italian sound like a neighborhood cheap eats with red-and-white checked tablecloths and candles in chianti bottles. It was a four-star, limited bookings, upmarket shrine to tomato-based sauce. A modest meal would easily cost three hundred dollars.
Mom stood and smoothed her dress. “I’m going to change quickly. We need to get moving. It’s for eight. Too far to walk, we’ll need a cab.”
Down the hall a door opened, and Mallory appeared. Black everything. Jeans so tight they had to be hard to walk in, the knees torn out. Mal’s eyes almost blacked out.
“You’re not wearing that,” said Mom.
Lenny put her hands up. “Stop. We’re not going out. We can get something delivered.”
“Oh my fucking God,” said Mal.
“Language,” said Mom.
“Fucking, fucking, fucking,” said Mal. “It’s just a word, Nicki. It’s fucking Shakespearean.”
Lenny closed her eyes; they felt gritty and heavy. This was Mal all the time now, inflammatory. “Can we not argue, please. We’re not going out.”
“You do not make all the decisions, Lenore,” said Mom.
“Yeah, Lenore. You’re not the boss of us.”
“Oh, for God’s sake. We’re broke. I don’t have the money for meals out, and you both know it.”
“Well pawn something, Len,” said Mal. “Sell the clothes you got too fat for. Oh, wait.” Her eyes rolled up and she raised a finger in question. “That would be all of them.”
Exasperated, sugar saturated, and bone weary, Lenny looked at Mom. “Wade in any time with some on-the-fly-parenting.”
“Nicki doesn’t know parenting from an aisle in the market, do you Mom?” said Mal.
“Stop.” Lenny raised her voice. “We can’t keep doing this to each other. I can’t keep doing this.”
Mal skirted the sofa and went for the door.
“Where are you going?” Mom asked.
