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“Where’s Missy?” I ask now, trying to ignore his strange getup.
“She’s at the conservatory. She learned to play the violin,” my father says proudly. “She’s composing a symphony for an entire orchestra.”
“She learned to play the violin in one month?” I ask, astounded.
“She’s very talented,” my father says.
Wh
at about me?
“Yeah, right, Dad,” Dorrit says.
“You’re okay too,” my father replies.
“C’mon, Dorrit,” I say, picking up my suitcase. “You can help me unpack.”
“I’m busy.”
“Dorrit!” I insist meaningfully, with a glance at my father.
She sighs, closes her magazine, and follows me upstairs.
My room is exactly how I left it. For a moment, I’m filled with memories, going to the shelves and touching the old books my mom gave me as a kid. I open my closet door and peek inside. I could be mistaken, but it looks like half my clothes are missing. I spin around and glare at Dorrit accusingly. “Where are my clothes?”
She shrugs. “I took some. And Missy. We figured that since you were in New York, you wouldn’t be needing them.”
“What if I do?”
She shrugs again.
I let it go. It’s too early in my visit to get into a fight with Dorrit—although given her sulky attitude, there’s sure to be an altercation by the time I leave on Monday. In the meantime, I need to probe her for information about my father and this supposed girlfriend of his.
“What’s up with Dad?” I ask, sitting cross-legged on the bed. It’s only a single and suddenly feels tiny. I can’t believe I slept in it for so many years.
“He’s gone crazy. Obviously,” Dorrit says.
“Why is he wearing jeans? And a Members Only jacket? It’s hideous. Mom would never let him dress like that.”
“Wendy gave it to him.”
“Wendy?”
“His girlfriend.”
“So this girlfriend thing is true?”
“I guess so.”
I sigh. Dorrit is so blasé. There’s no getting through to her. I only hope she’s given up the shoplifting. “Have you met her?”
“Yeah,” Dorrit says, noncommittally.
“And?” I nearly scream.
“Eh.”
“Do you hate her?” This is a stupid question. Dorrit hates everyone.
