“I don’t need you to mother me.” Her hands are on her hips as she tries backing me into the corner where we keep our coats hanging by the door.
“I’m trying to keep us afloat and you’re ignoring the rules completely. What about Hannah’s asthma.”
“She has an inhaler.” My older selfish sister dismisses me completely. Hannah hasn’t had an attack in over a year, but I attribute that to me being careful not to her stellar mothering skills.
“Do me a favor and stay there then. We don’t need you coming home with this thing.”
“Oh for fucks sake Laurel. Jimmie ordered a chicken pot pie and it’s got to be better then whatever Mama has in that pan.”
“Are you kidding me? A pot pie is your motivation for putting us at risk?” She’s unbelievable and I’m flabbergasted. Absolutely flummoxed, but that’s Lavender. I’m not even sure she’s built to consider anyone but herself since she had Hannah and gave up what she considers the best years of her life. I just hope she figures herself out before Hannah catches on because I know deep down she loves that little girl even if she feels jilted by her baby daddy.
“Hey we’re supporting a small business. Pete’s Potpie shack has been around since 1940.”
I roll my eyes.
“I highly doubt this is what they meant by social distancing.”
“No.” She drawls smiling and twirling her hair that hasn’t seen its original color since her high school cosmetology class. “I’m going for the chicken and the dicken.”
The what?
“Unbelievable.” I mutter as she escapes out the door and the fire alarm goes off simultaneously. I turn to check out what’s going on and when I glance back, Lavender is long gone. At least someone around here is having fun, I guess.
Dinner is uneventful and tasteless. No one expresses concern with where Lavender took off to so I scrape the leftovers into the trash before Marley can eat them. I help Hannah read a book and tuck her into bed while my mother smokes out the window. It’s no different than any other night except I’m filled with a combination of dread and anxiety.
I’m not going out, but I am meeting someone.
I think I'm in love with a man I've never met. For all I know, he could be King Kong, or the weird guy in the front cubicle with an overbite. What I do know is that he wants to Skype tonight and I'm nervous as heck praying my top doesn’t have pit stains.
My computer pings and I force myself to get up from my twin bed with cat sheets that have been rotated in with Barbie, and unicorns since high school and since Hannah was born. I’m not picky and since I wasn’t having boyfriends over, it didn’t really matter.
But with the webcam I set up…well, that was about to change things. I tuck my plain comforter over the sheets. No need to share that level of weirdness yet.
My stomach rolls. I don’t know what to expect.
The screen lights up and I see a man, or most of him. His face is covered by a piece of paper with the words: Don’t hang up written in bold marker.
“Ummm?” I try to see around it but it’s ridiculous. We’re separated by a screen.
“Please don’t hang up.” He says.
“Van?” Over the past few months he’s told me his name.
“It’s me Laurel, but I have some explaining to do.”
I lean back blowing out a breath. “I’m not going to like this am I?”
“Eh, I guess it depends on what you were hoping for.”
“You’re a guy, so I guess that’s a minimum.” I retort. Has a dick and job? I suppose those were higher standards than my sister.
He laughs and the paper shakes teasing me.
“Oh come on. How bad could it be?”
“Sweetheart, remember don’t hang up.” My heart warms like a butterball and puddles into the edge of my twin bed I use as a chair for my desk.
“Okay. Fine.”