As I poured myself some coffee, Jordan picked up a piece of kale, smelled it, and put it back down.
“Well,” she said, “I’ve been waiting patiently for you to call, but I have to go to Italy tomorrow for work, and I couldn’t wait any longer.”
I took a sip, and tried to think of how to say it. “I didn’t want to put you in the middle.”
“Put me in the middle? ” Jordan leaned closer toward me, made me meet her eyes. “What is this middle you speak of? For the record, I hate my brother for this.”
“For the record,” I said. “I’m not crazy about him either, at the moment.”
“He’s obviously gone insane. That’s number one. And this Pearl person?”
Pearl. She had a name. It was Pearl.
Jordan shook her head, sitting back in her chair. “I never liked her, even when I knew her,” she said. “She grew up down the street from us. Did Nick tell you that?”
“Not exactly.” I paused, not wanting to ask—and having to ask. “What was she like?” I said.
“A hundred years ago? The head cheerleader, the homecoming queen, the nightmare of every girl whose boobs came in late.”
“Fantastic.”
“So what?” Jordan said, disgust in her voice. “She’s also bossier than me and that’s saying something! And Pearl? Seriously? Who’s even named that under the age of ninety?”
“I think one of the baristas over at Caffe Luxxe is named Pearl and she’s definitely in her twenties, maybe her early thirties . . .”
Jordan put up her hand to stop me. “The point is, Nick’s a nutjob if he thinks this is okay by me. He asked if we could all have dinner next Sunday. I said, ‘That sounds great. In a world where great means the worst invitation anyone has ever offered me.’ ”
I laughed, which made Sasha look up and smile. Her smile matched Jordan’s—same curving of the lower lip, same half giggle behind it—which was somewhat surprising considering that Jordan was technically Sasha’s step
mother. But in a way it made perfect sense. Jordan loved Sasha as though as she was her own, it often seemed. The other time I’d seen Jordan cry? When Simon had taken Sasha to visit his folks in Martha’s Vineyard. Jordan hadn’t gone because of work. That was that last time she’d chosen to be apart from Sasha because of anything.
“Bottom line? As far as I’m concerned, Nick has less than five minutes to get the h-e-l-l over himself and stop being a c-l-i-c-h-é.”
I looked at Sasha, who was coloring again. “Why are you spelling c-l-i-c-h-é?”
She sighed. “I don’t know. I got carried away.”
I squeezed her hand.
“It just makes me mad, you know?” she said. “And this is not me defending him, believe me. But between Facebook and BBM and every other type of technology that makes you two clicks away from anyone in the universe, nowadays you’ve got to try not to get emotionally involved with someone new. You have to try not to reach out to an old fling and start shrieking about maybe we’re meant to be. You know what I’m saying?”
I shook my head. “I can’t say I do.”
She gave me a look. “I’m saying hazy is the new black,” she said. “All this pseudo-hiding-behind-computer-banter in the name of love . . . it makes me sick. What happened to the good old days when cheating meant actually cheating?”
I stood up, gathering the plates to bring them to the sink. “Jord, I need you to hear me, okay? Nick loves you more than anything in the world. You’re his best friend too. Don’t be mad at him on my account. He hasn’t actually done anything wrong. I think he left so he wouldn’t. That’s fair. It’s not fun or anything, but it’s fair. Plus, I’m not innocent in this. I’m away all the time, as he’ll gladly tell you.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m just saying he has a point. It’s hard to maintain a good relationship with someone who’s not around. And I’ve always been like that, right? I moved twelve times before I even turned eighteen, and now I travel half the year for work.” I shrugged. “I don’t think in my whole life I’ve been in the same place for more than a week.”
Her eyes opened wide, as though she understood something for the first time. “Oh, I see! So it’s your fault that your mother is a lost loon, and that Nick is having an early midlife terror attack? Both of those things are on you?”
Before I could answer, she started looking around the room. Then she turned back to me.
“Where’s the dog?” she said.
“What does that have to do with anything?”