As Close as Sisters (20 page)

26

Lilly

I
knocked on Aurora’s bedroom door. When she didn’t answer, I tapped again. I knew she was in there. I’d heard her come in after her swim. I’d heard the shower running, then her footsteps as she went down the hall.

“Aurora?”

Janine’s door clicked open, and she stuck her head out into the hallway. She didn’t look like she’d been asleep, even though we’d all turned in early, an hour ago, at nine forty-five. McKenzie had looked whipped. I knew I was. My ankles were swollen, and I was tired from fighting a ridiculous craving all day for chili dogs. And then there was the whole Jude thing. It was good to see him. Sad to see Aurora so upset, trying not to be. Knowing she had no right to be, but brokenhearted anyway.

“You okay?” Janine asked me. She turned and said, “Stay,” to Fritz, then came out into the hall. She was wearing boxers with some kind of animal print on them and a white V-neck T-shirt. Barefoot.

I nodded. “Just checking on Aurora.”

“I know she came back.”

I glanced at her door. “Maybe she’s asleep?”

Janine stopped at Aurora’s door and stared at it. “Or just needs to be alone? She had a crappy day.”

“Right. Her son coming to tell her he was getting married. And she doesn’t even know the girl.” I looked at Janine. “But you knew.”

“I knew they were serious. I didn’t know about the engagement until he told me when he called on Friday.”

I put one hand on the wall, the other on my belly as I felt a slight tightening.

“Something wrong?” Janine put her hand on the small of my back. “Christ, are you going into labor?” She looked petrified.

I laughed. “Toning contractions. I have them all the time. They’re like practice contractions to get ready for the big day.”

“Maybe you should lie down.” She hadn’t let go of me.

“Janine, I’m fine. They don’t hurt. Don’t you know anything about giving birth?” I made a face as if I were shocked. And maybe a little appalled. Which I was. “I thought cops had to take some kind of class on emergency deliveries in taxis or something.”

“Not a lot of taxis around here.”

“You’ve got a—”

“Are you two going to stand out there all night and yap, or are you coming in?” Aurora called from inside her room.

I looked at Janine and grinned. That sounded more like the Aurora we knew. We both went into her room. Janine closed the door behind us. We didn’t want to wake McKenzie, making a racket.

“Scoot over,” I told Aurora.

She had a double bed. Which wasn’t all that roomy when Janine got in on the other side. Not with me taking up a double parking space with my belly.

“What are you two nut jobs doing in the hallway when decent people are trying to get some sleep?” Aurora asked, sandwiched in between us now.

“Your light’s still on,” I pointed out. “You weren’t asleep.”

“Good swim?” Janine asked Aurora.

“It was fine.”

Aurora’s cell phone vibrated on the nightstand. I picked it up and read the screen. “It’s Miguel. You want to talk to him?”

She frowned. “Nope.”

“Who’s Miguel?” I asked.

“None of your business.”

“That’s good,” Janine said, settling down on her back, one knee bent so she could rest her other ankle on it and stare at the ceiling. “Because I’m not interested in hearing about any of your sexual escapades.”

“Who says there were any sexual escapades?” Aurora worked at gathering her damp hair on top of her head. “Miguel is an art appraiser. A big deal in those circles. He’s going to be in DC next week.” She slipped an elastic band around her hair to hold it up. “He’s probably calling with finalized plans.”

“You dating him?” I asked, setting the phone down as it vibrated and went to voice mail.

Aurora shrugged. “Not much into dating these days. It’s hard, traveling the way I do.”

“I thought you were dating Fortunato,” Janine argued. “The one with the big—”

I stuck my fingers in my ears. “I swear,” I interrupted, “if I have to hear about Fortunato’s weenie one more time . . .”

They both cracked up, and I smiled. I was never a potty mouth like these two, but I did play up the Goody Two-shoes thing sometimes, just because I knew it amused them. And I liked making Aurora laugh. She made me laugh all the time.

“Okay, so we’ve got Fortunato and Miguel, and then there’s that guy in Philly you were talking to this morning.” Janine ticked the names off on her fingers.

Aurora rested her hand on her forehead and closed her eyes. “I don’t want to talk about men. I hate men.”

“So does Janine.” I laughed and stared at the spinning ceiling fan. “Considering my husband’s behavior this weekend, I might well consider playing for the other team, too.”

Janine groaned, and Aurora laughed.

“Lilly, no one has said ‘playing for the other team’ since the 1980s.” Janine looked at me over Aurora. “Really, where do you get this stuff?”

I rolled my eyes. “Tell us about Miguel, Aurora.” I’d come to check on her because I was worried about Jude’s visit, but I knew better than to bring it up. Right now, the wound was too raw. She’d flat out refuse to talk about it, or get up and leave. She was like one of the wild ponies on Assateague Island. You couldn’t spook her or she’d bolt.

“First question,” Janine said. “Miguel. Married?”

“Nope.”

Janine cut her eyes at Aurora. “Don’t look at me that way, Miss You’ve-Hurt-My-Feelings. What about that guy from the art league? He was super married.”

I frowned. “What do you mean
super
married? Either you’re married or you’re not. And you don’t date married men, Aurora.”

Aurora held up her hand. “He’s not married.”

“How old?” I asked.

“Dark hair, dark eyes,” she answered.

I met Janine’s gaze and rolled onto my side. “How
old
is he, Aurora?”

She grinned.

I covered my face with my hands. “Oh please. Not another twenty-five-year-old!”

“Miguel isn’t twenty-five. You can’t be a world-renowned art appraiser and be twenty-five. Unless,” she added, “your dad is a world-renowned art appraiser.”

I closed my eyes and sank down in the pillow. “I do not want to hear about a twenty-five-year-old’s—”

“Weenie,” they both chimed in.

Now we were all laughing. And for a few minutes we just lay there, together, enjoying the feeling of lying side by side in the same bed. The way we used to do when we were girls.

Would this be how it would feel after McKenzie passed? Just the three of us, here like this? Because this . . . this I could live with. Maybe. If I had to.

I turned my head to look at Aurora and Janine. The laughter was gone from my voice. “What do you think, Aurora? Should Janine sell this place?”

“I don’t know,” Aurora answered softly. “It’s so much a part of us. Good and bad.” She looked at me and then at Janine. “I guess the question is, will we miss McKenzie more if we come back . . . or less? Will coming back here make us feel closer to her or further away?”

“I can’t believe she’s dying,” I whispered, stroking my belly. “What are we going to do without her?” Tears slipped down my cheeks. “How am I going to have this baby without Mack?”

“We’ll still be here,” Janine said, looking over Aurora to meet my gaze. “You’ll always have us. Won’t she, Aurora?”

We both looked at Aurora when she didn’t answer. Her eyes were closed. Her breathing was slow and even, but I don’t think she was asleep.

27

McKenzie

“D
o you think some of us are born with maternal instincts and others aren’t?” Lilly asked me. “Too frilly?” She held up a white and red baby dress, constructed of layers of ruffles.

We were in a children’s boutique on Rehoboth Avenue, killing time until we met my girls for lunch. They were running late, of course.

I frowned and shook my head no. “Looks like something a baby who dances to a mariachi song should be wearing. How about this?” I held up a pale green one-piece sleeper with frog appliqués on the feet. “Neutral color. Good for a boy or a girl. Maternal instinct?” I thought about it for a minute. “Since it’s
instinct,
yeah, I think every woman has it, to some degree, why?”

Lilly put the mariachi dress back and picked up another ruffled one, which was almost as ugly. “I was thinking about Aurora.” She ran her hand over her belly. She was wearing peach capris and a white and peach hibiscus-patterned maternity top. Her suitcase seemed to be an endless pit of cute preggo outfits. “How did she not feel anything for Jude when he was born?”

I hung the frog one-piece on my finger and began to look through the next rack of sale items, leaving the full-priced items for Lilly to peruse. “Who says she didn’t feel anything?”

Lilly propped her hand and the ruffled dress on her hip. “She gave birth and she left him.”

“She gave him to
his father,
” I corrected. “Not the same thing.”

Lilly held up the ruffled dress to look at it again. “I shouldn’t be buying dresses, should I? I’m going to jinx myself, buying girl clothes.”

“I don’t think the sex of the baby is determined by what you buy or don’t buy in your seventh month of pregnancy.”

She returned the dress to the rack and pulled out a pair of yellow overalls.

I took a moment to catch my breath. I was feeling pretty good today, but I needed to pace myself. I didn’t want to be worn out by the time we met Maura and Mia. I wanted to give them the best of me, whenever I could.

“Aurora was in no way equipped to deal with a baby when Jude was born,” I went on. “We all agreed, at the time, that it was better if Haddad took him. Don’t you remember that night when we all sat on her hospital bed all night long? Aurora cried and cried. She didn’t want to give him up, but she knew Jude would be better off with his father. Those were her struggling artist days, before her work was recognized. She was living in that awful room in that roach motel,” I reminded her.

“Okay, so she didn’t have it together when Jude was born. I understand why Haddad took him then.” Lilly switched her monster purse from one arm to the other. “But in all these years, why has she had no desire to have a relationship with him? She’s rich and famous now. She can go where she wants,
when
she wants. Money is no object.” Lilly was getting worked up now. “Yet, she never flew to Chicago to see him play soccer, get his Eagle Scout badge, or graduate high school. She’s only been to Palo Alto once in the three years Jude has been there, and that was because of an art exhibition and some guy named Donut.”

I laughed. “I think it was
Donat.
I met him at one of Aurora’s shows in Boston. He was Hungarian. He did these crazy paintings with sheet metal and a blowtorch.”

“My point is, what kind of mother does that, Mack? Remains removed from her child’s life?”

“Seems like a fairly selfless act to me.” I continued to thumb through the clothes on the rack, eyeing a cute little boy in a stroller one aisle over. He was drinking from an Elmo sippy cup. I had always wondered what it would be like to have a boy instead of just girls. I smiled and returned my attention to Lilly. “You ever think about it that way? That maybe it was harder for Aurora to stay out of his life than to have been a part of it? Haddad’s been a good father. And his wife has been a good mother to Jude. Jude’s going to graduate from Stanford, for heaven’s sake. Clearly, he’s thrived.”

Lilly shook her head, then reached up to resituate her white sunglasses, perched on her head. “I could never have done it . . . no matter how
logical
or
selfless
it might have been.” She hung the overalls she had in her hand back on the rack. “I haven’t even given birth yet, and I’m so attached to this baby. I just can’t imagine. I just can’t imagine,” she repeated.

We moved to a display of exorbitantly priced crib sheets and receiving blankets on a table.

“Look, how to swaddle a baby.” Lilly picked up a pink linen blanket and studied the instructions on the back of the package for a minute. Then she looked up. “Okay, so let’s pretend that Aurora has mothering instincts, and her instincts told her that Jude would have a better life with his father. But what about your girls? My baby?” She shrugged. “Aurora couldn’t care less about them.”

I looked at her across the table of pastel-colored linens, surprised by what she was saying. “Aurora
loves
my girls,” I defended. “What are you talking about?”

Lilly leaned across the table. “I’m not saying she doesn’t
love
them. Of course she loves them. But she doesn’t . . . she doesn’t have that need to protect them. She wants to be their friend. She always wants to be the cool auntie. The one who offers them a beer and gets them—” Lilly shook the baby blanket at me. “Aurora couldn’t care less about my baby. Janine either, for that matter.” She squeaked out the last word.

“Oh, sweetie.” I came around the table and put my arm around her, giving her a side hug. “Of course they care about your baby.”

“They don’t understand.” Her eyes were teary. “I don’t just want them to
love
my baby; I want them to swear to me that they’ll defend her, protect her. Keep her safe from harm, always. If you die”—fat tears ran down her cheeks—“who’s going to do that? Who’s going to be her champion?”

I wrapped both my arms around her. “You and Matt are going to protect her.
And
Janine.
And
Aurora. And Mia and Maura, too. It’s going to be all right,” I soothed. “Trust me. You’re going to be okay,” I promised, my own eyes filling up with tears, even though I was fighting them.

This dying, it was becoming a teary business. Before I got here, I thought I’d cried all the tears I had left, but in the last week and a half, it seemed as if I’d found a new well. I couldn’t hold back all the emotion welling up inside me. And it was guilt again, bitter in my mouth, stinging in my tears.

How could I be doing this to Lilly? She would never leave me. Not even for cancer.

“I’m not going to be fine,” Lilly sobbed. “I know. I know. Please don’t cry, Mack.”

A salesclerk approached us, carrying a box of tissues. “Everything okay?” she asked cheerfully, not in the least bit flustered by Lilly’s gush of tears.

“Fine.” I plucked two tissues from the box she offered. Then took two more, just to be on the safe side. “We’re a little emotional. First baby.” I dabbed at my eyes. Now I was going to have to buy the playsuit. I’d cried in the woman’s store and then used her tissues.

“Not a problem,” the young woman said. “Happens all the time. We’ve got some nursing bras on sale in the back, if you’re interested. Buy two, get one free.” She pointed in that general direction as she walked away.

I looked at Lilly and she looked at me, and we both started to laugh. I don’t even know why. I guess because it seemed like a silly response on the part of the salesclerk. How did tears equal nursing bras in her head? I handed Lilly a tissue. “You’re going to have raccoon eyes when we meet the girls. They’ll be worried something’s wrong.”

She sniffed and rubbed under her eyes. “More likely they’d be worried if I hadn’t been crying.” She looked up at me and blinked. “Okay now?” she asked.

“You’re perfect and beautiful, as always.” I gave her my best smile. “You want to check out the nursing bras?”

 

“Mom,” Mia called from the sidewalk.

We’d taken a table outside on the deck of my girls’ favorite organic restaurant, just a block west of the Rehoboth boardwalk.

“Hey,” I called over the rail.

She came up the steps. She was wearing denim shorts and her pizzeria work T-shirt. Dark blue Toms on her feet.

When she leaned over to kiss me hello, I smelled tomato paste and garlic. “Where’s Maura?”

“Coming. Hey, Aunt Lilly.” Mia leaned over the back of Lilly’s chair to kiss her.

“Hey, sweetie.” She offered her cheek. “Sit next to me.” She patted the chair beside her.

Mia slid into the chair across from me and picked up one of the menus from the center of the table.

“Have you seen your sister?” I asked. “About so tall.” I held up my hand. “Girl who looks a little bit like you?”

“She’s coming.” Mia lowered her gaze to the menu.

“But you were the one who had to work. I thought she was off.”

“She was, but she came into work anyway. She was in the kitchen doing something for Little Tony. Cutting up peppers or something. I don’t know. Green tea?” she asked Lilly, looking at her frosty glass.

“With mint. Want to try it?” Lilly slid the glass toward Mia.

Mia took a sip. “That’s good. I’ll think I’ll have that, too.”

“The antioxidants are so good for you,” Lilly explained, sounding like a cross between a kindergarten teacher and green tea spokeswoman on TV. “Even at your age.”

“Catechins.” Mia passed the glass back. “Learned about it in my nutrition class.”

I was impressed she knew about antioxidants but too wrapped up in Maura’s tardiness to switch gears. “But she
is
coming, right?”

“I
guess,
Mom. She said she was.” Mia gave me a quick, exasperated look over the top of the menu in her hand and then spoke to Lilly again. “Are there any specials today? Last week I had this crazy bean soup. They served it cold. It sounds gross, but it was so good.”

“On the board.” Lilly pointed to a chalkboard mounted on the wall next to the door.

The restaurant was tiny inside, just a couple of tables and a counter where one could order food to go. The deck, built right off the sidewalk, wasn’t much bigger; it sat maybe fifteen people. The place was packed; we’d been lucky to get a table. The food was expensive but organic, fresh, farm to table fare. So I sucked it up and agreed to meet here when my girls suggested it. Who was I kidding? I’d have agreed to meet them on the moon if they’d asked me.

“Why don’t you call Maura?” I asked Mia. “We’ll wait for her if she’s coming, but if she’s not coming—”

“Can’t call her.” She was staring at the menu, her brows knitted. “What’s buffalo mozzarella?”

“It’s an Italian mozzarella made from the milk of domestic buffalo,” Lilly explained.

“Ewwww.”

“Mia, why can’t you call Maura?” When she didn’t answer me, I raised my voice an octave.
“Mia?”

She groaned. “Her phone wouldn’t come on, so I gave her mine.”

“You gave her
yours?
” I asked. Teen girls did that to a mother, I’d learned. Caused them to continually repeat phrases, like complete idiots.

Mia slowly lowered her menu to meet my gaze. “I gave her my phone to call
you
. She said she’d call and tell you she was on her way. I was already on my way here, so I didn’t need it.”

“I can’t believe she broke another phone.” I glanced at the menu, making no effort to hide my annoyance with my oldest daughter. I wasn’t that hungry, but I’d been looking forward all morning to lunch with Mia and Maura and Lilly. It was just like Maura to ruin it for me.

“Her phone’s not broken, Mom. It’s fine. This sounds good.” Mia pointed at something on the menu, showing it to Lilly. “Bacon here doesn’t have nitrates,” she explained.

“So if it’s not broken, why—”

“Mom, it got a little wet. She’s drying it in a bag of rice.” Mia set down the menu to look at me across the table. “Please, let’s not get into it when she gets here.”

“Do you know how much one of those phones costs?” I asked. “I—”

“Mom,” Mia interrupted. “I know. Phones are expensive. But I didn’t do anything to my phone, and I’ve only got one hour before I have to be back at work, and I don’t want to spend it talking about how Maura dropped her phone in the toilet. Or how irresponsible she is or how it’s time she started paying the consequences of her actions.”

“In the toilet?” Lilly asked, sounding horrified. “She dropped it in the
toilet?
”

“Happens all the time,” Mia told her. “You stick it in your back pocket.” She pretended to push a phone into the rear pocket of her jean shorts. “And when you go to pull up your shorts—”

“I got it.” Lilly pulled her reading glasses from her bag.

Mia returned her attention to me, softening her tone. “I’m not trying to be mean or anything, Mom, but all you two do is argue.”

I wanted to disagree, but she was right.

“It hurts my feelings,” Mia said softly, looking right at me. “Everything is always about Maura.” Her voice wavered. “Just once in a while it would be nice if we talked about me. About my SATs or my college applications, or”—a tear ran down her cheek, and she brushed it away with the back of her hand—“or how much I really liked Sam and he never even called me after I gave him my
stupid
phone number.”

“Mia,” I whispered, totally blindsided by what she was saying.

I could hear Lilly sniffing on the other side of the table.

“Mia, I . . . I’m so sorry.” I was so choked up that I could barely speak. I reached across the table to take her hand.

“It’s okay, Mom.” Mia exhaled. “Don’t make a big deal.”

“Mia, why didn’t you tell me you felt this way?” I managed.

“Because I—” She let me hold her hand for a minute and then pulled away. “I don’t want to argue with you.”

“That’s not arguing,” I said gently. “That’s telling me how you feel. So tell me. Tell me now how you feel when your sister and I get into it.”