“You’re one to talk, Jules,” Soph said. I could tell her dial was turned to maximum peeved as her words were as clipped as the bangs she’d cut too short on me when I was six. Yep, still scarred.
“How’s that?” I knew I shouldn’t open that door, but I foolishly did anyway.
“You moved three thousand miles away from home and you rarely come back,” Em said, interrupting whatever Sophie was about to say. “Who does that?”
“People who choose not to live with their mother when they’re a grown-up,” I assumed the hatha yoga asana of tree pose in an attempt to maintain my Zen.
“Don’t be so judgy,” Emily said. “I’m happy.”
“You need to upgrade your definition of happiness,” I argued. “Like, you might want to include miniskirts and some orgasms on that list.”
There was a beat of silence. Okay, maybe I’d gone too far given how naïve Em was.
“I have a...a...miniskirt,” Em said, flustered.
I burst out laughing. I know it wasn’t nice and I should have held it in, but she sounded like an angry kitten who hadn’t quite mastered the hiss and spit yet. Seriously, she could take lessons from Spag and Meat.
“It’s not funny!” Em oozed hurt.
I knew I had to rein it in, but I could hear Sophie trying not to laugh, which didn’t help my control issues.
“You guys are such jerks!” Em growled.
“I’m sorry, Em.” I switched my yoga position to the other side. “Really, I mean it. Forgive me?”
“No.”
“Ah, come on,” I protested.
“Nine words,” she said.
“Really?” I asked. “Is this really a nine-word offense?”
I could picture Em with her straight honey-colored hair hanging halfway down her back, chin tipped up, and arms crossed over her chest in a stubborn stance as clearly as if she were standing beside me.
“You might as well say them,” Sophie said. “It’ll be good practice for when you come back here and have to say them to Mom every day.”
“I’m not coming back, but okay, fine, here’s your nine words.” I rolled my eyes. “I am sorry. I love you. Please forgive me.”
This was a Babs thing. When we were young, she’d thought that making us simply say “I’m sorry” did not get the point across sufficiently, so she’d instituted the nine words. We had to say all nine words and sound like we actually meant our apology in order to get forgiveness. It just goes to show that even the worst mother has her moments.
“You are forgiven,” Em said, her tone mollified.
“And now back to the reason that we called,” Soph said. “You really do need to come home, Jules. Something is wrong. Babs, er, Mom, is not herself.”
“Really?” I asked. “Has she quit drinking?”
“No,” Emily said.
“Quit snooping?”
“No.” Sophie sighed.
“Quit shopping?” I asked.
“Yes!” they answered together.
Okay, that gave me pause. Babs was a shopper of the first order. She had a credit card for every department store in southern California and she liked to workout with them regularly.
