crack up.
The rest of us eyeball them, having no idea what they're referring to.
"Okay, I'll bite," I say after they manage to control themselves.
Across the other side of the couch, Mom re-positions herself, crossing her legs underneath her. She waves one hand as if it's nothing. "Oh, it's this silly thing our mom used to say when we were growing up. I shouldn't have mentioned it in front of you kids."
I keep very, very quiet on hearing this, because I know from experience that Mom could change her mind at any second and not deliver any more information at all, but Allie frowns and charges in. "Wait. She used to say that Uncle Roman wasn't much of an actor? But he's amazing! And he just won an Oscar!"
"Pity about Roman," Uncle Erik speaks up in an old lady voice now. "Can't dance. And not much of an actor."
Both of them crack up again. My mom actually laughs so hard she seems to be having trouble breathing.
And me? I can't believe what I'm hearing. Something about Mom's family! About show business, even! I look from one of them to the other. "Did she really used to say that? To his face?"
My mom stops laughing immediately and stares me dead in the eye. "Oh, honey. She sure did. And that's when she was being nice ."
* * *
After rolling around for at least twenty minutes, I sit up in bed at 1:17 a.m., hungry and thirsty and very, very awake. My body clock is scarily confused lately, having traveled from Paris, to Tasmania, to LA in the past week. I check my cell—there's a message on it from my dad saying I'm not getting the pink Bentley for Christmas, but if he's feeling generous he may spring for a large pink marshmallow with wheels.
I try reading for a while, but this doesn't work , and eventually I give in and make my way out to the kitchen to see if I can dig up some leftover pizza. I'm about to round the corner from the hallway into the kitchen when I hear voices and slow down. Then I stop dead when I hear what the voices are talking about—Allie.
And I'm not normally a big one for eavesdropping, especially because my mom is so careful that it rarely delivers any useful information, but like I told Rory earlier today —when it comes to Allie, I want to make sure I'm being told the whole truth and not babied. I hold my breath, the fingers of my left hand gripping the wall beside me as my mom's voice cuts through the stillness of the house again.
"So her cardiologist's pleased with how everything's going?" she says.
"He's thrilled. It's better than any of us hoped."
Relief floods through me. So what Mom's been telling me about Allie is true. I go to start forwards again when Uncle Erik speaks and I pause once more.
"Thanks for coming, Cass. Tonight—it's the happiest I've seen Rory in ages. Maybe things aren't as bad as I thought. I was really losing it there for a while."
I think about this for a second. When Mom and I had arrived this afternoon, Rory had been pretty down in the dumps and not herself. And Uncle Erik had definitely been on her back. But as the afternoon went on and we spent time at Allie's dance class, then time at home, she seemed...well, something close to normal, at least. Maybe she managed to forget about work for a while? I know I kept forgetting that, in the morning, we'd all be off to the studio, then piling on two buses with the SMD team and driving to Las Vegas.
My heart starts pounding in my chest now, reminded of this fact.
"Come on, Erik," my mom says, and I can tell without needing to look that she's shaking her head at him in exactly the same way she does at me when I need to "wise up," as she calls it. "Why do you think that is?"
There's silence for a moment or two before my mom, the usual giver of wisdom, continues.
"We're here, we've spent the evening together, Rory's had some down time and some semblance of a normal family life."
"Rory has a normal family life," Uncle Erik argues. "She has me, she has Allie —"
But Mom cuts him off. "And a full-time, eleven- to
The rest of us eyeball them, having no idea what they're referring to.
"Okay, I'll bite," I say after they manage to control themselves.
Across the other side of the couch, Mom re-positions herself, crossing her legs underneath her. She waves one hand as if it's nothing. "Oh, it's this silly thing our mom used to say when we were growing up. I shouldn't have mentioned it in front of you kids."
I keep very, very quiet on hearing this, because I know from experience that Mom could change her mind at any second and not deliver any more information at all, but Allie frowns and charges in. "Wait. She used to say that Uncle Roman wasn't much of an actor? But he's amazing! And he just won an Oscar!"
"Pity about Roman," Uncle Erik speaks up in an old lady voice now. "Can't dance. And not much of an actor."
Both of them crack up again. My mom actually laughs so hard she seems to be having trouble breathing.
And me? I can't believe what I'm hearing. Something about Mom's family! About show business, even! I look from one of them to the other. "Did she really used to say that? To his face?"
My mom stops laughing immediately and stares me dead in the eye. "Oh, honey. She sure did. And that's when she was being nice ."
* * *
After rolling around for at least twenty minutes, I sit up in bed at 1:17 a.m., hungry and thirsty and very, very awake. My body clock is scarily confused lately, having traveled from Paris, to Tasmania, to LA in the past week. I check my cell—there's a message on it from my dad saying I'm not getting the pink Bentley for Christmas, but if he's feeling generous he may spring for a large pink marshmallow with wheels.
I try reading for a while, but this doesn't work , and eventually I give in and make my way out to the kitchen to see if I can dig up some leftover pizza. I'm about to round the corner from the hallway into the kitchen when I hear voices and slow down. Then I stop dead when I hear what the voices are talking about—Allie.
And I'm not normally a big one for eavesdropping, especially because my mom is so careful that it rarely delivers any useful information, but like I told Rory earlier today —when it comes to Allie, I want to make sure I'm being told the whole truth and not babied. I hold my breath, the fingers of my left hand gripping the wall beside me as my mom's voice cuts through the stillness of the house again.
"So her cardiologist's pleased with how everything's going?" she says.
"He's thrilled. It's better than any of us hoped."
Relief floods through me. So what Mom's been telling me about Allie is true. I go to start forwards again when Uncle Erik speaks and I pause once more.
"Thanks for coming, Cass. Tonight—it's the happiest I've seen Rory in ages. Maybe things aren't as bad as I thought. I was really losing it there for a while."
I think about this for a second. When Mom and I had arrived this afternoon, Rory had been pretty down in the dumps and not herself. And Uncle Erik had definitely been on her back. But as the afternoon went on and we spent time at Allie's dance class, then time at home, she seemed...well, something close to normal, at least. Maybe she managed to forget about work for a while? I know I kept forgetting that, in the morning, we'd all be off to the studio, then piling on two buses with the SMD team and driving to Las Vegas.
My heart starts pounding in my chest now, reminded of this fact.
"Come on, Erik," my mom says, and I can tell without needing to look that she's shaking her head at him in exactly the same way she does at me when I need to "wise up," as she calls it. "Why do you think that is?"
There's silence for a moment or two before my mom, the usual giver of wisdom, continues.
"We're here, we've spent the evening together, Rory's had some down time and some semblance of a normal family life."
"Rory has a normal family life," Uncle Erik argues. "She has me, she has Allie —"
But Mom cuts him off. "And a full-time, eleven- to
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