Breaking the Bank by Yona Zeldis McDonough

floor near her bed until she found it, sitting on top of the copy of
Swann’s Way
she had been moving around her bedroom for months, without summoning the energy to open and read.
    â€œHello?” Her voice was sleep-cracked and raspy, which she hated; it always put her at a disadvantage. What time was it anyway?
    â€œMia honey?”
    â€œMom. Hi.” Mia leaned back into the pillow, trying to keep her voice low. Sometime in the middle of the night, Eden had had a bad dream and had climbed into bed with her. She was still there, burrowed into the blanket on one side of the mattress, and Mia didn’t want to wake her.
    â€œYou sound congested. Do you have a cold?”
    â€œNo. No cold.”
    â€œThen what? I didn’t wake you, did I?”
    â€œOf course not. I’ve been up for ages,” Mia fibbed. Back when she and Stu were still teenagers and living at home, Betty had made it clear that sleeping late was for losers, deadbeats, slackers. She herself took great pride in the fact that she rose between five and five thirty every morning.
I’ll sleep when I’m dead,
she would announce proudly.
    â€œThat’s good,” her mother said. “I’m sure you’re busy.”
    â€œOh, that I am,” Mia said. “Busy as a bee.”
    â€œBut not too busy to pay us a visit,” said her mother.
    â€œA visit?” How was she going to afford a trip out west?
    â€œI was actually hoping you’d come for Thanksgiving.”

    â€œThanksgiving is not until the end of November,” Mia said. “If you want to get a good deal on the airfare, you have to book early.”
    Mia knew her mother was right about this, so she approached the subject from a different angle.
    â€œWhat about Stu?” she asked. “Did you invite him, too?”
    â€œWell, I think he and Gail were planning to go to her family. But if I tell him you and Eden are coming this year, it might change his mind.”
    â€œReally?” asked Mia. Her mother didn’t just live in a different state now; she lived on a different planet. Didn’t she know that Gail would no sooner spend a holiday weekend in New Mexico with Mia and Eden than she would board the New York City—bound train from Greenwich stark naked and singing “Amazing Grace”?
    â€œYes, it would be so wonderful to see all of you. Hank wants to do the cooking; did you know he’s a fabulous cook?”
    â€œSo you’ve said.” Mia had her doubts about this; her mother had always displayed a cheerful and marked indifference to food. Stuart used to say that it wasn’t Betty’s ear that was tin; it was her palate.
    â€œHe’s found all these regionally inspired recipes. Fire-roasted turkey. Sausage, sage, and chipotle stuffing.”
    None of which Eden will eat,
Mia thought.
But why bring that up now?
    â€œI can talk to him about it if you’d like,” Mia offered.
    â€œWould you? That would be so nice. He thinks the world of you, Mia honey. I just love that the two of you are still so close.”
    â€œYeah, that’s us all right. Couldn’t be closer.”
    They talked for a few more minutes before saying good-bye. Eden rolled over, flung an arm out in Mia’s direction, but remained asleep. They had stayed up late the night before making popcorn and brownies, which they ate while watching
Saturday Night Fever
on late-night TV. Even all these years later, the sight of John Travolta with his blow-dried black hair and eyes as cool and blue as a Siberian husky’s stirredsomething in Mia. Regrettably, Travolta had of late lost his avid, lupine look and had instead puffed out like a blowfish. He’d become a Scientologist, too.
Johnny baby,
she wished she could ask,
where did you go?
As if he—or any of the other men she’d wanted to ask, ex, brother, father—could have told her.
    Lying in bed, Mia mulled over her mother’s request and knew