The Mimosa Tree by Antonella Preto Page B

funniest thing they ever heard.

    ***

    Thankfully it doesn’t take all day. Within a few hours the flyscreen is covered in neat rows of fresh ravioli that will be left to dry for the afternoon before freezing them. I am washing my hands now, free to go watch TV with my cousins as Mum and Via finish up the cleaning. I take my Coke to the couch where Marco and Sera are putting the final touches on a cubbyhouse they have made with bedsheets. They peel open a doorway for me and I climb in happily with them. We take turns holding back the sheet so we can watch the cartoons together.
    Then the phone rings.
    â€˜MIRA!’ shout Mum and Via even though they are standing right beside it.
    â€˜Just answer it!’ I shout back.
    â€˜But I don’t know who it is!’ protests Mum.
    I hand my Coke to Marco and stomp angrily to the phone.
    â€˜Hello,’ I say, when I answer it. ‘I don’t know who you are, but now that I have picked up the phone and I can hear your voice, I will probably be able to identify you.’ I look over at Mum and Via making sure they are getting my lesson on how a phone actually works.
    â€˜Hello?’ says an uncertain voice at the other end.
    â€˜Who is it?’ says Mum.
    â€˜Tell them we don’t want any,’ says Via.
    â€˜Hello?’ I say trying again to place the faintly familiar voice.
    â€˜Is that you, Mira?’
    â€˜Yes. Who’s this?’ and then it clicks. ‘Siena?’
    â€˜How are you Mira?’ says my aunt Siena, but before I can say any more Mum has snatched the phone from me.
    â€˜Hello?’ she says nervously. Via moves closer, dishcloth slung over her shoulder. I’m not sure if she’s about to cry or get angry. Mum’s emotions on the other hand are clear – she speaks softly, words catching on tears, both hands clutching the phone as though Siena will disappear if she lets it go. When she’s done she puts the phone down.
    â€˜I wanted to talk to her!’ I say, disappointed. Aunt Siena is nothing like my aunt Via. Aunt Siena is nice, and I haven’t spoken to her in ages. ‘Why did you hang up?’
    Mum ignores me, walks to the table and sits down.
    â€˜Don’t tell me she remembered your birthday?’ says Via, pulling off her apron and sitting down at the table with Mum.
    Mum shakes her head. Via pulls a cigarette out from her pocket, looks at Mum with suspicion. This is obviously big news. Via steadies herself with a long drag. ‘Well, what then?’
    â€˜She has left him, Via. Siena has left Robert.’
    â€˜Is that all? I thought it was bad news.’
    â€˜Your sister getting divorced is not bad news?’
    â€˜She’s better off without him, Sofia. He is a bastard.’
    â€˜Via!’ says Mum, indicating that she shouldn’t be saying these things in front of me.
    â€˜He is a bastard,’ I say.
    â€˜Mira!’ says Mum, indicating that I shouldn’t be swearing.
    â€˜He took Aunt Siena away. He is a bastard and I’m glad she’s finally left him.’ I never liked Robert. Even in those early days,when they had just met and he was all sickly nice and trying to impress us. He would make this big show about how great he was, but it always came off like he thought he was better than us.
    â€˜Smartest thing she’s ever done,’ agrees Via.
    But Mum does not look convinced. She cannot conceive of a grown woman being able to survive without a husband. From what I can tell, it doesn’t matter much about the quality of that husband, just that they are a man and that they are around.
    â€˜But what will she do? ’ she says.
    â€˜Be happy?’ I suggest.
    â€˜But how will she live? ’
    â€˜Don’t be ridiculous, Sofia. Siena has no money problems.’
    It’s true. Siena is loaded. It wasn’t always that way. When they first married, Siena and Robert were often broke, and I remember how Mum would