Page 31 of This Is How It Started
I somehow make it to Vallejo without having an aneurysm. When I finally pull into the driveway, my heart is beating a hundred miles a minute, but I’m intact and the Honda is no worse for wear.
Campbell has already unloaded the bulk of my boxes and is leaning against the garage, waiting. Until now, I hadn’t noticed what a beautiful day it is. Crisp and clear and cold enough to see my breath in the air. If I hadn’t been petrified, I would’ve taken the time to admire the holiday decorations on my way over. Hard to believe that Hanukkah is only a week away, Christmas only two.
“What took you so long?” Campbell pushes himself off the wall.
“There was a lot of traffic.” I rummage through my purse, looking for the key.
When my father was alive, I would’ve let myself in. But now, I’m not so sure about the etiquette of such things. Do I ring the bell? Send Brooke a quick text that I’m here? Or go in quietly so as not to disturb her?
Campbell is looking at me likeWhere do you want all this stuff?
I opt for the text and shoot her, “I’m here. Is it okay if I come in and unload some boxes?”
My phone dings a few minutes later with a response from Brooke. “I’m out. Go in and make yourself at home.”
“You get the green light?” Campbell looks over my shoulder.
“Yep. She’s not here.” Thank God. “Let’s take everything up to my old bedroom.”
Campbell knows the way, as he’s been there many times.
Chapter 14
Guilt Trip
“Of all the places you could live, you move in with her?” my mother says over the music at Marigolds. Despite how loud the restaurant is, it has the best Shrimp Louie in the city. “I told you, you could stay with me. Jesus, Rachel, I’m your mother.”
Of course this has to be about her.
“Your place isn’t livable, Mom.” Which is only half of it. Not even the important half.
“It’s a couple of bathrooms, not a hovel in Siberia. This is your father’s fault. He always spoiled you kids. We were lucky to have a roof over our heads when we were growing up.”
My mother grew up in Greenwich, Connecticut. Enough said.
But next, she’ll tell, in great bloody detail, the stories of how her people fled Russia during the nineteenth-century pogroms.
I sigh in relief when Adam joins us at the table. I called him last night and begged for backup. Though he’s forty minutes late, I’ve never been happier to see him in my life.
“You’re late, but we waited.” Mommie Dearest pulls him in for a hug. He always was her favorite.
“What did I miss?” Adam kicks me under the table, and I kick him back.
“Mom was telling me about her remodel.”
Shana shoots me a look. “Fine. We won’t talk about the elephant in the room.” The elephant’s name is Brooke, and my mother won’t last the rest of the evening without getting in a couple of digs at both of us.
No question I’m on her shit list.
“How’s the sale going, Adam?” Adam and I already talked about how everything is moving at a glacial pace, but better he be the center of attention than me.
“I’m letting the lawyers handle it from here,” he says, flipping through the cocktail menu. “Drink, anyone?”
I raise my hand like a schoolgirl.
“I’ll try one of those mojitos they’re famous for,” my mother says.
Adam and I exchange glances. A) Marigolds is not famous for mojitos. And B) We try to keep Mommie Dearest away from liquor as much as possible. She’s a lightweight and a bad drunk. I guarantee she won’t stop at one mojito, and by the time we leave she’ll be telling everyone from the bartender to our server how much she loves them and how her youngest daughter betrayed her. Just like Judas did Jesus. Yep, a real shit show.
