Forty-Four
When I opened the bathroom door, Little Sister barreled out at me and the twins, clearly delighted we’d arrived back home.
“We’re keeping the dog,” I announced. After the twins had finished screaming with joy and hugging me and Little Sister, I
ducked into the pantry, but instead of crying while stuffing my face with Hint of Lime Tostitos, I took out my phone. I couldn’t
do everything alone. Not anymore. I needed to let other people in.
Tilly: Hey Nate! I want to apologize for being so standoffish and weird. Would you be up for coming over after my kids go to bed
tonight so I can explain some things?
Too nervous to stare at the phone and wait, I cued up George Michael’s Faith album.
“Grandma Lulu used to say it’s impossible to listen to this album and not be cheered up,” I told the twins. “So we’re going
to play it while we pack up the rest of her fake food. You can take it out anytime you miss her.”
Sure enough, George Michael’s voice released some much-needed chemicals in my brain. With a trash bag in hand and the twins
looking on, I started going through the duplex, tossing in fake quiche and ice cream while shaking my ass and singing, “I
got to have faith, faith, faith!” I didn’t have time for this, but it felt necessary. The twins couldn’t resist George Michael
either. They started dancing along with me. Even Little Sister wagged his rump.
With the twins’ counsel, I left a few favorites out to honor my mom—a tray of nachos in the twins’ room, a cluster of grapes on a high shelf in my bathroom.
The rest I dumped in a toy tub in the hall closet.
Next I pulled off the tie-dyed couch cover and put it in the twins’ costume box.
With a couple holes cut in it for eyes, it would make a great hippie ghost costume.
The actual couch sported a couple of stains, but I could cover them up with thrift-store throw pillows.
Otherwise, I liked the sunny yellow fabric.
Inspired, I stood on a chair to take down the disco ball.
“We can hang this back up for dance parties,” I said.
“It is a little much for every day,” Phoebe agreed.
“But that was Grandma Lulu,” Alice said, fondly.
Everything felt better, brighter, less cluttered. The duplex looked less like a museum showcasing my beloved mother’s quirky
tastes. The duplex looked more like me.
While the twins settled in to color their Groundbreaking Female Comedians coloring books, I called Miley O’Riley.
“Me again!” I said. “Things are shaping up for my set tomorrow, but I’ve got a question for you.” I explained about Cheyenne
and her new line of pole shoes and asked if any of Miley’s pals in the local press might want to write a feature about her.
“Do you remember Evelyn Pellegrino?” Miley said. “She was a grade ahead of us?”
“Glasses? Obsessed with Sheryl Crow—like weirdly obsessed?”
“That’s her. She writes for the Idaho Statesman and she’s been doing a series about women entrepreneurs. I’ll call her now.”
“That would be incredible, Miley. I really appreciate it.” I hung up, wondering why I hadn’t ever asked Miley O’Riley to hang
out before.
Still nothing from Nate. A watched phone never buzzes, so I started work on my comedy set. When a text arrived twenty minutes
later, I lunged for it. But it was Miley.
Miley: Evelyn says hi! And she’d love to do a feature on yr friend and her pole shoe company!
Maybe there were perks to being in my hometown after all.
Tilly: THANK YOU! Hey, wanna get a coffee sometime?
Miley: Sure! And we could do a kid date too? My daughter Bam-Bam shows an early aptitude for social drama. A potential friend triangle
with twins would def be her jam.
As I laughed out loud, my phone rattled again. This time it was Nate.