Interspersed between all the junk mail and posts she subscribed to was email after email from Renata, Gia, Juliette, Renata’s Reuben, and even one from Granny G. Most of them were politely-phrased requests to see her, wondering if she was all right, hoping she wasn’t sick. They all knew her tendency to disappear when she was under project deadlines, so a day or two without hearing back from her wasn’t uncommon. She always made certain to let someone know after the second or third day on a project, though, just so they wouldn’t show up unannounced and worried about her and chase away her muse. They’d all gotten used to it and were usually content to just prod at her from their end until she surfaced enough to notice she was being addressed. With a new baby in the family, however, she could imagine they were all starting to worry about her, even if they hadn’t yet made a big deal about her absence.
Renata seemed to have no such reservations this time. Phoebe opened Ren’s most recent email from only an hour ago with the subject heading: Where ARE you?
PHOEBE JOSEPHINE GUSTAFSON!
Yes, I’m using your full name and in all caps. You won’t answer my calls. You won’t respond to my texts. You won’t come and visit. What is wrong with you? And don’t try to tell me you got sick from being at the hospital with us. You haven’t been sick a day in your life, so I’ll know you’re just lying to avoid me.
ARE you just avoiding me? Did I do something or say something to make you hate me? I know I’m not the nicest person in the world, even on a good day, but I can’t be held completely responsible for anything I said in the throes of labor. That’s not fair, and you know it. If it’s a project, just tell me, okay? I’ll be offended about your priorities, but at least I’ll know why you’re not coming around. But come on. A new baby,
Phoebe! Another Gustafson Girl!
Please, Phoebe. Please come visit us. Come hold Charise. Come laugh at how wobbly my belly is—the boys have had quite a hoot over it. Tim, of course, won’t allow us to make fun of it in his presence; he says it’s disrespectful. He’s right, I know, but part of me wants to push his buttons a little, test him, I guess. See if he still thinks it’s so great to suddenly have the responsibility of a ready-made family. But the man might be as stubborn as I am—he insists I’m still beautiful - he says I’m radiant - ha! - can you believe it? I know he’s just blinded by love for this precious baby girl who’s taken up residence in our throng of boys.
The boys are so cute with her, even Jude. He keeps hugging her head and whispering something in her ear. He won’t tell me what he says, and although he’s really quite gentle with her, every once in a while, I wonder if I should be worried. He gets this look in his eye… I mean, he’s been the baby around here for a long time now. You and he have a connection, Phoebe. What do you think? Should I intervene?
Phoebe, I didn’t get to thank you properly for everything you did. I didn’t even say goodbye—you left without saying goodbye. I’m sure it all must have been overwhelming, but you should have stayed, at least long enough to let me tell you that I love you.
I’m not mad, okay? I just want to know you’re okay.
Ren
Phoebe closed her inbox; she didn’t want to read any more emails from family members asking if she was all right. For one thing, she wasn’t all right. And in the state she was currently in, she didn’t know if she’d ever be all right. She just wanted to stay hidden away in her customized art-studio bungalow, have people bring her food—when is that pizza getting here?—and wait for the world to end so she wouldn’t have to pretend anymore.
The doorbell rang.
“Pizza!” she cheered, the exclamation a little louder than she’d intended, making her laugh nervously. Hopefully, the person on the other side of her blue door hadn’t heard. She wound her hair into a loose knot at the back of her neck, smoothed the front of her shirt, and shoved the sleeves of her hoodie up her arms a little. She looked like the walking dead, but surely, even the dead had a tiny bit of dignity to uphold. It was possible Phoebe knew the person on the other side of the door.
She slid back the tiny cover from the old-school peephole and saw a teenage girl holding a pizza warmer in one hand, a cell phone in the other, her thumb working the keypad effortlessly. Good. The exchange would be quick. She didn’t recognize this delivery driver, and today was not a day for introductions and niceties. If the girl kept her job long enough, she’d have plenty more opportunities to get to know her.
Phoebe opened the door and squinted, holding up a hand to shield against the late afternoon sun, even though it wasn’t shining in her eyes. She knew it wouldn’t conceal how terrible she looked, but at least she could avoid meeting the girl’s eyes and seeing the pity there. As much as she’d like to convince herself that she didn’t care, there was a part of her that hated being seen without her hair done and her make up on—her armor in place. Even by a complete stranger in an over-sized polo shirt and a misshapen baseball cap.
“Pizza for Pho—um, Phoebe?” The girl stumbled over her name, pronouncing it Fohbee.
“Phoebe,” she corrected, smiling kindly at the nervous teenager. “It looks different than it’s pronounced, I know, but yes, that’s me. What do I owe you?” She already knew, but the change of subject would put the girl at ease.
Phoebe wondered if Lily would one day deliver pizzas to people’s homes. She hoped not. She thought it was a rather dangerous job for pretty young girls like the one on her doorstep.
The exchange made, she couldn’t hold in the words that pushed up the back of her throat. “Um, Josee?” The girl’s name was on the plastic tag clipped to her collar. “I noticed you were texting when you got here. May I make a suggestion?”
The girl reddened noticeably. “Sorry. I know I’m not supposed to be on my phone while I’m at work, but my mom makes me text her every time I make a delivery.” She paused, clearly trying to determine how much more she needed to say.
“I’m glad,” Phoebe said, smiling encouragingly. She was relieved for both their sakes; the girl had someone on the other end who cared, and Phoebe didn’t feel like such a freak for worrying about her. “I was actually going to suggest you let someone know every time you pull up at a house. No matter how many times you’ve been to the place. Every time.”
Josee cocked her head at Phoebe and grinned. “That’s what my mom said, too.”
“And if I were you, I’d take it one step farther. When your customer opens the door, don’t hide the fact you’re on the phone. Instead, make a big deal of putting it away and say something like, ‘Sorry about that. Just letting my boss know I made it.’ That way, your customer knows someone else knows exactly where you are and what time you arrived.”
Josee laughed outright at that. “Wow. You sound just like her. You must be a mom, too.”
Phoebe felt the words like a knife twisting in her heart, but she didn’t flinch. “I’m a big sister,” she said. “And I’ve been in your shoes, too. Just be careful out there, okay?”
The girl nodded. “I will. Thanks.” She smiled and waved and hurried down the walk to her car. Phoebe waited until she pulled away from the curb before closing her door. She lifted the lid on the top box and breathed in deeply; her nose was clearing up and the delicious aroma made her salivate. Yes, she’d bought two large pizzas just for herself. Thick crusts with extra cheese on both, a meat lovers and a standard pepperoni. She’d also had them throw in an order of breadsticks and extra marinara sauce for dipping, so she was set. Enough food to last a couple days if she was careful.
Before she sat down to eat, she jotted off a quick group email to her sisters and grandparents, explaining that she had come down with a nasty cold and was going to lie low for the week so as not to expose anyone to her germs. She sent a separate email to Renata, congratulating her and Tim, confirmed that she was, indeed, not well, and that she hoped to be completely better by Sunday so she could join everyone for Family Dinner at the grandparents.
She hoped her words would be enough to hold them at bay, at least for a few more days.