ANNASOPHIA
The more Satish rambles about soccer, the bigger Magnus’s blue eyes grow. On the patio, Molly barks. I shoo the males outside. They take chairs without missing a beat. Molly gazes from one to the other as if understanding every word they utter. Hoping the guy-talk diverts Magnus from the blocked doors, I seat him with his back to my bedroom. Returning inside, I head for the bathroom, dig out a roll of sturdy tape, and remove my shoe. A black bruise spreads across the top of my foot. Not fractured, my ER doc decides. I place the tape on my instep and wrap over the cuneiform imagining I’m in the ER. Finished, I let out a long breath, go back to the kitchen, load up a tray, and return to the patio.
The tremble in my hand goes unnoticed as I serve OJ and fresh fruit.
The carbs fuel the intense sports exchange that veers to football and baseball.
Taking advantage of the moment, I escape to the kitchen. What in the name of God do I tell my seven-year-old son about sex and his older sister? Opening the fridge and staring at eggs and bread and butter and milk offers no answers.
While my brain idles to a halt, Jennifer appears in the doorway. “Morning. What’s up? Was there a problem with Alexandra last night?”
Damn, what should I tell her? The gallon of milk I grab slips. Somehow I deflect it to the large island separating us. The plastic container spins toward the end before I catch it.
“Hey! What’s wrong?” Dressed in sweatshirt, jeans, and sneakers for her day off in San Francisco, she looks younger than Magnus. “I don’t have to ride cable cars today.”
“No cancellation necessary.” I set the milk container upright and force a no-tooth smile. Jenn saved us after Michael’s murder. She cooked and ran interference with the press and forged a bond with all three kids. She’s like a member of the family—a family from whom she needs a break. Too bad she and I can’t change places.
“Call a taxi.” Close to vomiting up my feelings, I hand her my Visa card. I’m using her car while mine’s in the shop. “Enjoy the weekend. Monday, expect some melodrama.”
She crosses her arms over her chest. “I’m up for whatever you need today.”
Shaking my head hurts, but my tone is firm. “Go to San Francisco, okay? Have fun.”
“We survived Michael’s death,” she announces with such confidence, I brush her fingers.
No need to disillusion her about fairy godmothers.
Silence boomerangs between us. Determined to curb my lousy mood, I ask a few stilted questions about her plans. The taxi’s horn and the arrival of Anastaysa with Soshanna Levi-Hoffman interrupt the awkwardness. My daughter and best friend burst into the kitchen like just-released convicts. Laughing, eyes bright, they dispense hugs. God, how’d they stay up till dawn discussing all things girly and still exude such energy? The taxi beeps. Jennifer throws air kisses and rushes out the door.
“What’s up with her?” Soshanna busses my cheek. “She seemed a little edgy.”
“Do you ever stop being a shrink? You saw her for what—thirty seconds?” I pull Anastaysa to me, kiss her, and lay an arm over her shoulder to anchor her next to my body.
“No, and so?” Soshanna opens the fridge. We’ve scheduled a breakfast cook-a-thon because she and Anastaysa never get enough time in an apron. She turns, facing me. “How long do I need to figure out …”
Something in her tone scrapes the welt on my heart. It misses a beat, and the tears building for the past nine hours sting my eyes.
Soshanna’s eyebrows leap. She jumps across the space separating us. “Honey?”
“Mamá?” Eyes wide, Anastaysa steps back.
“Dammit.” I lunge for paper towels and rip off enough to mop the whole kitchen.
Anastaysa and Soshanna circle me with their arms and cluck like hens with a sick chick. I pinch my nose, scrub my eyes, and clear my throat. Stop crying. You’ll scare Anastaysa. Stop.
After a while, the pep talk works. I hitch my chin toward the bar stools, and we perch on them, me in the middle, holding their hands.
“Did you notice, O Great Shrink, the other car in the garage?” I begin in a sing-song cadence I hope will hold back the tears.
“Yes.” Soshanna rarely expands on yes-no answers.
Anastaysa follows her hero’s lead. “Uh-huh.”
“It belongs to Detective Satish Patel.” I squeeze Anastaysa’s hand. She never talks to me about her father’s murder, but I have no doubt she remembers Satish.
“What’s happened?” Anastaysa whips her head around, eyes searching the kitchen and adjacent family room. “Where’s Alexandra?”
Her voice doesn’t break, but I detect a tiny quaver. I clasp her hand tighter. “She’s exhausted. She’s asleep. In my bed.”
“Why?” Anastaysa demands in a tone that sounds more like thirty than thirteen.
“She ...” The words won’t come. I look at Soshanna.
“Was acting out?” Soshanna prompts.
“She threatened to run away.”
“What led to that threat?” Soshanna asks.
“Did she break her curfew again?” Anastaysa whispers.
“I’ll tell you everything, Anastaysa. Later. Right now …” My words trail off, and I try to imagine telling my thirteen-year-old daughter everything.
Anastaysa sniffs. “You never tell me everything, Mamá. You—”
“Sweetheart.” Soshanna reaches across me and caresses Anastaysa’s cheek. “Your mom needs a minute to regroup. How about you go say hi to Magnus and Detective Patel? She and I’ll go check on Alexandra.”
“I’m not a baby, Sanna,” Anastaysa moves her head away, but her tone carries none of the defiance or edginess Alexandra hurls at anyone challenging her maturity.
“You’re not a baby, you’re a kid. A responsible, strong, savvy kid, but still a kid,” Soshanna speaks with the kind of quiet reason I’ve lost with Alexandra.
Anastaysa’s lower lip trembles.
I lace our fingers, place our clasped hands over my thudding heart, and peer into her green eyes. They’ve always seen too much.
“I’d appreciate it if you go to your room and take some time with Sir Kitty.”
“Am I still a responsible, strong, savvy kid if I do?” Her mouth twitches.
“And funny.” Amazed at how often she makes me smile, I pull her off the chair and buss her neck. “The next time we shop, let’s buy Sir Kitty a pound of that fresh fish he likes.”
“Two pounds, but I’m still holding you to your promise.”
When her footsteps have faded, Soshanna says, “Why’d our Alex threaten to run away?”
“I found her in bed with a guy—an older guy—a stranger.”
“Hmmm. Not Nicholas.” Soshanna massages my neck. “That must’ve been awkward.”
“My brain went AWOL. I called Patel. I didn’t know who else to call. It—it wasn’t rape.” My voice breaks but I keep talking, mad and sad and confused and afraid. I have to finish now or never. “She lied about her age. Picked him up in a bar. She—she seduced him.”
“And you’re shocked?”
The uber-objective-shrink tone grates my nerves like a dull scalpel. I snap, “No, I was ecstatic. Why was I so dumb to assume she’s a virgin, dammit?”
“Does the shrink pick up you’re shocked to think Alexandra is sexually active?”
“Sexually active? She wants to become emancipated. So,” I change the pitch of my voice to match my teenager’s, “so she can fuck whoever she wants.”
“Is she serious? Or yanking your chain?”
“Both. Ripping out my heart ranks pretty high, too.” I press a thumb between my eyes, but I’m so numb I feel nothing. It’s as if I’ve stepped out of a meat locker.
Soshanna throws an arm over my shoulder. “Ever wonder why parents of teenagers can’t tie ’em to a tree and feed them bread and water till they’re twenty-nine?”
I lay my head in the crook of her shoulder. “Don’t tell me that’s illegal.”
“AnnaSophiiiaaaa?” Alexandra calls, interrupting Soshanna’s chuckle.
The pulsating cadence hammers my skull. I grab Soshanna’s hand. “Let’s go.”