“You can go through the world with your elbows out and your nose in the air, and call it independence, if you like. That’s not my way.”
—Little Women
Half the time when Mom announced a family meeting, it was code for I need you to stuff these envelopes. I could tell this one was serious because she was wearing a blazer. Or a blazer-like sweater. It had a collar, anyway.
Mom cleared her throat. “It’s nice to have everyone together at the table again.”
The three of us glanced at her with varying degrees of yeah, right. Meg’s skin was back to its usual dewiness, so she must have found the strength to uncork one of her serums.
“As you probably guessed, I have an announcement to make, that concerns all of us.”
My heart skipped a beat. Were we shutting down the show? I knew better than to ask. It was pretty much guaranteed I’d strike the wrong tone, since I wasn’t even sure how I felt about the idea. Yes, it was everything I’d said I wanted, but Mom would be devastated. On the other hand, I might be able to get a real after-school job—
“Meg is leaving us.” My mother’s voice pulled the plug on my fantasy of honing my typing skills so I could work in an air-conditioned office all summer.
Amy leaped up from her chair, clasping her hands to her chest. “A wedding! How wonderful. And then you’ll live just down the road with your husband and the twins!” She paused, apparently expecting applause. “You guys suck at improv.”
“I’m not getting married.” Meg’s face twisted as if Amy had accused her of eating roadkill straight off the asphalt.
“She’s going to spend some time with your father,” Mom explained. Like that made everything crystal clear.
“You mean at Christmas, like always.” Amy spoke slowly, in case Mom had forgotten how time worked. She was talking about the Christmas the rest of the world celebrated, in December, when the three of us made our annual trip to see Dad, not the theatrical version.
“I mean as soon as finals are over. We thought a change of scenery would do her good.” Mom didn’t look at Meg as she spoke.
“Wait.” I held up a hand for silence, even though no one was saying anything. “Meg did everything wrong, and she gets to leave? How is that fair?”
“Lucky me.” Meg’s voice was flatter than a sheet of paper. “I get to hang out in Dad’s stupid apartment watching documentaries and listening to jazz all summer.”
Ignoring her, I turned to Mom. “So if I steal from you, can I go on a vacation?”
“Be reasonable, Jo. I need your help right now. Not ridiculous what-ifs.” And there it was: the hint of anger, like I was the bad guy.
“Sorry, I thought being the problem child was the way to go if you wanted something.”
“What I want is to stay here with my friends,” Meg retorted.
“Right. Because they’re so awesome.”
“At least I have friends.”
I scowled at her. “I have friends.”
She made a show of looking around the kitchen, like they should be hanging out with us while we aired our dirty laundry. “I hope you’re not talking about Hutton or whatever.”
“It’s Hudson.”
“You know why he was interested in you, don’t you?”
If Meg brought up the incident in the rental car in front of Mom and Amy, I was going to do things to her face no amount of moisturizer would fix. “Maybe he thought I could buy him stuff with my mom’s credit card.”
“That’s a bit insensitive, Jo.”
I stared at my mother. “But calling me a friendless loser is fine?”
“What about David?” Amy said, unable to resist sticking her nose into the argument.
“Yeah. Of course David is my friend.” Was my friend. Would be my friend again. Hopefully. Once I figured out how to talk to him. Or enough time passed that we could pretend our argument never happened.
“I think maybe he’s your Professor Bhaer.” Amy toyed with the end of her braid, head cocked to one side in a pantomime of Deep Thoughts. “Not Hudson.”
“There’s no Professor Bhaer. Just like you’re not really going to marry Laurie.”
Amy gasped. “Rude!”
“LB’s not even that rich.” Meg addressed the comment to her cuticles, but it was still perfectly audible—which didn’t stop Amy from throwing a napkin at me, like it was my fault.
Our mother clapped her hands. “Girls.” She sounded tired. “If we could return to the main purpose of this meeting.”
“Rewarding people for bad behavior?”
Meg stuck her tongue out at me.
Mom ignored both of us. “Sending Meg off for the summer is a big change, yes. But it’s also an opportunity.”
“For Meg,” I muttered.
“For a fresh start,” Mom corrected, unwavering in her belief that you could alter reality by giving it a cute nickname. “And she’ll be working hard.”
Amy and I looked from our mother to Meg, frowning. Had she met her eldest daughter?
“She has a job lined up on campus.”
“A real job?” There had to be a catch. Like what Mom called a job was actually journaling every morning and yoga once a week.
Meg rolled her eyes. “No, it’s a fake job.”
“Good thing you have plenty of experience,” I fired back.
“Your father and I came up with the arrangement, in consultation with Principal Henderson and Meg’s counselor.” The tightness around Mom’s eyes conveyed what she wasn’t saying: It could have been a lot worse. “Your sister will work as an office aide in the philosophy department twenty hours a week.”
“But what about the show?” For once, the tremor in Amy’s voice wasn’t bad acting.
Mom squeezed her hand. “The show will go on. Your cousin has agreed to help out.”
“Which cousin?” The calculating expression on Amy’s face suggested she was running odds on who she could most easily push around when it came time to hog the spotlight.
“Adeline.”
That explained why Mom had been talking to her sister. “We’re allowed to dump our parts on someone else? Like it’s just that simple?” I snapped my fingers.
“Will we call her New Meg, or just Addie? So many possibilities! She and David will be adorable together. And she’s a natural blonde.” Amy patted her head, as if those words related in any way whatsoever to her.
“I’m sitting right here,” Meg reminded her.
“Not for long,” Amy chirped.
Mom nodded as if Amy had made a useful observation. “Meg flies out next Sunday. That gives her a day to finish packing after school lets out.”
I hadn’t even thought about the plane ticket. “How much did that cost?”
“That’s not for you to worry about,” Mom said. “Your parents are in charge of the family finances.”
Except when you forget and let your delinquent daughter go on a shopping spree.
“You could pull a Jo,” Amy mused, smoothing her place mat. “That would cut costs.”
“I’m not going to run all the way there,” Meg scoffed.
“I’m talking about Book Jo. Duh. When she sells her hair so Marmee can have travel money?”
“Pretty sure selling your hair is not a thing in this century,” I cut in, like a telegram from reality. “It’s not like freaking plasma.”
“Oh yes it is, Jo!” Amy yelled as if we were arguing about the fate of the world. “People pay a lot of money for human hair—if it’s a nice color. Not boring brown.”
“I’m not cutting my hair,” Meg said. “They’d never pay me what it was worth.”
Amy shrugged. “Probably smart. Somebody might use it for something weird.”
“What are you picturing right now?” I asked, curious in spite of myself. “An Etsy shop with human-hair sweaters?”
“Spells and stuff.” Amy shook her head. “Obviously.” As if any of this made sense.
“Are we done here?” I asked Mom.
She glanced at the clock. “If no one has any questions—”
I was already on my feet, the familiar weight of their disappointment trailing me to the stairs.