quite wrapped up,” I said. “Or she got another lead. Or did she lose her airplane tickets again?” Now my eyes stung.
“I’m sorry,” Gigi said, like that was supposed to make me feel all better.
“Am I spending Christmas with you,” I asked, “or is she shipping me off to Uncle Cosmo?”
“Cosmo’s going to his in-laws in Las Vegas for the holidays. And I, I’m not going to be around either. I’m going to my sister’s this year.”
Oh no! That only left Great Aunt Aggie, the world’s spittingest, bad-breathiest old maid. Or Cousin Walter, the most gassy, boring loudmouth I’ve ever had the rotten luck to be related to. “So, how about I cat sit for you?” I offered weakly.
“Penny,” Gigi said with a half laugh, “your mom isn’t going to let you stay by yourself—or be alone for Christmas. She’s made…other plans for you.” Her eyes drifted to the floor as she sucked in another warning breath. “Let’s go home and you can call her.”
Wanting to scream but knowing it might get Gigi in trouble, I went to retrieve my backpack from the octopus. “I hate my life,” I muttered as we left.
By the way, this is how your life looks when it’s run by someone like my mother: you have to shop for clothes at SecondHand Ro’s, and even then, you wait for clearance sales. You take the subway everywhere because there’s no car. Your idea of a vacation is a day at the Revere boardwalk. And you move a lot. Never far, just from one crappy apartment to another whenever the rent goes up, just far enough to force you to switch schools every year or two. You don’t make friends, so you sit at the outcast table in the cafeteria. You write quotes on your jeans. And you spend a lot of time at Gigi’s.
“You hungry?” Gigi asked as we walked in the direction of her apartment. “We could stop at Big Scoops if you want. They have their Christmas flavors out. Peppermint crunch and pecan pie.”
“No thanks,” I sighed. “I couldn’t eat if you paid me, not now.”
Mom’s bouncing around wouldn’t be so bad if there was a dad in the picture, but there isn’t. Never has been. All I know about The Donor (a.k.a. Justin) is that Mom met him in Chicago at the Pizza Hut where they both worked part-time. They were in their late twenties, apparently still waiting to bloom. Mom claims they were in love and thought they were going to last forever. Then she decided to go to film school in Boston, and—surprise, surprise—he wouldn’t follow her. So she went to Boston by herself—sort of. She was carrying me, only she didn’t know it until she got here. She didn’t bother telling him. So it’s always been just Mom and me, the two of us.
Except when it’s just me, alone. And right now, alone felt like my middle name.
Life is divided into the horrible and the miserable.
—Woody Allen
“Mom?”
Static.
“Mom.”
“Is that you, Penny? I can barely hear you.”
“It’s me. How could you do this?”
“Gigi? Penny? Is it Penny or Gigi?”
“When are you coming home, Mom?”
“Didn’t Gigi tell you I can’t get back on time? Let me talk to her.”
“She told me. But when are you coming home?” Not that I ever want to see you again, I thought.
“What? Penny, speak up. It’s terribly noisy in here, and we’ve got a bad connection.”
“Where are you, anyway?” As if it matters.
“I’m in Coyote, Idaho. You know that. At the Shotgun Murder Mansion. It’s gorgeous out here, honey. I’d love to take you some—”
“Where are you sending me? And for how long?” You traitor.
Muffled sounds of chatter.
“Jesus, Mom, can’t you go somewhere quieter for half a minute?”
“I’ll try. There’s a big crowd here waiting to hear the head of the National Paranormal Society speak. Wait now…excuse me, sir. Thank you. Hold on, honey…okay, how’s this? I’m outside now. Better? I miss you.”
“Look, just tell me what the deal is so I know where I’m gonna be.”
“You’re going to love it, Penny. At first I was worried. It looked like no one was going to be around this holiday. Then I remembered my old friend Bubbles and crackle—said you could pfffsst—that Sunday if you want to crackle—flight—”
“Mom, you’re breaking up. Talk fast before I lose you altogether.”
Silence.
“Mom?”
“Penny? Sorry honey, the cell signals are bad down here. I told it all to Gigi before but I’ll try again now. I’m going to be here a while longer, so you’re going—”
Static. Rapid beeping. Dial tone.
That’s how Gigi got stuck telling me Mom’s dirty little plan: I’d be spending my Christmas break with Mom’s childhood friend Bubbles, someone Mom had never managed to mention, much less introduce me to. Christmas with strangers. Could it get any worse?
Yes, as it turned out, it could. “Where does this Bubbles person live?” I asked, pacing the length of the couch with Tuna Breath kitty at my heels. “Please say Florida, on the beach.”
“Well,” Gigi said, “it does have a beach.” She tried to laugh, but it sounded more like she was gargling. “It’s called Islemorow. It’s an island, a pretty little island. And it’s, it’s…”
“Where?”
She wouldn’t meet my eyes.
“I’m not going to need sunscreen and tank tops, I take it.”
“More like thermals and turtlenecks,” she finally confessed, plucking the TV remote from between the cushions and twiddling it. “It’s off the coast of Maine, according to your mom. Bubbles runs an inn there. The Black Butterfly Inn. I guess there’s a big summer business, but not too many visitors this time of year. So there’s space for you. You’ll have your own room, at least—that’ll be nice. And just think of your poor mother –”
“Oh, yes,” I said with all the melodrama I could muster. “My poor, poor mother.” Burdened with that pesky little offspring who has the nerve to expect a roof over her head every night. How does she ever manage? “So how am I supposed to get to this frozen pebble—swim?”
“Actually,” Gigi said, curling her legs under her, “Bubbles is setting up the travel arrangements. You’re going to fly there. She must be some friend, that Bubbles, huh?”
I collapsed onto the couch. Tuna Breath
