Ava sighed big and rolled her eyes. Her mother would think her condescending, and maybe she was. Her mother had been nearly thirty when Devon was born, not over thirty-five, the magic number and certainly not in whispering distance of the forty, that Ava was. Ava was technically thirty eight and a half, though the doctor always added a year to her age, the age she would be closer to when her baby arrived. Either way, she was now what they called geriatric maternal age. What she wouldn’t give to be twenty-nine and three-quarters.
Ava sipped from her tea. She felt corked. She was bloated and full like a shaken champagne bottle. A queasy feeling but strangely hopeful at the same time. Maybe this time. Her mother would probably see something on her face, a hurried look, a tightness in her grin that suggested a lie or evasion. She usually did. She had tried for years now to get used to the taste of food without the cloying satisfaction of sugar. Everything you read said that Americans were too fat, too slow, at risk for the most serious ailments and all those ills pointed in sugar’s direction. At first who cared if the sugar was gone. Food had its own subtle realness. A taste! That was a surprise. But tastes took a palate, some discernment to differentiate and appreciate. Very soon, she despised the realness of the foods and ached for the sweet, just sweet. She even liked the strange, exotic sounding word, sugar, sugar. She’d almost given up eating at all. Ava drank the tea and held the glass to her face to disguise her wince. “Lana called.”
“Lana called me or you?”
“She called me to talk about you.”
People loved Lana. When they found out Sylvia and Lana were sisters they expected Sylvia to have Lana’s brightness, her humor, her unmuddied outlook of the world. They were always disappointed.
“What’d she call you for?”
“She wants me to talk you into going on a cruise with her this fall. Why don’t you go?”
“I hate boats.” Sylvia crossed her arms over her chest.
“It’s not just a boat. They have a casino and shopping and dancing. All kinds of things.”
“Don’t you think I know all about that? People get stranded out there. No bathrooms, no food. Don’t you watch the news? Who wants to be floating on a stinking toilet for days?”
“You forgot about icebergs.” Ava laughed. “Come on, Mama, those are excuses. You’ll have a good time. When is the last time you had fun?”
“I’m having fun now.” Sylvia twirled her finger in the air. “See? I can’t afford it anyway.”
“You can afford it. You can pay by the month, Mama.”
Sylvia shrugged her shoulders. She didn’t want to pay by the month. Shelling out that money to a travel agent would multiply her feelings of dread with every payment reinforcing the idea that she was making a bad, bad decision. “I don’t want to go and I’m not going to.”
“You sound like a little kid.”
“I feel like it too,” Sylvia said.
“Like I could make you do anything anyway.” Ava stared at Sylvia, intent on making her laugh. Her mother’s face was not sweet but kind, a pleasant face that missed the mark of beautiful by so little, the hard jaw, her forehead in wrinkled annoyance or despair. She did wish for her mother’s happiness.
Sylvia wasn’t going to laugh and nobody was going to make her until she got ready. She rolled her eyes at Ava’s stares and concentrated on the lawn. She had considered going with Lana just to satisfy Ava. She knew that kids want the security of their parents’ happiness, and she had tried to reassure Ava to let her know her life might be diminished but it was not destroyed. Sylvia had wanted her children to think that she had lived an existence that brimmed with possibility. But smart kids know and know better. She wanted more for her children, for Ava, than struggling with a difficult man or working too hard just to keep the lights on. But it might not be possible to pass on something you don’t really know yourself. “You should get more out of life than just a ham sandwich,” Mabe had said. But what? Her mother should have told her what more she should be expecting. Two ham sandwiches? How could she expect to get what she didn’t know she needed?
“What are you doing?” Sylvia watched Ava pick up her phone and punch in a number, though she knew who she had to be calling.
“I’m calling Lana. Talk to her.” Ava held her phone finger in the air like she was testing the wind direction or signaling she was about to be talking.
“I’m not talking to nobody,” Sylvia said.
“Hey. Mama’s right here. Okay, okay. Here, Mama.” Sylvia rolled her eyes at Ava and considered refusing to speak.
“Hello,” Sylvia said.
“Don’t hello me. What do y’all want now?” Lana asked. “Don’t get me involved in y’all’s mess. I told Ava that Noah couldn’t get you on a boat and I wasn’t about to try to talk to you as crazy as you are.”
“Who is this?” Sylvia laughed.
“You better stop and come on this trip with me.”
“Get Gus to go. What’s he got to do?” Sylvia asked. Gus, the old man Lana married, was about as exciting as a paperweight and almost as useful. Sylvia didn’t exactly dislike him. Who can dislike a rock? But two people were never more poorly suited to each other. Or, at least it seemed like it from the viewpoint of the outsider.
“Unless they’re shutting television down, Gus is busy. Come on and go. Just me and you. We’ve never done that. Don’t get old on me.”
“Too late,” Sylvia said, but she was interested she had to admit. The spark of the idea of reinvention, becoming different, even for a few days stirred her. “I’ll think about it.”
“Don’t think too long. It will be too late soon. Too late.”
“Don’t be overdramatic,” Sylvia said.
“Quoth the raven, ‘too late,’” Lana said.
“Take your gun.” Somebody said they saw a gun in Lana’s handbag that was actually a black hair dryer.
“I might.” Lana laughed. “Watch me. I might dry somebody to death. You don’t know what I might do.”
“Well whatever you do stop calling me.”
“I didn’t call you,” Lana said.
“Well, stop talking to me.”
“See you tomorrow, hateful.” Lana laughed.
“Bye.” Sylvia handed the phone to Ava. “How long have y’all been planning that? Y’all ain’t a bit slick,” Sylvia said.