for 114. I peeked through its glass window, saw the
magazines and letters inside and held the card to the slot.
I wouldn't read it. I shouldn't read it. I didn't dare read it.
I couldn't help it, I swear. I was thirsty and it was a drink
of cold water; I was hungry and it was a loaf of bread. I
had PMS and it was a bar of chocolate and a bowl of ice
cream with peanuts and fudge sauce on top. It was the
cherry on that sundae.
With a quick glance from side to side, certain no one was
With a quick glance from side to side, certain no one was
watching, I tucked the card into my bag and hightailed it to
the elevator. My phone was ringing when I got to my
apartment. The answering machine had just clicked on
when I grabbed up the portable handset from the end
table. My mom had already started talking.
'Paige. It's Mom. Cal me—'
'Mom. Hi.' The note, unopened and unread, burned my
palm.
'Are you screening your cals?' She sounded amused.
I took a couple of deep breaths and stared at the number
on the front of the paper. 'I'm not screening my cals. I just
got in.'
This perked her ears. 'Oh? Were you out?'
'Yes, Mother,' I said. 'Hence the just-getting-in part.'
'Where were you?'
'Not on a date, if that's what you're hoping,' I told her, just to poke.
'Too bad for you.'
'Too bad for you.'
'Yeah, yeah. What's up?' I put the note in the center of the kitchen table where it could watch me and I it. I circled it,
only half my mind on the conversation with my mother, so
distracted by this new note I'd forgotten I needed to be
angry at her.
'Does something have to be up for me to cal my favorite
daughter?'
My mom has always been almost more like an aunt or
older sister than a mom. She was only nineteen when she
had me, about the same age I'd been when she'd had
Arthur. I'm not saying she didn't do her best. I'm just
saying that now, when I'm in my twenties and she's in her
forties, the age difference seems even less than it did when
I was growing up and she was the only mom I knew who
cared as much about the Backstreet Boys as I did.
'No, I guess not. But there usualy is. Usualy you just hit
me up on e-mail.'
Since I moved 'so far away,' anyway, and phoning me
had become a long-distance cal.
'Wel, I don't have to do that anymore.' She paused and I
could hear the grin in her voice. 'Guess where I'm caling
from.'
