“Hi, Mom.” She sat down on her love seat and curled her legs underneath her. “How are things in North Carolina?”
“The same as they were last week, dear.” Her mother’s standard answer.
“Have the leaves started changing yet?”
“You know they don’t change until late September.”
Olivia fiddled with her mug. “How’s Dad?”
“He’s looking forward to teaching his Greek classes this year.”
“Is there something different about this semester?”
“No. He always looks forward to teaching them.”
Her parents were the most predictable people on the planet. “And how is your semester shaping up?”
“The way it always does, dear.”
The rest of the conversation consisted of Olivia talking about her library programs as her mother listened and saidYesandThat’s goodat the appropriate junctures. “Aunt Bea is doing well,” Olivia added, checking the time on the large round clock on the opposite wall. Five minutes left. “She and Uncle Billy are taking a cruise next year for their anniversary. I think one of her Bosom Buddies convinced her to go. Myrtle seems to be a big fan of them.”
“That’s good.” Pause. “Have your fall classes started yet?”
“This Friday,” she said. “I didn’t realize I’d mentioned it to you before.”
“You didn’t.”
“Then how did you know?”
“You haven’t stopped taking classes since kindergarten. Your pursuit of education has always been admirable. What degree are you working toward now?”
Olivia smiled. That was as close as she’d get to a compliment from her mom. “No degree. I decided two masters were enough, so I’m taking a single class. Eighteenth-Century English Literature.”
“Interesting.” Pause. “Our time is up, Olivia. It’s been nice talking to you.”
“Nice talking to you, too, Mom. Tell Dad I said hi.”
“I will. Goodbye.”
“Bye.”
Olivia ended the call and put her phone on her lap, then took a sip of the milk, which was almost room temperature now. She didn’t mind, just like she didn’t mind the perfunctory conversations with her mother. There was a time when she’d wished her parents were more . . . normal. But long ago she had come to terms with the fact her mother and father were who they were, and they couldn’t be anyone else. They weren’t emotionally demonstrative, but they were attentive and supportive—when they were around. Often they were abroad doing research or working overtime teaching classes and writing grant proposals. Aunt Bea had practically raised her, always eager to give her what herparents couldn’t—hugs, kisses, quality time, and, of course, something delicious to eat.
Olivia knew her parents loved her in their own way, and she accepted that. But there were also times, especially when she was spending the night with Anita and her family, that she longed for the closeness her friend had with her parents. Karen could be overbearing, and Anita’s father, Walter, was often busy with work, yet they had always been close with their kids.
Thinking about the Bedfords’ tight-knit family brought a forgotten memory to mind of when she and Anita were in their teens. Paisley was spending the night with a friend, Karen and Walter were out for the evening, and Kingston was also out, although Olivia couldn’t remember why. Anita had fallen asleep on the couch, and Olivia was watching TV when Kingston came home, and he’d motioned for her to meet him in the kitchen. He’d fixed a snack and brought out a deck of cards.
“Do you know how to play gin?”he’d asked.
“No.”
“It’s easy. Someone as smart as you will pick it up in no time.”
Olivia stared at her half-empty mug. She hadn’t thought about that evening in years. She’d learned the game quickly, and she even beat him at one hand while they munched on potato chips and drank organic apple juice because Karen never allowed soft drinks in the house. When Anita woke up she joined them, and they played cards until midnight when the Bedfords returned home and shooed everyone to bed. As they complied and left the kitchen, Kingston had walked beside her.
“You’re a worthy opponent,”he’d said, grinning.“I’ll teach you how to play spades next.”
That never happened, since any other time she had spent the night with Anita, he wasn’t around. She’d never learned how to play spades. Her parents didn’t play cards or any other games, and Aunt Bea and Uncle Billy preferred jigsaw puzzles.
