June’s eyes soften. “You know, you’re the only friend I have that has never expressed any interest in my brothers.”
Practice makes perfect. And I’m a good actress when I want to be.
“I don’t think you realize how refreshing that is,” she continues.
“Maybe that’s why I don’t go there.”
June pulls her long legs up onto the big chair and tucks them under her. “I shouldn’t have tried to gossip. I’m more worried than anything.”
I’m saved from having to answer by the sound of the front door slamming, followed by the feminine bellow of “I’m home!”
May. No one else announces her arrival with such authority.
From somewhere in the bowels of the house, come equally loud replies of:
“Baby girl!”—this from Margo.
“Loudmouth!”—from March, and finally,
“We know, Chuckles!” from August.
“Aw, you missed me,” May shouts back.
There’s some muffled exchange, May stomping around, then she comes dance-walking into the room, waving her hands in the air, as she sing-songs, “is our sista from another mista here for a visit?”
Curvy, where June is lean, May is and always was, a whirlwind. Even her inky hair, flying wildly around her heart-shaped face, resists any attempts at calm.
“Mom probably needs help setting the table,” June deadpans.
“Nope.” May flops dramatically down on the couch next to me. “Got the boys doing that, as those little pampered punks should. Hey there, Pennywise.”
I get a quick kiss on the cheek.
“May Day.”
“I hate when you call Penny that,” June says to May with a shudder. “Gives me nightmares about creepy-ass clowns all week.”
I leer at June, and she makes a sound of horror, swatting her hand in my direction.
Struggling not to laugh anymore, I turn to May. “We really shouldn’t. Coulrophobia is real and horrible.”
“Right?” June scowls at May—and me.
What did I do? Oh, right. I leered. That was bad of me. I wrinkle my nose in apology. June sniffs, but all is forgiven in a look.
May, however, makes an indignant face. “I’ll remember to respect her clown phobia the next time she puts a fake spider in my shower stall, shall I?”
“It wasn’t fake. That sucker was real. And, for the last time, I didn’t put it in there!”
“Lies!”
“And, anyway, you’re the one going around calling me Bug.”
“If the name fits . . .”
“I’ll fit you!”
“What does that even mean? Fit this!”
