“Oh,” Vivian says, blinking away her surprise. “Are you not single?”
“No, I’m single right now, but I’m just saying you don’tknowmy deal for sure.”
“Geez, Mags. Fine. I guess I assumed you wouldtellme if you started hanging out with somebody.”
“Oh.” I feel a little bad that I snapped at her for no reason whatsoever. And that I never told her about Carter. “Of course I—”
“Girls, are you down there?” Mom is standing at the doorway to the basement.
“No,” Vivian says. “You’ll have to look elsewhere.”
“Hilarious, Vivvy,” Mom says, already walking downstairs to us, a jovial bounce in her step because it’s Christmas Eve and she fricking loves Christmas.
“We’ll help cook and set up,” I say. “We’re just being lazy.”
“Oh, you’re fine, you’re fine,” Mom says as if she wasn’t stressing about this very thing as soon as we woke up. “I just wanted to say hello to my two favorite peeps.”
“Nope,” Vivian says.
“My favorite people.” Mom seems happy in this almost unhinged way, and Vivian and I exchange a look. I’m grateful for Mom’s timing, actually, as she’s pushed Vivian and me past that tense moment. But her vibes are making me nervous. “What’reyou two up to down here?”
“I’m watching this circus show on Netflix,” I say.
“Ooh, that sounds fun.”
“In theory, yeah. Less so in practice. For example, one of the plotlines is this acrobat guy falls and breaks a bunch of bones because his partner is distracted during their act because the partner’s wife is cheating on him with one of the ringmasters.”
“Do circuses have multiple ringmasters?” Mom asks. Because that was definitely my point.
“That episode’s actually really good,” Vivian says.
“Yes,” Mom says. “I see why that could be a very compelling show!” This is getting weird. Mom doesn’t usually, um, what’s the word... CARE about the details of random shows we stream.
“So,” Vivian says, after a few seconds pass of us looking at Mom in silence.
“Oh yes.” Mom rubs her hands together, then clasps her own fingers, then rubs them again. “So I also wanted to share some news. As you know, Ron and I went for our lake walk this morning.”
“Indeed,” I say.
“We do know this,” Vivian confirms.
“Right, okay,” Mom says, “so we went for our walk, and then—”
She stops speaking and puts a hand to her mouth. Vivian and I have no idea what’s happening, but then I realize she’s crying.
“Girls,” Mom gasps, removing her hand. “We’re getting married!”
“What?” I am stuck to the couch as Vivian responds the way I should be also, leaping up and shouting, “Ohmigod! Mom!” and giving her a huge hug and not letting go.
I will myself to a standing position and zombie-walk over tothem. “This is so exciting,” I force out as I wrap my arms around them.
My mom and Ron are getting married.
Fuck.
Ron is fine—he’s sweet; he’s good to her; he’s nice to us; he’s all the things. The problem is not Ron.
Mom and Dad have been divorced for almost seven years, so you’d think I’d have made peace with this. Dad’s in Pennsylvania with his work, we’re here in New Jersey, we see him many weekends, and that’s what it is now.
