Trudy nods. “Vintage Teddy.”
“Ah, hell to the no! Liza and I call bullshit!”
“Who’s Liza?” Ava asks, looking around, confused.
“Liza Minnelli, you sad child. I have so much to teach you! We have both endured hard lives, and we do not play games. She’s always with a gay man when he needs her most!”
I jab a finger in Trudy’s direction. “You don’t get to turn this around on me, Trudy, and rewrite our entire history simply because it suits your narrative,” I continue. “You and Daddy made my life a living hell, remember? You told me to buck up and wear long sleeves after I tried to cut my wrists, remember? You ratted me out to Dad every time I tried to be myself, remember? You refused to allow me to come home, remember? You never returnedmycalls, remember? You cut me out of your entire existence, remember? You didn’t come home when Mom was dying, remember? You didn’t reach out when my husband died, remember? And now that you’re inmyhome, you conveniently choose not to remember any of this, andI’mvintage Teddy? Hell to the no, honey,youare vintage Trudy, and that will never change. I may wear a caftan and a touch of concealer, but I’m not the one living in drag, sis. You are.”
Ava stares at her grandmother as if seeing her for the first time. Her face is scrunched in confusion and pain. She is a tiny thing, more Olivia Rodrigo than Taylor Swift, with a mass of luminous raven hair, dark eyes and huge lips. She is a raven.
“Is this true?” Ava asks.
Ravens are fierce fighters.
Trudy nods.
Ava turns and looks me in the eye, and—for one moment—I see...me. My heart cracks because I was once this young girl: fiery, funny, fabulous, trapped.
Trudy tries to grab Ava’s hand.
“Don’t touch me.” She jerks away.
“I’m sorry,” I say to Ava. “Truly, I am. My anger isn’t with you, child. You shouldn’t even be witnessing this. This is our past. It has nothing to do with you.”
Ava turns back to me, head still high.
“Oh, it does,” she says, finally looking me in the eye. “Just tell him why you’re here, Grandma. Please.”
“You remember that Mama and Daddy’s house was left to me according to the will.”
“Daddy’s wishes,” I sing like a child.
“Well, as executor, I also ended up with Mama’s credit card and medical debt. The real estate agent in Michigan thought once I sold the house, I’d probably break even.” Trudy attempts a conciliatory smile. “Turns out a family farm down the road ended up buying our acreage—and all those around us—for a bit more than we had imagined. My husband invested the remaining money into a stock account, and it grew over time, and...”
“And, what?” I ask, cutting her off. “You came to rub it in my face? Congratulations for kicking me out of my childhood home and then cashing in on my pain.”
“Just tell him, Grandma!”
Ava’s shout makes me stop and turn. Trudy stares at me, her plump cheeks quivering. She looks at the ground. A tear plops onto the terrazzo.
For some reason, the song “It Never Rains in Southern California” pops into my head. We could use a soundtrack right now. Something dramatic and cheesy to make Trudy’s emotions actually seem real.
“My husband... Ralph... died,” she whimpers. “Unexpectedly. Widow-maker.”
“Well, that makes sense,” I say. “Lucky man.”
“You are horrible,” Trudy says, her voice a hiss. “Still so vicious.”
“Now, that’s the girl I remember,” I say.
“We’re leaving,” Trudy says. “I knew this was a mistake.”
“Time out!”
I turn. Ron rushes inside, along with Barry and Sid.
Ron, ever the peacekeeper, even after his own emotional exit has been postponed by my sister, of all people, settles between me and Trudy. “Let’s all just take a deep breath.”
