“You didn’t meanwhat?” Nicole demanded. “You didn’t mean to take our sister away from us?”
At that, Jo had grabbed the manila folder and opened it. “Fine! I guess I’ll just sign this since you’ve already decided I’m the worst mother in the world!”
“Number one with a bullet,” Sam said. “Need a fucking pen?”
“You girls,” Jo moaned. “You’re even more awful than I ever?—”
“I called you,” Nix said, and her voice was so cold goosebumps whispered down Tabby’s arms. “Ten years ago, we spoke on the phone, remember?”
Tabby had felt like she’d been electrocuted. She looked at Sam to see if she knew, but her oldest sister looked just as shocked. “What the hell, Nix?”
“I didn’t want to tell you, Sam,” Nicole said, her gaze locked on Jo. “I didn’t want you to get your hopes up, but I was Googling Mum, and I found her name listed at an artist’s residence on the Sunshine Coast. I got the number and asked to speak to Mrs DaSilva. You were still using that name back then,” she said to Jo. “I suppose you changed it after my call, didn’t you?”
Jo directed her gaze at the window. “I was in a bad place.”
“No, I was in a bad place,” Nix said. “Samwas in a bad place.Tabbywas in a bad place. And I called you, and I wasn’t mean or rude. I just said, ‘Hey, Mum, it’s Nicole; sorry, but I need to talk to you.’ And do you rememberwhat you did?”
“Nicole—”
“You hung up on me,” Nicole hissed. “Youhung up on me, and you moved out that afternoon. And I kept calling and calling and speaking to all the other artists, and all of them said you never mentioned having kids. Actually, worse than that. You said you’dnever had kids.”
Jo recoiled like she’d been slapped, and Nicole pulled her Givenchy bag onto her lap, and yanked out a pen. She tossed it into the manila folder. “Sign.”
And then Jo did. Tabby cried, Nix watched, and Sam glowered as their mother waived her right to ever communicate with them again, and all around, patrons with normal, everyday lives and families sipped lattes and ordered scrambled eggs and laughed together.
“There,” Jo said, tossing down the pen. “You’ve got what you wanted, haven’t you?”
“Not by a long shot.” Nicole shoved the folder back into her bag. “Go.”
But Jo’s gaze had found Tabby’s again. “Babby, I didn’t?—”
“Shut up, you old bag,” Sam said in a tired voice. “Just stop. All these theatrics are doing my head in.”
“It’s not theatrics!”
“What’s my partner’s name?” Sam asked. “Where did Nicole go to uni? Where was Tabby living when she was twenty? How old was I when I got my period?”
Jo flinched.
“You don’t know because you weren’t there, because you fucking suck,” Sam said in the same bored voice. “Now get out of here and leave us alone. The worst thing Dad ever did was marry you?—”
“And whereisyour father?” Jo snapped. “He’s gone, too. Tabby told me. You haven’t seen him in years, and yet I’m the one who has to sit here and listen to this bullshit?”
Tabby had recoiled, feeling beyond guilty at her stupid admission.
“Sorry,” she mumbled. “I shouldn’t have?—”
“It doesn’t matter.” Nicole wrapped an arm around her shoulder just as Sam’s came around her back.
“As far as Dad is concerned,” Nicole shot at Jo. “He was a better parent on his worst day than you were at your best.”
“Then where is he?” Jo sneered, and Tabby was struck by how mean the smiling, funny woman she’d once tattooed had become as this conversation progressed.
“Dunno, maybe he knew you were gonna show up,” Sam said. “But he was here when we needed a dad, and, on that note, shouldn’t you be fucking off?”
“Fine,” Jo said, still looking right at Tabby. “But I know we’ll always be connected, Babby—you and me. I might not be allowed to talk to you, but you can come talk to me. If you need to find me?—”
“She can just holler into the nearest sewerage system,” Sam said, her arm still tight around Tabby’s back. “Off you fuck, Deborah.”
