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“I’ll think about Chicago. I do love the ballet there.”

I nod and my phone dings.

HAYDEN: How’s your ma?

BETTE: Coping. How’s your ma?

HAYDEN: Busy cooking everything in Boston. I’m headed to yoga and then a bike ride just to work off Italian mother breakfast.

BETTE: I miss you.

HAYDEN: You have no idea how much I miss you. I’ve gotten so used to you being around again. It’s torture to be apart now. Let’s never do it again. All visits to our mothers can be done together. Got it?

BETTE: Deal.

HAYDEN: Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go find some lube for my poor overworked cock. He needs you, but until you can make time for him, I’m just going to have to jerk off for the billionth time today.

BETTE: It hasn’t been that long.

HAYDEN: Billionth and one.

BETTE: You just came?

HAYDEN: The very thought of you…

BETTE: I’ll call you later and maybe we can work through some of your cock’s issues together.

HAYDEN: Thank you. He’d like that.

HAYDEN

I’m drumming on the table on the back deck of Ma’s Boston house with my pencil. I do it when I think. My mom steadies my arm. The brief is done, but I’m itchy about it. I know one of us will be the new VP Creative Director, but I’m not so sure what that job is anymore or how it matters.

My ma asks while wiping her hands on her apron, “Tesoro, my darling, what troubles you so? Come to the kitchen.” You’d think this kitchen would trigger us, but we’ve both worked hard to make it a place of warmth and growth. We did throw out all the furniture, though. And she painted the room a cheery yellow, like she always wanted to.

My mom speaks as if she’s a grandmother. Soft and genteel. Even though she’d cut a bitch to protect her own. She’s endured more than all of us, but her heart remains open. I want to give her everything. And my brothers have tried, but she wants her simple life in Philadelphia and here, where she still cooks arancini for the block parties. There are only a few extravagances she allows. Really good chocolate, high-end baking dishes, and travel to see her boys play their sport. She also accepted a suitable car. We tried to get her a dreamy car, but she wanted a reliable Honda Accord so she could drive between Philly and Boston without worrying. As if a Mercedes wasn’t reliable.

I know she loves having one of us around and that’s all I’ve been able to offer that the other two can’t. They have more money than they know what to do with, but I can give her time. During season, Claire travels with Robbie, so I go to Philly and make pasta with her or take her to a quilting thing. Claire works part-time for the team in their events department and does charity work the rest of the time.

Ma’s formerly dark hair is now streaked with silver and pulled into a very familiar bun. Her dark grey eyes are the ones that tempered my father’s blue in all of her children.

I scratch my nose with my pencil. “Nothing. Everything. She’s everything and nothing right now.”

“What does that mean?” She smacks the back of my head.

“MA!” She may talk genteel, but she’s anything but with us sometimes.

She straightens the tablecloth, then folds the tea towel she just used to wipe the clean pots dry. “This girl needs to be cherished. She’s fate’s present. How—after all these years, your wish comes true—can you doubt it?”

I cross my legs. I’m uncomfortable talking about how I feel right now because I’m not sure. Away from her, I’m crawling out of my skin, but then again, I’m remembering the man I built in her absence.

“It’s the stupid job, Ma. The one that could define our careers. And one of us will get nothing.”

“Except each other.” She dusts my cheek.

I grin at her. The logistical problems have been gnawing at me for days. She’s my person and I don’t want to screw it up by competing for a job that means nothing compared to what we could have. But then again, it’s who I’ve been for the last six years. And who she’s been for almost five years. I don’t want to give up something like this for her and vice versa. I’m afraid there will be resentment on one side.

My mother’s up and stirring and mincing. She’s still listening. I sip her sweet wine, which is repulsive, but she loves a good Lambrusco.