Carla and Monica met at a cafe closest to the freeway. Monica knew Carla chose it for easy egress from the conversation, the family, from their feud they would neither discuss nor even acknowledge.
The only strange thing was that Carla initiated the meeting.
Monica got there early, Carla perfectly on time.
Even if Carla wanted to discuss the feud, its hazy origins, making up, Monica had zero patience for it.
So when she saw Carla’s trademark scowl, she was glad there would be no niceties.
“What do you want?” Monica said, as pleasantly as one can say “What do you want?”
“I’m going to Maine to see Mom. She’s feeling her own mortality and she wanted an update on the kids. She got your email but felt the information is a little…sparse.”
“Why,” Monica asked, “does she think I’d tell you the truth?”
Carla flagged down a server and ordered some triple chocolate coffee drink.
She sat, looking in the general vicinity of her sister but not in her eyes.
“I lied and told mom we made up. She was thrilled. I promised her I’d get the real lowdown on your litter. So give it to me. Tell me about the kids while I suck down caffeine, then I’ll leave.”
Monica whistled. She thought it might become a tune, a sardonic ditty from a forgotten comedy movie, but she lost it. Cleared her throat.
What difference does it make, Monica thought.
“Brad failed out of law school, or just decided to leave, depending on who you talk to.”
“That’s a bummer,” Carla said, emotionless.
“Nicole is really bummed about it, because she wanted him to represent her in a lawsuit.”
Carla’s eyes fluttered, surprise, maybe some real caring.
“Someone is suing Nicole?”
“No. She wants to sue a gallery owner.”
Monica inhaled, looked around.
“Nicole sold him a painting for sixteen thousand dollars. It was Jesus, with Nicole’s real blood coming from the hands. In a gap in Jesus’s loincloth, Jesus had a vagina. The gallery owner covered the vagina with a photo of his own penis and resold the art for 400 hundred thousand.”
“What a… never mind,” Carla said.”Wow.”
“Well, if she sold one painting she can-”
“She’s not making art anymore, she’s helping me take care of Nathan.”
Carla sat up straight. A flicker of real concern.
“What’s the matter with Nathan?”
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Jimmy Doom's Roulette Weal to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.