Excerpt from Sibling Revelry

Casey had been home for two weeks and I had hardly seen her. We had agreed, foolishly on my part, it turns out, that she wouldn’t make any huge life decisions until after the birthday trip to Europe. So Casey dealt with her broken heart by sleeping late...emerging from her room long after I had left the house. She took long solitary runs and stayed up all night watching endless movies on the DVD player. Sad movies. Tear-jerking movies. She holed up in her room with her iPod clamped to her head and had long conversations on her cell phone. With the weasel? I just didn’t know.

Any fears I may have had that we would get on each other’s nerves living under one roof were put to rest. You can’t get aggravated with someone you hardly see. Or maybe you can at that. It was like living with a pod person. I was willing to allow her to wallow in her misery for awhile but eventually even I, long-suffering and loving mom that I am, lost my patience. I wanted to shout at her, “For heaven’s sake. Get over it. He is a weasel and you can do so much better than that.” Of course, I didn’t. No, I tiptoed around her using up my now limited supply of understanding. I even, and I hate to admit it, went so far as to snoop in her iPod when she happened to leave it on the kitchen counter. I know, I know, but it isn’t like I read her journal or listened in on her phone conversations. Although I might have been tempted. The iPod didn’t reveal much but her playlists were titled “Sad Stuff” and “Our Songs”. I felt certain that her repertoire didn’t include show tunes....unless, of course, the show was “Les Miserables.”

I tried to get her to talk to me but she rebuffed my efforts saying, “I’m fine, Mom. I don’t want to talk about it.” Period.

I was beginning to harbor serious doubts about the wisdom of having Miss Wet Blanket along on our much anticipated birthday bash when the phone rang at just past seven o’clock one morning. It was dark and rainy outside and I was buried under the electric blanket dreaming about George Clooney and wasn’t anxious to wake up. I let it ring thinking I’d let the machine pick up, but I squinted at the caller ID and saw that it was my sister. Since Chrissie is more aware than anyone else that I hate to talk on the phone until I am sipping at least my second cup of coffee and that doesn’t happen until eight at the earliest I knew something important must be up for her to be calling. I yanked the portable phone from its handset and holding it to my ear pulled the covers over my head.

“What!” I said.

“Kate,” my sister said. “You’re still asleep.”

“Genius,” I said. “Not anymore.”

“Wake up. We need to talk.”

I groaned and sat up arranging the pillows behind my back. “Okay. Talk.”

“You don’t have to be so grouchy.”

“I’m not grouchy. I’m asleep. And it’s only 7 o’clock in the morning. This had better be important. I haven’t even had my coffee.”

“Go get it then,” she ordered. “You’re going to need it.”

“Uh-oh!”

“You got that right. I’ll wait for you to get your caffeine, but don’t take all morning.”

I shuffled out of bed and into my robe and limped downstairs into the dark kitchen still cradling the phone. When I saw that the coffee was already made I beamed a silent thank you to my husband, Scott, and poured myself a cup. I staggered out to the sunporch and curled up on the couch not bothering to turn on the lights. Maybe I could just grab a few more minutes of sleep, I thought to myself. Nope, not going to happen.

“Okay, shoot. What on earth has you so upset at this ungodly hour?”

Chrissie sighed. “I got a call from Tessa last night.” Tessa is her 21 year old daughter, an honor student in her first year of law school at the University of Michigan.

“What’s up with Tessa? Still loving school?”

Another sigh. “Well, that’s the thing. You aren’t going to believe it.”

I pictured Tessa. Always so calm and in control of her life. Completely on track. She skated through high school with high grades, starred on the tennis team, played in the band. A high achiever and every parent’s dream. What could Tessa have done to get Chrissie so stressed? The only thing that came to mind was that she was pregnant, but she doesn’t even have a steady boyfriend. Not that one is necessary to get pregnant but still....

“Okay,” I said. “You’re freaking me out. What is going on with Tessa?”

“She quit school.”

I let out a huge sigh of relief. Quit school? That was the big tragedy?

“That’s no big deal...,” I began.

Chrissie interrupted, “And that’s not all. It’s more than just quitting school.” I waited and heard an implied drum roll in my sister’s voice. “She said that she is tired of law school and that it’s boring and that she is going to become...” Chrissie’s voice rose to a wail as she finished, “...an exotic dancer.”

I gave a snort of laughter and then covered my mouth with my hand to stifle it.

“It’s not funny,” Chrissie said.

“Oh, but it is.”

“I’m so glad you are finding humor in this,” Chrissie said primly.

“Oh, lighten up. At least with her track record you know that Tessa will be a big success in her new chosen career.”

“And,” she continued, “Max (that’s her husband and a bit of a stuffed shirt in a sweet kind of way) is having an absolute hissy fit.”

“He says he won’t pay her rent if she’s not in school. Especially if she is dancing at some sleazy nightclub. And Tessa says she will be just fine without our help.”

“Ah, the little birdie is flying away from the nest.”

“You got that right.”

We talked a bit longer. Chrissie listened to me whine about Casey and her black mood so the least I could do was return the favor. Finally when she tired of discussing Tessa’s rebellion I offered to call Tessa to see if I could “talk some sense” into her. Chrissie accepted gratefully and we hung up. Oh, boy, I thought. What next?