“Is she off?” my mother asked.
Linda Miller’s voice had always carried a particular note when she spoke about me, even when I was a child and did not have words for cruelty yet. It was impatience dressed as concern. The sound of someone handling a burden she thought she should never have been given.
“Yeah,” Brett said, no trace of strain left in him now. “God, she’s so needy. It’s exhausting.”
“Well, you handled it perfectly, sweetie,” my mother said. “Now put that phone away. Tiffany’s waiting by the gate with the mai tais. Hawaii, here we come.”
Brett laughed.
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