“You and your megamania. Relax. I’ve never seen a room of yours that I didn’t love. You may be the only decorator in town, but you’re also the best.”
My sister makes no sense, but I’m in no mood to explain and the cookies are giving me a sugar drop that makes me feel like I’m plummeting in an elevator shaft. I hold my head. Toot gets up and leans against the sink. She surveys her backyard as she folds her hands, looking eerily like the Saint Theresa statue on the window ledge. “What’s going to become of us?” she says. “I’m gonna wind up all alone like Aunt Teeney, who went to sleep sucking on a sourball and choked to death after it lodged in her throat like a pinball, creating a dry socket that paralyzed her larynx and killed her dead. Who’ll be there for me?”
I feel a rush of pity for my sister, but I resist it. Her Miriam Hopkins act isn’t going to wash with me. “Oh, please, you are not alone. Who comes when you call?”
She takes a moment to think about it. “You do.”
“Who papered your living room and hung your sconces?”
“You did.”
“Look at this kitchen! It’s a triumph of design! It could be in House and Garden! Brand-new everything from stove to cassoulet pot.” I get up and join her at the sink.
“I love what you did in here. I do.” She reaches up and runs her hands over the copper pots. They tinkle like chimes.
“Who helped you buy your new car and took you into the city for toe surgery—”
“That hurt worse than the pelvic bone,” she says quietly.
“I’ve always been here for you.” I put my arms around her. “And I always will be. So knock it off.”
“Every man I’ve ever known has let me down … except you. Three vaginal births, and you drove me to the hospital every single time.”
“That’s right. I did.”
“You even cut little Two’s cord. Lonnie was in Miami.” He was always in Miami. Toot pulls a handkerchief from under her bra strap; she unfolds it and blows her nose. “You know, I’ve never been to Miami.”
“You want to go Florida? I’ll take you.”
“No thanks. Too much humidity. My hair goes to Brillo in that heat. But you’re a prince to invite me.” Toot takes my hand. “I want to thank you for everything you’ve done for me. So I’m going to make you a birthday party.”
“No you’re not.”
“Yes I am. I’ve already planned the whole thing with cousin Christina. Poor thing. She’s so depressed. I was hoping a party would help her through her grief.”
I yank my hand away. “I can’t believe you’re guilting me like this.”
“What guilt?” Toot looks off in the middle distance innocently.
“No party!”
“I know you hate surprises—”
“Detest them!” I rap my fist on the counter to make the point.
“So I’m telling you all about it beforehand. The guests, of course, will think it’s a surprise, because I have to have something for them to do.”
“No!”
“I want to give back. Let me do this. Forty is a millstone.”
“Milestone,” I correct her.
“Whatever. All the cousins want to come.”
“I can’t stand those people.”
“All these years you gave them gifts. Let them buy you a present for a change.”
“I still have fifteen wallets from my thirtieth birthday party.”
“You should have returned them.”
“And gotten what?”
“A professional man like you can always use ties and handkerchiefs.”
“Have you seen how they dress? I’ll choose my own accessories, thank you. No party! Do you understand plain English? No!”
Toot checks her manicure and then looks at me. “Too late. I already cleaned out the garage.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ADRIANA TRIGIANI is an award-winning playwright,
television writer, and documentary filmmaker.
The author of the bestselling Big Stone Gap
trilogy and the novel Lucia, Lucia, and co-author
of Cooking with My Sisters, Trigiani has written
the screenplay for the movie Big Stone Gap,
which she will also direct. She lives in New York
City with her husband and daughter. She can
be reached at www.adrianatrigiani.com.
Adriana Trigiani, The Queen of the Big Time
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