California Girls

The brother she’d assumed was dependable and normal and honorable had turned out to be a total douchebag while the brother who was a little dangerous and put her on edge had turned out to be the world’s nicest guy.

At the Dodger game, Daniel had been nothing but charming. He’d distracted her with funny stories from the world of motocross. He’d stuffed her with hot dogs, peanuts and beer and had reminded her to put on sunscreen. Before they’d left, he’d insisted on buying her an official Dodger T-shirt and baseball cap. She’d gone from wary to grateful. At this point, she didn’t much care if she was his good deed project for the year. Daniel was a good man and he was determined to help her. Only a fool would say no to that.

Now if only she could figure out a way to ask him to tell her mother for her, things would really be looking up, but alas, no. That wouldn’t be right. He’d been incredibly kind to her—she wouldn’t repay that by making him face her mother. And if she was willing to be that awful, she would gain nothing. Her mother would still want to hear all the gory details from her regardless.

Ali finished her shift and like the dutiful daughter she mostly aspired to be, made her way from Van Nuys to Burbank, avoiding the insanely crowded freeway. She took Victory east, then cut across on North Buena Vista, heading to her mother’s side of Burbank. Traffic was brutal, but she was in no hurry and didn’t mind missing a few lights. Eventually, however, she arrived on the narrow residential street where she’d grown up. She parked in front of the house and braced herself for what was to come. In theory her mother should be totally on her side, but in this family, unless you were Finola, that was never a sure thing.

The house itself was typical for the neighborhood. A one-and-a-half-story ranch with a porch in front and a detached garage. Upstairs was a bonus room Ali’s mother had used for crafts and storage. On the main floor there were four bedrooms, two bathrooms and a family room that had been added on when Ali had been five or six. The sisters hadn’t shared a bedroom, but the three of them had shared a bathroom, which had turned out to be surprisingly easy. By the time Ali wanted to spend time on her hair and experiment with makeup, Finola had long since left for college and Zennie had never been one to primp.

Ali’s mother had gotten the house in the divorce. Mary Jo always complained it was too big for her, but she’d been loath to move until a couple of months ago when she’d announced she was buying a friend’s cottage near the ocean in Redondo Beach. Selling the family home first meant getting rid of thirty-plus years of memories and crap, something she expected her daughters to help with. Ali figured odds were at least even that the first, or possibly second thing her mother said when she found out about her broken engagement was that Ali would now have more time to help with the purge.

She pulled into the driveway next to her mother’s silver Civic then braced herself for what was to come. In theory, her mother should be someone she could turn to in a time of need for comfort and advice. What was the old saying? Her mother should be a soft place to fall. But whoever had come up with that one had never had Mary Jo for a mother.

Ali got out. She’d texted her mother earlier, saying she wanted to stop by without saying why. Now, as she walked to the front door, she braced herself for whatever was to come.

She knocked once and opened the door. “Hey, Mom, it’s me.”

“I’m in the kitchen.”

Ali made her way through the living room to the large eat-in kitchen where her mother sat at the table working on what she would guess was a script. In the past couple of years, Mary Jo had joined a local theater group. She mostly wrote plays and directed, which was kind of weird considering she’d been in retail her whole life, but if it made her happy, then sure.

Her mother looked up as she walked into the kitchen. She slid off her glasses and set them on the table. Mary Jo had always been a beauty. It wasn’t anything Ali could relate to—she looked more like her father, which was okay, but also kind of a drag, truth be told. Growing up with a beautiful mother and stunning older sister hadn’t been easy. Even Zennie was striking, while Ali was left being nothing other than almost average.

“What?” her mother demanded. “Something happened. I knew it the second I read your text.”

“Maybe I just wanted to see you.”

Her mother only stared at her. “Just tell me. Did you get fired?”

Ali told herself not to be surprised. Of course her mother would think the worst and assume it was all Ali’s fault. Although considering her news, maybe her mother wasn’t totally wrong.

She took a seat at the old round wooden table and set her bag on the floor. “I didn’t get fired. Things are great at work. It’s Glen. We, ah... He broke off the engagement.”

“What? Are you kidding? You’re getting married in six-plus weeks. The invitations have gone out. What happened? Why did he change his mind?”

“I have no idea. He won’t talk to me. He sent his brother to tell me, and we haven’t had a conversation since I got the news. All communication has been via text and it’s been more about logistics than anything else.”

Ali was pleased she got through her little speech without even tearing up. To be honest, she was much more concerned about her mother’s reaction than her own pain.

“You must have done something,” her mother muttered. “What did you say to him that made him so mad?”

Ali felt something odd inside and realized it was righteous indignation. She was so thrilled to feel something other than hurt or shame that she decided to indulge.

“Why do you always do that?” she asked, her voice firm. “Why do you have to assume I did anything wrong? Maybe Glen’s a dick. He didn’t even bother telling me himself. He sent someone else to do his dirty work. For what it’s worth, he’s refusing to help cancel the wedding. I’m on my own with that. So for once, could you possibly consider that maybe I didn’t screw up?”