“Hey, Annie,” she said, still relaxed. Still smiling.
“Hey, Tiffany.”
“This is my sister Beatrice.”
Bebe rolled her eyes and kind of half stood up, reaching out her hand. I stepped farther into the backyard to shake it. “Please, call me Bebe.”
“Nice to meet you, Bebe.”
“Come over and have a drink,” Bebe said. “I brought over like ten Buckets-o-Margarita—”
“Buckets-o-Margarita?” Tiffany asked.
“It says that on the label, Tiffany. I’m not making it up. Anyway, I took them from work. So it’s free and there’s lots of it.”
“I…I don’t want to impose…” I stammered, when I really did. I really wanted to impose.
“You’re not,” Tiffany said. “Honestly, we’ve got to drink all this green booze before my kids come home and think they’re slushies.”
“Well…” I smiled. “As long as I’m doing you a favor.”
“Oh,” Bebe said, nodding, her face all serious, “you are.”
“Let me just put my laundry in and I’ll come back.”
I practically threw my laundry into the machine with the soap and the coins and then walked back out to the picnic table. Tiffany was coming out of her trailer with one Spider-Man and two Barbie cups filled to the brim with icy green booze. She was licking the top of one like an ice-cream cone.
“You’re right,” she said. “It says Bucket-o-Margarita.”
“I told you,” Bebe said. “Who’d make that shit up?”
Tiffany handed out the cups and we all took a half-sip, half-bite from our drinks. It was shockingly sweet and really boozy and very cold.
Perfect.
“Where are your kids?” I asked.
“My dad’s away on business for the week, so my mom took them for two whole nights,” Tiffany said. She put her hands up in the air and did a little swaying dance move. “I’m gonna get drunk. And sleep in late. And then I’m going to mop the floors and go to the grocery store without anyone—”
“No,” Bebe cut in. “We’re going to get drunk, yes. Sleep in, yes. And then we’re going to flop out on that couch and watch bad TV all day.”
“I vote with Bebe,” I said and took another swig/bite of my drink. It was melting fast in the heat. “Bad TV, no mopping.”
Tiffany smiled affectionately at her sister. “Bebe does have all the good ideas.” She clapped her hands like she’d had a suddenly great idea. “Hey, I have chips.” She stood up, wobbled slightly, and then made a beeline for her trailer.
“Bring out a bucket!” Bebe yelled.
Without Tiffany, we both took another drink and the silence was thick. I’d never been good with small talk, especially with other women. “You don’t live here, do you?” I asked when the silence went on way too long. “I haven’t seen you around.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I live with my folks in Asheville.”
“Wow,” I said. Tiffany had a sister, a mom, and a dad who goes on business meetings, who all live in Asheville—an hour and a bit up the road—and she’s stuck out here in a trailer park with three kids and a fuckwit like Phil? Hardly seemed right. But then I was no great judge of family dynamics.
“When she got pregnant with Danny and married Phil, Dad disowned her,” Bebe said, like she knew what I was thinking. “Mom and I do what we can behind his back—”
“Like take the kids when he’s on business?”
She nodded. “I send her some money when I can. Stuff for the kids.”
“You know Phil hits her?”
Bebe jerked back, her face turned aside.
“I’m sorry,” I muttered, putting down the drink. “I should—”
“She says he stopped.”
I shook my head.
“Goddamnit,” she whispered.
Tiffany arrived in the doorway of the trailer, holding a bucket aloft. She looked years younger. Radiant, even. And drunk as a skunk. “This one is Bucket-o-Daiquiri.”
“Bring it on,” Bebe said, waving her forward.
“Forgot the chips,” Tiffany said and darted back in.