Better Than Perfect Read Free Page B

she could use as an excuse the fact that Sofia’s mother worked at night, but she’d “preferred” our sleeping at my house even when Sofia’s mother was home.
    I was a little nervous about leaving my mom alone, but staying at Sofia’s for dinner wasn’t exactly the same as going to France for two weeks with Jason’s family. I dialed, but it went right to voice mail, and there was no answer on the home number.
    When I’d left the house in the morning, my mom had been about to go play tennis with her friend Laura. She’d been wearing her whites and she’d seemed to be fine. But between then and now, had a Good Day become a Bad Day?
    Suddenly I was mad. Why shouldn’t I have a fun dinner with Sofia and her mom? Why should I have to worry about the quality of my mom’s day?
    I texted her. having dinner @ sofia’s. home later. I hesitated, then added call if u need me before hitting send.
    â€œOh my God, Beth, this is amazing.” In front of me was a plate with chicken and apricots, tomato salad, and corn on the cob. As I bit into the corn, I realized it was the first home-cooked meal I’d had all summer—even on Good Days my mom picked up dinner at La Scala or the Garden of Eating. The irony of my mom’s judging Sofia’s mother’s mothering was fully revealed to me.
    â€œIt is good,” agreed Beth, taking a bite herself. She was wearing her nurse’s uniform: white pants and a bright pink short-sleeved top with blue teddy bears on it. Her gray hair was cut short, almost like a swim cap. Unlike my mom, Beth had never colored her hair, and she didn’t seem to worry about how she looked or what she weighed or wore. She always commented on how nice my mom looked, and once Sofia had told me that her mom had said that my parents were glamorous . But it never seemed like Sofia’s mom was jealous of how pretty mymom was or how happy my parents were. Which was probably smart given what my mom looked like lately and the way my parents’ marriage had turned out.
    Beth grinned, pleased with her cooking, and took a bite. “Sofia, the tomato salad is perfect.”
    â€œThanks, Mom.” Sofia made her face the picture of exaggerated puzzlement. “I wonder who taught me to make it.”
    â€œHmmm,” said Beth. Her smile widened, and she patted Sofia lightly on the cheek. “I wonder.”
    Sofia always used to say she was jealous of my family, but even before my parents separated, I was sometimes jealous of her. There was something so casual and easy about how she and her mom were together. My mom and I used to go out for dinner just the two of us sometimes, but it was always a Dinner. My mom would read about some new restaurant in Manhattan or near our house and she’d make a reservation and we’d get all dressed up, and once we were there, she’d order some seasonal cocktail and then she’d look around and say something like, “Here we are!” and it was like what she was really excited about was the idea of our being there. If Sofia’s mom took us for dinner, it was usually to the Chinese restaurant in downtown Milltown, but somehow it was always more fun.
    As if she could read my mind, Beth asked, “How’s your mom doing?”
    I didn’t want to lie, but I knew my mom would beembarrassed if Beth knew about her Bad Days. “She’s been playing a lot of tennis, but her back was bothering her the other day, so she might have to slow down a little.”
    Beth didn’t point out that she hadn’t asked about my mother’s tennis game. “Maybe we could have her over.”
    â€œThanks,” I said. “I know she’d appreciate that.” I didn’t know if she’d appreciate it, actually. My mom liked to host—she and my father were always throwing dinner parties, and when she went out with friends, she liked to pick up the check. I wondered how