Queen of Babble in the Big City Read Free Page A

calls to Rose, sarcastically. “Don’t offer to help, or anything. I’ll be fine!”
    Rose looks heavenward, then reaches for the margarita pitcher.
    “Perfect soul mate,” Sarah says, chuckling to herself.
    Rose glares at her. “Shut up.” Then she plops the pitcher down. “Empty.” There’s growing panic in her voice. “We’re out of margaritas.”
    “Oh, dear,” Mom says, looking concerned. “Your father just mixed that batch—”
    “I’ll go in and make more,” I say, hopping up. Anything to avoid having to hear more about how much of a failure I’m destined to be in New York.
    “Make it stronger than Dad did,” Rose advises, as a papier-mâché leg belonging to the piñata pony goes sailing past her head. “Please.”
    I nod and, seizing the pitcher, head toward the back door. I make it about halfway before I run into Grandma, who is just coming out of the house.
    “Hey, Gran,” I say. “How was Dr. Quinn ?”
    “I don’t know.” I can tell Gran’s drunk, even though it’s only one in the afternoon, because her housecoat is on backward again. “I fell asleep. Sully wasn’t even in it. I don’t know why they bother making episodes that don’t have him in it. What’s the point? No one wants to watch that Dr. Quinn run around in her gauchos. It’s all about Sully. I heard them trying to talk you out of moving to New York.”
    I glance over my shoulder at my mother and sisters. They’re all three of them running their fingers along the edge of the leftover cake, then sucking the frosting off the tips.
    “Oh,” I say. “Yeah. Well, you know. They’re just worried I’m going to end up like Kathy Pennebaker.”
    Grandma looks surprised. “You mean a man-stealing whore?”
    “Gran. She’s not a whore. She just—” I shake my head, smiling. “How do you even know about that, anyway?”
    “I keep my ear to the ground,” Grandma says mysteriously. “People think because I’m an old drunk, I don’t know what’s happening. But I keep it real. Here. This is for you.”
    She shoves something into my hand. I look down.
    “Grandma,” I say, not smiling anymore. “Where did you get this?”
    “Never you mind,” Gran says. “I want you to have it. You’re going to need it, moving to the city. What if you need to get out, and you need cash, fast? You never know.”
    “But, Grandma,” I protest. “I can’t—”
    “For fuck’s sake,” Grandma yells at me. “Just take it!”
    “Fine, I will,” I say, and shove the neatly folded ten-dollar bill into the pocket of my black-and-white vintage Suzy Perette sleeveless day dress. “There. Are you happy now?”
    “Yes,” Grandma says, and pats me on the cheek. Her breath is pleasantly beery. It reminds me of all those times in grade school she helped me with my homework. Most of the answers were wrong, but I always got bonus points for imagination. “Good-bye, you rotten stinker.”
    “Grandma,” I say, “I’m not leaving for three more days.”
    “Don’t sleep with any sailors,” Grandma says, ignoring me. “You’ll get the clap.”
    “You know,” I say with a smile. “I think I’m going to miss you most of all, Scarecrow.”
    “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Grandma huffs. “Scarecrow who?”
    But before I can explain, Maggie, wearing the decapitated piñata pony’s carcass on her head, marches silently past us, followed by her suddenly mute party guests, each wearing a piece of piñata—a hoofed foot here, a segment of the tail there—on their heads, and stepping in perfect formation.
    “Wow,” Gran says, when the last member of the macabre piñata-part parade has passed by. “I need a drink.”
    A sentiment I readily second.

Lizzie Nichols’s Wedding Gown Guide
    Which type of wedding gown best suits you?

    If you are lucky enough to be tall and slender, you can pretty much get away with any type or shape of gown. That is why models are tall and slender—anything looks good on