The Hurricane Sisters Read Free Page A

that make me eighty-one?”
    “No, you’re still eighty, Mother,” Liz said, rolling her eyes.
    I ignored her.
    “She’s right, Maisie,” Skipper said. “I just did the math.”
    “How do you like that? I just gained a year! This is the best birthday I’ve ever had! Well, so far.”
    “So you’re out there in California just having a gay time with James who wears Glass?” Liz said.
    “Oh, please,” Ashley said. “Here we go. Maybe we should be glad he doesn’t care we’re not Asian.”
    Although we had decades of confirmation, Liz had yet to reconcile with the facts, always hoping against hope that Ivy would meet a nice girl with Herculean powers of persuasion.
    Ivy turned to Liz. “Mother, you do know that five percent of the entire population is gay and almost thirty percent of the population around San Francisco is gay? Including Asians.”
    “Of the entire population of the United States? That’s crazy. I don’t buy that for one minute,” Clayton said.
    It was rare for Clayton to be so insistent.
    “Neither do I!” Liz said and fumbled for her purse.
    “What are you doing?” Ashley said.
    “I’m going to ask Siri!” Liz said.
    “Who’s Siri?” I said.
    “Siri is this teeny tiny woman from California who lives inside Mother’s phone,” Ivy said, laughing. “She’s like the great and terrible Oz.”
    “Another know-it-all,” I said. “Just what the world needs. Siri and Glass.”
    “Watch,” Ivy said. “They’re going to send me back to conversion camp.”
    “Horrible. Anyway, you’re too old for camp,” Ashley said in a somber voice.
    I remembered that painful summer when Liz and Clayton sent young, flamboyant Ivy singing all the songs from West Side Story off to some camp that promised to send him home quiet and straight, begging to become a steady and reliable CPA or something. Years of therapy followed. That camp had become a taboo subject and we did not speak of it. So occasionally Ivy saw fit to sort of stick it to Liz and Clayton and who could blame him? Stick away, baby!
    I watched while Liz and Clayton fooled around with their phones until some very weird female voice verified Ivy’s claim and then they sat back absolutely deflated as though another space-age gadget had just sucked every last ounce of air out of them.
    “Astonishing! Who knew?” Liz said dryly, shaking her head. “Maybe I’ll have a Stoli with a twist, Clayton. By the time you finish reading that wine list, it’ll be Christmas.”
    “Did you say, please, dear, order a drink for me ?” Clayton said, sighing, and he slipped his phone back into the pocket of his jacket. He looked at Ivy. “I’m impressed. You could go to work for the Bureau of Vital Statistics.”
    “Truly,” Ivy said.
    “Please, Clayton, please order a Stoli with a twist for me?” Liz said.
    Clayton raised his eyes and scanned the room looking for our waiter, gaining his attention with a nod. The vodka was ordered without one iota of concern for replenishing the drinks of the rest of the table. I have never ordered a third martini in my whole life, but someone could’ve asked. It was, after all, my eightieth birthday. And I wasn’t driving.
    James returned to the table, Clayton finally chose the wine, Liz drank her first cocktail, then another, and finally we all ordered dinner. The mood had shifted. Liz kept biting her lower lip and staring at James, then quickly averting her eyes, causing him to squirm. She knew it was the height of all bad manners to make your guests feel uncomfortable. She made me want to reach out and give the inside of her arm a good pinch. Then Ivy noticed James squirming like a little worm, figured out why, and became irritable. Clayton was chatting like a magpie with Ivy about Ashley’s continued financial dependency, which irritated Ivy.
    “She’s still out on the island living in our beach house with her friend for the mere price of the utilities,” Clayton said for everyone at our table to