12
Emma
I’m walking down the sidewalk in my neighborhood, my phone pressed between my ear and my shoulder. It’s the early evening, and I have stuff going on. Unfortunately, my parents don’t really respect my time, so I’m listening to my mother complain.
“You just wouldn’t believe it,” Mom says. “I mean, there we are, at the opera of all places, and Karen Vannick had the nerve to show up. Really, I thought when she and Steve divorced, that that would be the last of her. But she was there, dressed like a complete tramp. She had the gall to look at me in my Versace dress and make a snide comment about it! I mean, really!”
“Mmhm,” I murmur. That’s all that is required for my part in these conversations. I just have to agree occasionally, and my mother keeps up her never-ending stream of co
