26
JULIA
Betsy was back.
Charlie’s mother had arrived with almost no notice Monday evening (she claimed to have emailed Charlie her itinerary, and Julia, I thought I had you on copy, but you know, you never respond…). Rolling with her through the front door two oversize trolleys and a Louis Vuitton tote in which she stored her iPad and reading glasses. Julia had given Betsy the largest guest bedroom, more importantly the most isolated guest bedroom, and, citing her work schedule, had mostly avoided contact. But now the weekend had come, and Charlie wanted a ‘family brunch,’ one Julia knew she was expected to endure with good cheer.
‘I think the temperature of your home makes it difficult for me to sleep,’ said Betsy as Julia stood in the kitchen fussing with the French press. On the we
