“Go away,” I said, and moved to close the door.
She blocked it with her hand. “Lissy.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said sarcastically. “I thought we were done here.”
“Well, we’re not.”
I sighed as heavily as I could. “Do you actually have my mail, or was that just something you made up so you’d have an excuse to come over here?”
She glared at me. “So now you’re accusing me of lying?”
“I’m not accusing. I’m asking.”
“I don’t think you were asking. I think you were accusing.”
I chewed on my lips. I wished I could muster up some more bravado. I can’t really deal with her in person. It’s so much easier to tell her off when there’s no danger of her hitting me. Or ripping out my nose ring.
“Aren’t you going to let me in?” Joy said, after a brief staring contest.
“Dad doesn’t want you here,” I said. It didn't feel like a lie.
She opened her mouth, closed it, and narrowed her eyes at me. Then she sucked her lips in and opened her purse.
“Here,” she said, handing me a few white envelopes and a magazine.
“Thanks.” I took them. A cursory glance revealed that two envelopes had, indeed, been opened. “So you did open my mail.”
“I never said I didn’t.”
“It’s a federal offense to open other people’s mail, you know.”
“I thought they were mine.”
I just kind of looked at her. Really? Her name is Joy, for crying out loud . . . it doesn’t look anything like Lissy or Alice. “What in the hell would make you think that?”
She didn’t reply, she just closed her purse and smoothed her shirt. “I saw Pastor Hal at the grocery store the other day.”
“That’s nice.” I tossed my mail on the table in the foyer and sagged against the door.
“He said you haven’t been in church in a long time.”
“Uh-huh.” It was true. I hadn’t been in church in a long time. It was common knowledge by now. Who cared?
“Why aren’t you going?”
“I’m busy.” I was busy. But I also had better things to do . . . like, sleep. Or watch TV. Or paint. Anything but having to listen to an hour’s worth of a variation on How To Avoid Sinning and Serve Jesus In Today’s Culture. I’d heard so many of those, I figured I could teach a few of them.
“That never stopped you before.”
I stared at her, bemused. “Did you ever think that that’s because you made me go?”
She furrowed her brow. “I made you go? Since when?”
“Since always!”
“That’s a lie.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” The silent, uncensored version: You have got to be fucking kidding me, you fucking bitch.
“No, you’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Delightful. How juvenile.”
“I don’t have to put up with that from you.”
“Look,” I said, sighing and rolling my eyes, “are you leaving, or what? There are all kinds of mosquitoes coming in here.” I don’t know why I said that. It was January; there were no mosquitoes. If anything, all of the heat in the house was escaping outside. And I was only wearing a thin hoodie and jeans; I should have been cold. But I wasn’t. Maybe I was too mad to be cold. No, wait . . . now that I thought about it, I was cold.
Joy glared at me. “Well, you’re welcome, I guess.”
“Yep.” I closed the door and shut off the porch light for good measure.
I instantly felt a strange, thick guilt . . . like, I hadn’t done anything wrong per se, but I still felt guilty.
“Fuck,” I said. I ran my finger over my nose ring and wondered if I did resemble certain animals well-endowed in the nostril area. Fucking mother, making me even more insecure. I mentally added another $400 to my future therapist’s bill.
I heard Joy’s car start and drive away.
I idly flipped through my mail. A couple of credit card offers, an invitation to an art show that had already happened, an issue of Cat Fancy. Cat Fancy? What the hell? I didn’t even have a cat.
I threw all of the mail away.
Labels: january brings few faces
