back inside. Lauren opened it. “David’s mother wants me to call her again.” She laid the note on the table next to her chair and wiped her hand on her pants. “I should call her, I guess.” “Why should you?” Beth crossed her arms over her chest. Lauren looked surprised at the question. “I don’t know. I mean, she called me, and it seems rude not to call her back.” “You’re so nice,” Beth said. “She’s not calling to help you. She’s calling to talk you into something you’re not sure you want to do. She’s a bitch. Who cares if you’re rude to her?” “Who cares if I’m rude to her?” Lauren repeated. “But…” They all waited. “I mean, she wants to talk to me because she thinks she’s doing what’s best for me.” Anna snorted. “She’s doing what’s best for her. And for her son.” She set the soda can down and pulled the blanket back up to her chin. Beth lit another cigarette. “I’m sorry her life’s not so great, but that should make her want to help you, not try to drag you down.”
“Yeah, I don’t think she really cares what’s best for you,” Anna said. “Besides, who gives a shit what she thinks is best? She doesn’t get to decide what’s best for you,” Beth said. Lauren stared at the paper lying on the table. Monica lit another cigarette. “You get to decide what’s best for you,” Anna said. They all smoked silently for a few minutes. Lauren’s face showed no emotion, and Monica wondered if anything they said made a di?erence. The old clock in the corner of the porch cuckooed ?ve times. Lauren pushed herself out of the chair. “It’s my night to cook dinner. I’m going to make tacos.” She turned to leave the porch, then stopped. “Oh, yeah.” She picked up the paper, ripped it in half, and tossed it in the garbage on her way out the door. All three women smiled. The porch glowed in the late afternoon sun, and Monica’s internal high-?ve soared.
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