#26

“I can’t help it that I’m more pretty than she is, and that don’t mean I have to make her feel better about herself by lookin’ worse myself on account of her mother dyin’.”


 

“Liza dear, now let’s carry those trays a bit slower now, hmm? Yes, that’s much better, thank you child, ahh–oop! Careful with that saucer there dear, yes, oh my what an improvement since yesterday, such an improvement. Your mother might just be proud of you by the end of your time here, darling, as long as you–oh no, not the knife, dear, use the teaspoon for that.”


 

“Mother,” she said slowly, “I don’t care what father would think. To be tied up in some romantic affair across continents and oceans, my hair tousled by ocean spray, complexion ruined by a poor diet or strange food–it all sounds exactly perfect.”


 

“Look out!” He cried. “You can’t be runnin’ around here wit no shoes on, gal. Dint spect to see anyone out heah anyhoo.”


 

“A simple ‘hello’ would have sufficed, but no, you had to go and make a point,” Marla was breathing heavily from her sprint across the street. “I just wanted to let you know that I really, really hate you.”

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