Mary was trying to make a decision, which wasn’t her strong suit. This time the choice was BF or BFF-should she go see her boyfriend or her best friend forever? She hoped to decide on the walk home. The only downside to having a boyfriend was that you were supposed to spend time with them, even when they were cranky.
She had stopped off and done some shopping, but it hadn’t helped her make a decision, and now she owned three shirts she didn’t need, even at ten percent off. She always bought all the stuff she didn’t need on sale, so she could save money as she wasted it, which seemed time-efficient and very partnery.
She sighed, walking in the heat. It was dark, and weekend traffic clogged the street. A couple hurried past her, the guy holding a dry-cleaned tuxedo in a plastic bag. Another couple strolled by, laughing. It was Saturday night, and under federal law, Mary wasn’t allowed to spend it with a BFF if she had a BF. But she and her BF didn’t have any plans, and a sick BFF trumped a healthy BF, especially if the Phillies were playing, but they weren’t. The laws of dating could be so complicated, and it was lucky she had a J.D.
The shops were locking their doors as she passed, and the restaurants beginning to form lines out the door. She was coming to a decision. She didn’t think Anthony would mind if she spent the evening with Judy. Maybe he was as bugged as she was, though it wasn’t his partnership in question, his boss in trouble, or his parents headed for Cheaters. She took her phone out of her purse, pressed A, and waited for him to pick up.
“Hey, babe,” he said, breathless.
“How are you?”
“Working away. I left the library to take your call.”
“I’m sorry. Do you mind if I don’t see you tonight? Judy’s sick, and I should go over.”
“No problem, I’ll just work. Call me later?”
“I won’t be done with her until late.”
“Okay, I won’t wait for your call. Have fun. Are we gonna look at houses tomorrow?”
Uh-oh. “Not sure, yet. I have a lot of work.”
“Really? Sunday’s a big open-house day, and the weather’s supposed to be less humid. It would be fun.”
Mary felt a guilty twinge. “I know, but I have that brief to write for Bennie.”
“Okay, call me whenever, tonight or tomorrow. Let me know what you want to do.” Anthony was silent a minute. “Babe, you mad at me?”
Mary’s throat caught. “No. Are you?”
“Not at all. I love you.”
“Love you, too. Good night.” Mary pressed END, placated. She did love him, and he loved her. They were in love, and nothing was wrong. She pressed J, and Judy picked up, croaking a hello. Mary said, “I’m coming to check on you. What do you need beside Häagen-Dazs?”
“Fresh limes.”
“For what?”
“Margaritas, of course.”
“See you in half an hour, crazy.” Mary pressed END and picked up the pace, satisfied she had made the right decision. Sometimes BFFs were better for Saturday nights, especially when limes were involved.
Half an hour later, one look at Judy, in her gray hoodie and blue gym shorts, told Mary her BFF was sick. Her fair skin was pale, her blue eyes washed out, and a short yellow ponytail sprouted from her head like the Lorax.
“Feeling crummy, honey?” Mary asked.
“Yes.”
“Poor thing.” Mary closed the apartment door, then trailed Judy into her tiny galley kitchen, where she dropped her purse and briefcase on the café table and set the shopping bag on a butcherblock counter. “Did you sleep?”
“No, my head hurt too much.”
“Did you have some soup?”
“I hate soup. I like tequila.”
Mary stowed the ice cream in the freezer and unpacked five fresh limes, which rolled around on the counter. “You really think alcohol’s a good idea?”
“Yes. Tequila’s like Vitamin C, without the Vitamin or the C.”
“I can only have one drink. I gotta get up early and finish that brief for Bennie.” Mary sniffed the air, which reeked of the turpentine and oil paints that Judy kept in her studio/apartment, which really was a studio and an apartment. “You know, that smell would make anybody sick.”
“It’s not the smell, it’s the spell.”
Mary looked over. “Did you just make that up?”
“Yes.”
“Then we should get you to a doctor.”
“Please call Fiorella.”
Mary rolled her eyes. “You, a woman of genius, can’t actually believe that you have the evil eye. It’s folk medicine. It’s what peasants made up to explain their lives, like sacrificing goats.”
“What’s the harm in calling her? Humor me.”
“Fine.” Mary went to the table, retrieved her phone, and sat down with it, pressing H. The phone rang, and she hit a button. “I’m putting it on speaker. I wanna hear what she says.”
“Good.” Judy folded her arms.
“ ’Allo?” Mary’s mother said, picking up.
“Hi, Ma, how are you?”
“I’m a fine, Maria, how you?”
Mary cut the small talk. “Good, but I’m here with Judy, who thinks she has the evil eye, still.”
“Oh Deo!”
“Can you ask Fiorella to come to the phone?”
“Fiorella? She’s a no here. She go viz’ her ladyfrien’, on Snyd’ Avenue. They come back, soon.”
“They? Who’s they?”
“Your father, he take her.”
“And he’s not back yet?”
Mary and Judy exchanged looks.
“He drive her.”
Mary’s mouth fell open. Her father never drove anybody anywhere. Nobody in South Philly ever gave up a parking space unless they were going to their own funeral. “Why didn’t she take a cab? You can’t park on Snyder anyway.”
“What, Maria, why?”
“Ma, Fiorella came to visit you, but she’s visiting everyone else, with Pop. Did you eat dinner alone?”
“Is good, alla good.”
Judy edged closer to the phone. “Hey, Mrs. D, it’s Judy. How are you?”
“Good, Judy, you got ’em bad?”
“Mrs. D, can you cure me?” Judy looked hopeful. “No, no, only Donna Fiorella. She have a great power, greates’ power, more great than a me.”
“Ma, no, stop that, you’re as good as Fiorella.” Mary’s heart went out to her little mother, eating dinner alone and thinking her superpowers were substandard.
“Maria, she’s a better, strong, she’s a very strong.”
Judy asked, “Can we call Fiorella at her girlfriend’s?”
“No, non lo so.”
Mary was trying to remember the last time her mother had spent a Saturday night without her father. “I don’t like you being alone so much. This is wrong.”
“Shhh, basta, tomorr’, you come to church?”
“I can’t, I have to work. Sorry.”
“Okay, Maria. Good night, love you, Maria, Jud’, love you, God bless.”
“Love you, Ma. Bye.” Mary hung up, heartsick. “This is ridiculous. My father never leaves the house.”
“Correction, he never leaves the kitchen.” Judy started cutting limes with a sharp knife, releasing a pungent scent. “I’ll help you with your brief, after we have the perfect margarita.”
“You got a shot glass instead?” Mary asked, rising.