But our mother? Mom was gay? We had no idea.
“You’ll love her,” Mom said to our gaping faces. “Her name is Beatrice, and she’s amazing.” She saw our lack of enthusiasm and frowned. “It’s really not a big deal. You’ll want to be her friend the second you meet her.”
“Don’t tell them how to feel, Ann!” Dad barked. “They get to feel however they want.” He frowned and looked at us. “You can stay here,” he said in his gruff way. “This is your home.”
“But I’m your mother,” Mom said. “And wait till you see our house! It’s right on the water on Commercial Street. You’ll love it, and there are four bedrooms!” She so rarely tried to sell us on anything that it was weird, this . . . this pitch. “You won’t have to share a room anymore, or even a bathroom . . . or live with the smell of mold.” She cast a triumphant look at my father.
Provincetown? Provincetown was fun, but it wasn’t home. It was busy and the houses practically touched, and in the summer, it was so crowded with tourists it took ages to get to MacMillan’s Wharf, where the Goody Chapman docked.
“Think about it,” Dad said. “Your decision, girls. Your friends are here. Your school is here. If you want to live with me, it won’t be such a big change. That’s all I’m saying.”
“You can get a dog with Beatrice and me,” Mom said.
“They can get a dog here, too,” Dad growled. “They already have a dog.” HandsomeBoy, who was lying next to him, thumped his tail in affirmation.
“I mean a real dog who doesn’t smell like dead fish. One that you could hold. A Yorkie, maybe, the kind with the smooth fur, Hannah.” Ooh. She was fighting dirty.
“Don’t bribe them,” Dad growled. “It’s fuckin’ unfair.”
“Don’t curse in front of the girls, Pedro,” Mom said in her church voice. “It’s vulgar. Girls should be with their mother. What are you going to do when Lillie gets her period or Hannah thinks she’s pregnant? Hm?”
“I’m not getting pregnant!” Hannah blurted, turning beet red. “Mom!”
“You both should be raised by women,” she said smugly. “Wait till you see the house, honey,” she said to me. “It’s so bright and sunny. And there are so many other kids to play with. A new school, so you can make new friends. And Beatrice will be your friend, too. She’s like an aunt who loves to spoil you.”
“Ann, don’t you think you’re laying it on a little thick?” Dad snapped. “They don’t have to be friends with your lover, goddamn it.”
Hannah and I looked at each other.
I started to cry. It usually stopped them from fighting. Not tonight, though.
“Now look what you’ve done,” Mom said. “Come here, baby.” She held out her arms to me, a rare gesture, let me assure you. Sucker that I was, I accepted after a brief hesitation, and crawled onto her lap.
“Girls,” Dad said, then paused. “Just think about it. Whatever you want, that’s okay with me. I love you no matter what.”
“Do you, though, Pedro?” asked Mom, and I slid off her lap, unable to bear her cruel words. Dad did love us. He might not say it very often, but he did. “You’re hardly ever here.”
Hannah and I were informed that we would make our choice by the end of the week for court reasons. As is true in every divorce where there are kids involved, it was awful. We would have to choose between parents, and one of them would be angry or hurt or lonely or all of those things.
Hannah and I didn’t talk that night. We just lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. At some point, I got in bed with her, and she put her arm around me, and after a long time listening to each other breathe, we fell asleep.
Mom turned on the full charm offensive. She took the next three days off—something I could not remember her ever doing unless we were going to New Hampshire to see Mimi and Papa—and wooed us. First, a big breakfast at a fancy new restaurant. She let me have chocolate chip pancakes with whipped cream. Then, the tour of the new house, minus the mysterious Beatrice.
The house was beautiful, that was for sure. Commercial Street is one of the prettiest streets in America, packed with old houses and mysterious crooked alleys, gardens that burst with blooms. The new house had been a teardown; the builder had bought a crooked, decaying old building, destroyed it and built this gem in its place. It was so glamorous—a cedar-shingled three-story house, traditional enough from the street, all windows and decks on the water side. The tiny front and side yards were packed with peonies and lilacs, and Mom had put a vase of flowers in every bedroom. The kitchen was modern and huge, and the sunshine almost hurt my eyes.