“I don’t put them on a pedestal!” I protest, and Bean laughs.
“Oh, Effie, of course you do. It’s endearing. But it makes it tougher for you. You see it as, We had heaven, and then, boom, it was exploded into smithereens. Well, that’s not right. It wasn’t heaven. But nor is it smithereens,” she adds after a pause. “It’s just…difficult.”
“That’s an understatement,” I say, staring into the darkness.
“I do get it, Ephelant,” says Bean gently. “I do. I miss Mimi being here, and so does Gus. It really hit me on Dad’s last birthday. Krista had already decorated the tree, remember?”
“Yes,” I say with feeling—because how could I not? We all arrived for tree-decorating day, but the tree was already covered in brand-new ornaments which Krista had ordered, and we all had to admire them.
“Then she brought out that grand chocolate cake with the swirls, remember?” Bean continues. “And I kept thinking, But Mimi always makes him carrot cake. It’s such a tiny thing, but I got really upset.”
“Did you?” I turn to her, feeling a swell of gratitude. “You know, that makes me feel better. Realizing I’m not the only one.”
“You’re not the only one,” says Bean. “You’re really not.”
“And by the way, that chocolate cake was vile.”
“Awful,” agrees Bean emphatically.
“Hideous.”
“Where did she even buy it? It was the worst-quality chocolate. It was like plastic.”
“Yes, but you can’t see the taste on Instagram, can you?”
“Of course!” Bean exclaims. “That’s why she got it. To show off on Instagram.”
“Bean, you’re bitching about Krista!” I exclaim in joyful realization.
It’s so rare to hear Bean bitch, even about Krista, that I can’t help smiling. We need to do more of this. Far more. （Except I won’t call it “bitching.” I’ll call it “sharing.” That can be our group. I’ll even buy biscuits.）
“Oh God,” says Bean, sounding stricken. “Effie, I’m sorry I’ve been so…”
“Diplomatic,” I supply.
“On the fence,” she corrects me. “I was trying to give Krista the benefit of the doubt. Keep the family talking. I thought, Well, Dad’s chosen her, I need to respect that. But now, after what you told me, I don’t trust her an inch.”
“I’ve never trusted her,” I say darkly, just to make the point that I’m a better judge of character than Bean is.
Bean’s breathing is growing heavier and now I can tell she’s drifting off, but I can’t sleep yet. I’m too wired. I stare upward into the darkness, my eyes wide open, trying to process this whole weird, unexpected evening. I came here for my Russian dolls. They were my only priority. That was all I wanted from this house. But I haven’t found them, and instead I’m tangled up in my family and all its problems.
My mind roams over all my family members. All keeping secrets. From one another or from the world. Mimi and Dad…Krista and Dad…Gus and Romilly…Bean…Everyone’s hiding something from someone.
And then, of course, there’s Joe. I feel a painful twinge as memories from this evening stream into my brain: Joe’s expression when he spotted me through the rosebush; Joe gazing at me in the cellar. He was about to explain himself, I’m sure of it. To tell me something. But what? What?
I heave another great sigh and turn onto my side, burrowing my head into the pillow, feeling a sudden wave of exhaustion. I can’t think about it.
I need to focus on my goal again, I resolve sleepily. I’ll search for my dolls first thing. They must be somewhere. In an attic? In the tree house, maybe? I just need to think…
Anyway. At least I got some cheesecake.
I wake up the next morning to a strange, unfamiliar sensation. I lie still for a moment, trying to work it out…then it hits me. I think it’s lightness. I feel lighter. Softer. Easier.
It’s nice. It’s a relief.
Life has felt pretty wretched for a while, I admit to myself, staring up at Bean’s ceiling. Maybe Bean’s right: The divorce did hit me harder than it did the others. And maybe Dad’s right too: I have been trapped. Trapped in a gray, miserable place. But maybe, at last, things are starting to shift? Just a little bit?
I don’t know how else to explain the way I feel. Nothing’s changed tangibly since last night. All the problems I had then, I have now. But somehow they seem…different. More manageable. More in proportion.