Page 3 of Play Nice

She picks up immediately. “Hey, baby Cli.”

It’s bad news, I can tell by her voice. Daphne’s like a shape-shifter, a side effect of being the middle child. She adapts to the circumstances, fits into whatever space she’s allotted; the queen of appeasing.

“What’s up, Daffy?” I ask, walking away from Ethan. I turn the corner, lean against a boarded-up, graffitied storefront.

“Did you talk to Leda?” she asks.

“No. Why?”

She takes a breath. “Where are you right now?”

“Out,” I say. “On the town.”

“Are you with someone?”

“Considering,” I say. “What’s going on? Is it Dad?”

“No,” she says. “No. Dad’s fine. Amy’s fine. Leda’s fine.”

“Don’t tell me it’s Tommy,” I say, picking at my gel manicure like you’re not supposed to.

“No, it’s not Tommy,” she says. “Thank God.”

“Thank God,” I repeat, crossing myself. Tommy is Leda’s pushover husband, who wears sweater vests in earnest. He’s too pure for this world and we love him.

“It’s Alexandra,” she says.

She doesn’t call our mother “Mom” because she hasn’t been that to us since we were kids. It’s cruel, I think, but it’s Daphne’s prerogative. Leda’s, too.

“Is she okay?” I ask.

“She’s…she had a massive heart attack. She called nine-one-one, but…she was gone before the paramedics arrived.”

“Oh.” I bring my glittery hand to my face, press into my cheek. “Gone as in…”

“I’m sorry, Cli,” she says. “Hold on. Leda’s texting me asking if she can talk to you. Can you call her?”

“Is she upset?” I ask.

“I think she’s worried about you.”

“Why?”

“Come on,” she says.

“Are you upset?”

“I’m processing,” she says. “I’m actually driving right now. I’m on my way to Dad’s. I think you should plan on making the trip tomorrow.”

“All right,” I say. My phone beeps. Leda’s on the other line because of course she is. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

“Yep,” she says. “Love you, Cli.”

“Love you.” I switch over to Leda. “Hey. Daphne just told me.”

“We all had our own thoughts and feelings about Alexandra. But I know just because she wasn’t an active presence in our lives doesn’t necessarily make it easier to know she’s no longer with us,” Leda says. She for sure has been rehearsing this line since the moment she found out. Maybe even before then.

“Thanks, Leeds.”