Page 72 of Broken Romeo
I gulp. “Hey… Mom.”
“Sweetheart! How are you?”
I clutch the phone tighter in my hands as my purse strap cuts into my bare shoulder. “I’m…”
“Oh! Did your sister send you the video of Avery trying to eat Cheerios for the first time?” Mom asks, interrupting me. Her laugh is sweet and joyful and genuine, which only makes my grief that much more intense. “It was the cutest thing!”
Literally, I couldn’t even answer the question How are you? before she was moving on to talk about the real pride and joy of the family—my big sister, Mallory, and her magical procreating vagina. Yep, in my family, that’s what you needed to do in order to be seen as successful: marry an upper-middle-class dude and pop out babies.
“No,” I say, “she didn’t.”
“Oh, I’ll send it to you. It’s adorable. So, how’s city life?” Even with the simplest question, I hear the disdain in her voice. She’d stopped asking me about auditions altogether a few months ago when I didn’t get a part in a national commercial. In her words: Well, why don’t you just let me know when your unemployed actor status changes?
My steps slow to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk, and I squeeze my eyes shut. What have I done? Why did I quit the one big acting credit of my life?
Behind me, a man slams into my shoulder. Hardly stopping, he spins over his shoulder and yells at me, “Keep moving, shorty!”
Mom gasps on the other end of the phone. “Are you being attacked? Hang up! Call 9-1-1!”
“Mom, relax! It’s just some asshole. He’s gone already.”
“Sweetie, language,” she scolds.
I want so badly to tell her I got this part—that the daughter she never believed would amount to anything landed a Broadway leading role. But I can’t even say that anymore. Because just as quickly as I’d landed that role, I’d lost it.
“So… is there any specific reason you’re calling?”
I clear my throat, trying to summon every ounce of courage I have. This is going to be humiliating, without a doubt.
“Well…” I start. “Things have been pretty tight around here—”
Mom’s sigh cuts me off. “I see,” she says, disappointment dripping in her tone. “You’ll have to ask Daddy, but I bet he’s willing to send you your birthday money early this year.”
Flames creep across my cheeks. I’ve really earned that disappointing daughter medal throughout the years.
“No,” I say quickly. “I’m calling because… because…”
“What honey?”
My throat burns as I blurt out, “Because I got a leading role on Broadway! And… and I want you and Daddy to be there opening night.”
Shit. I stop in front of my apartment building and lean back against the warm brick.
“You got a leading role on Broadway?” Mom repeats, dumbfounded. And who can blame her?
“Yep. It’s going to be a big deal, I think. And I-I want you and Dad to be there. Our preview is the last Thursday of next month.”
I hear the flipping pages of my mom’s day planner—the thing she can’t live without.
“Well, this is exciting!” she says. “Let’s see. The last Thursday of… oh. Oh, dear.”
“Mom?”
“Well, it’s just, Mallory and Jason are going away that weekend and we promised to babysit the kids.”
My heart sinks. Of course. Mallory. Mallory takes priority always.
Tears fill my eyes, and I can’t help but feel stupid for my reaction. I invited them to a show that I’m not even in anymore. The fact that they can’t come should be a relief.