Sarajane tries to make her eyes childlike, but she just looks insane. “A home-cooked meal sounds awfully nice.”
Mom plucks yellowed fuzzy leaves into her cupped palm. “Barry cooks way better than me or you.”
“I wasn’t talking about our slop!” Sarajane says wearily. “He’d cook for us!”
I’m absolutely stricken by the thought of me, dressed like little Edie Beale, ladling up cat food p?té. “Not. Going. To. Happen,” I state.
“Live long enough and you learn never say never,” Sarajane says tartly. “What’s Plan B if New York fizzles?”
“I don’t have a Plan B. I’d never commit to Plan A. You have a fallback, then all you dois fall back.”
Sarajane tries to replace a saucepan on a suspended grid.
“Speaking of fall back, be careful, S.J.!” Mom cautions.
“I wouldn’t talk. Tell Barry how youfell.”
“Mom!” I exclaim, concerned.
“Tell him about that knot on your noggin.”