plenty of care. She’ll need to be on an all-liquid diet for six weeks. There’ll be lots of pain for her, lots of swelling.”
I wince. “Poor Kars.”
Janis’ expression mirrors mine. “My poor baby...I’ll be taking two weeks off so I can take care of her. She’ll be moving back with me temporarily, so I can keep an eye on her around the clock.”
I take a sip of water. “When is her surgery?”
“Monday at 10 a.m.”
I gasp, “That’s only two days away!”
Janis offers a warm smile. “I know she’ll want you to be around; you comfort her. In a good way.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be there. I’ll stop by before and after work, every single day,” I promise.
“Good!” She rises from the sofa. “I’d best get going.” At the front door, she stops. Spinning around, she confesses, “You know, I did kind of push Kars to see the orthodontist this week. And…I may have had a tiny hand in convincing her to get this surgery done soon. You see my dear, it’s all about timing.”
I draw a blank. “Timing?”
An evil glint flashes in her eyes. “This…this thing with Kars and Bob, well let’s just say that it won’t last much longer.”
I blink, still very much perplexed.
An eerie Mona Lisa smile ignites across her lips. “You see, Kars will never leave Bob. But, what I can do is make Bob leave her.”
There is a stunned silence as I digest this.
“And once that bastard is gone, I plan on getting my baby some help, some therapy,” she adds with conviction. “Bye now sweetie; in the meantime, I’m going to cut the head off that snake.” With those parting words, she disappears out the front door.
I stare after her open-mouthed.
That was so Machiavellian. Although in this case, the end does justify the means.
Mothers. Never ever underestimate the power they have over our lives.
Knock! Knock!
“Enter at your own risk.”
Cracking the door ajar, I find Karsynn in the midst of stuffing shirts into a bulging Adidas gym bag.
“What’s up?” she asks, without looking up.
Leaning heavily against the doorframe, I mutter, “Nothing.”
There is a lull of silence. Casting my eyes downward, I draw small swirls on the carpet with my restless foot.
Eventually, Kars jerks her head up. “Really?”
“No. I hate that we’re not talking.”
We eye each other warily. The ball is in her court now.
She makes an exasperated sound. “Look, I’ve been giving you the cold shoulder because I don’t appreciate being second guessed all the time. I’m a grown woman, Maddy; give me some credit here. I know what I’m doing.”
“I know,” I say quietly. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”
After a stretch of silence, she mumbles something indistinct.
My eyes crinkle. “Sorry, um what did you just say?”
“I said I too hate that we’re not talking,” she grits.
I smile broadly. “Well good. Glad we’re on the same page.”
Kars shoots back a conciliatory smile and hurls a sock at me.
I catch the sock with one hand. “Kars, I still hate the fact that you’re seeing that prick.” I’m compelled to say more, but I drop it after seeing the look on her face. “Anyway, what I’m trying to say is...I’ve missed you,” I say sappily.
“Aw, you have?”
“Of course. Plus, you’re about to get your jaw cracked open in two days.”
“Don’t remind me,” she says grimly. After a slight beat, she adds, “These past few weeks have sucked. I’ve really missed you too, Mads.”
I hold out my arms. “Let’s hug it out.”
And so we do. We hug it out like Ari Gold and call a truce.
Now that we’ve got that out of the way, I hop on her bed and sit cross-legged, Buddha style. Just like old times.
Kars resumes packing.
Leaning back, I reach for the Opi nail polish I spy resting on her side table. “Nice color...Black Cherry Chutney.”
She giggles. “Isn’t that hot? I was in the mood for some Indian lovin’. And guess what else I’ve got?” She waves another bottle of Opi. “This one is Curry Up, Don’t Be Late.”
“Oooohhh, I like that color.”
“You can use it anytime.”
“And you’re welcome to use my Pink-O de Gallo Opi if you’d like,” I offer.
“Give me some sexy Latin lovin’.” Kars swivels her hips in a disjointed manner. “C’mon, join me and do the salllllllllssssssa.”
Without meaning to, I burst out laughing.
Kars is the worst salsa dancer in the cosmic universe; she has as much rhythm, grace and finesse as an elephant stomping to a ballet. But then again, I’m no better.
“Get on your feet and sallllllllssssssssa,” she