Woke Up Lonely A Novel - By Fiona Maazel Page 0,24
her. So far, he’d found nothing. But give it time.
The day Ned got back from L.A. with his adoption papers, he changed his voice mail greeting. It still had all the perfunctories—You’ve reached Ned—but with a new variation: No matter who you are, please leave a message. So far, the upshot had been to encourage his mother to leave several messages when she might otherwise have been cowed, the scene in L.A. still fresh in her mind. Ned answered one call for her every six. She was so sorry. She had never meant for it to come out like this; it was just that his father’s antics had her crazy. Neddy, say something. Say something or I will turn on the car in the garage and close all the doors.
Monday was only two days away. What a horror. Was it too soon to call Anne-Janet? He could always find her at work, which might make it that much less of a horror. But it would do nothing for him now.
The phone was ringing. Caller ID said it was his mom. His fake mom. He did not want to answer, but one day she would be dead, and then wouldn’t he be sorry.
As it turned out, she was calling not to apologize but to ask about a rumor she’d just heard at a buffet cocktail fund-raiser for the Los Angeles Philharmonic.
“What rumor, Mom?” He said this with a groan.
“Well,” she said.
He walked to the fridge, in which was a yogurt and a jar of peanut butter. The choice was obvious. He grabbed a plastic spoon and a paper towel and forked a clump of peanut butter into his mouth. He would not be able to talk for three minutes.
“Am I on speakerphone?” she said. “I hate speakerphone. Oh, go on, don’t talk with your mouth full. Okay, so this rumor. Wait, you need some background. Ned, honestly, do not talk with your mouth full.”
He spun in his chair. Nicest thing in the apartment by far. It had wheels and adjustable features like height and angle of recline. He loved this chair, even as it did not love him. He had not been able to wrest it from its current posture in three years.
“So,” she said. “You know there are a lot of bigwigs at these functions. People who put a lot of money into politics and expect to be kept in the loop. I was at the oyster bar and looking at your father because he was just sitting by himself. I understand we are having a situation at home—”
“You know, Mom, this sounds like girl talk, and you know who likes girl talk? Girls. Daughters. Hey, I heard you had a daughter once. Good thing she’s not here for you now.” He sounded angry, but really he was depressed. His sister! Maybe she had twists of hair that pecked her neck and shoulders as she walked. Maybe the naves of her eyes were where you went to pray for happiness and got it.
Larissa’s voice went dead. “Do you want to hear the rumor or not?”
He posted to the forum. The thing about Luke is that he’s able to do what no other Jedi has so far: he can feel love without turning evil.
“What, Mom, what? What is your rumor?”
“That the Helix is weaponized and that the FBI or CIA or whatever is about to launch some sort of campaign to stop it.”
Ned snorted. “I wouldn’t know about that, ma’am, I just till the land. Department of the Interior, yeehaw.” Like he was going to tell his mother about his speed dates, the RYLS, or anything suckered to the baileys of his heart and climbing over.
“Neddy, I get that you are upset, and that I’m supposed to be patient with whatever you say to me, but at some point, my patience will run out.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, and then he stopped to consider whether this was true. He tended to apologize by default and figure it out later. But yes, he was sorry. He didn’t want to be an asshole, no matter that his whole life was a lie and it was this woman’s fault. He yanked at the crotch of his suit; it had been riding up his legs. Maybe this was what he should tell his mother, that he was dressed like Luke Skywalker and, let’s face it, would take his privates in hand the moment they hung up. He stared at the strap mullioned down his chest and