A breeze drifts through the window and scatters the smoke around the room. You inhale the smell deeply and wish you were brave enough to have one too.
“Don’t even think about it,” Ruth says from the bed.
“I’ll think what I like,” you tell her.
Ruth holds up the magazine. You all look at it for a moment and shake your heads. You’re evaluating actresses. You’re cruel. Apart from a few exceptions you think they’re all bitches who make too much money. Nessi’s the only one who knows all their names.
“Cate Blanchett,” she says.
“Show me,” says Stink.
Ruth holds the magazine out toward her.
“That’s not Cate Blanchett.”
“That’s Kate Winslet,” says Schnappi.
Ruth looks at the magazine and reads, “Cate Blanchett.”
“Shit,” says Stink.
Nessi nods contentedly. She’s sitting on one of those idiotic seats that are filled with beans and every time you move it sounds like a drunk jogger running down a pebble beach.
“If you fart into it,” says Schnappi, “we’ll have chili tonight.”
You drink your Fanta. You’re waiting for Ruth to hold up the next photograph when the door flies open. Even though you knew Ruth’s mother was about to breeze in you give a start, just like you gave a start then. The memory is so fresh in your head that you want to call out to your girlfriends: I’ve been here before and want to stay here forever!
“I thought I smelled smoke.”
Ruth’s mother looks around. She’s thrown you out before, because the music was too loud. Stink makes eyes so big that she might as well hang up a sign. Her cigarette has disappeared, but of course Stink had to take one last drag and the smoke’s still in her lungs.
“I don’t understand you lot. You’re girls, aren’t you? What does this place look like?”
Typical Ruth’s mother. Can see perfectly well what it looks like, and asks what it looks like. You take a look around as if you’d only just gotten here. It doesn’t look great. All the scattered clothes and comics and pages from the school presentation that you really wanted to discuss but when that got boring Schnappi just dropped the pages on the floor. There’s the tray of scraped ice cream bowls and a sticky stain on the carpet where one of the spoons was dropped. And then of course the nachos. Ruth’s cat was desperate to get its head in the bag. Then it walked around for a while with the thing on its head, then it shook itself and the nachos flew all over the carpet.
“That was Freddie,” says Schnappi.
“Maybe we should put Freddie to sleep,” says Ruth’s mother.
“God, Mom,” sighs Ruth without looking up from the magazine.
“Don’t ‘God Mom’ me, Ruth, or I’m throwing you all out.”
Ruth pretends not to have heard anything and holds up the magazine. You shake your heads. No points. You’re TV series junkies and you’ve seen all the episodes of Lost at least twice; as far as you’re concerned the women have to look like Kate or nothing at all.
“Milla Jovovich,” says Nessi.
“Julie Delpy,” says Ruth’s mother.
“Minnie Driver,” says Schnappi.
You burst out laughing.
“Why are you laughing?” asks Schnappi.
“You wouldn’t recognize Minnie Driver if she sat on your lap.”
“Would too.”
Ruth looks at the magazine. Of course Nessi’s right. Ruth’s mother curses, she could have sworn that was Julie Delpy. Stink coughs out the smoke.
“What’s the matter with you?” asks Ruth’s mother.
“Cancer,” says Stink and thumps her chest.
“You don’t make jokes about that.”
“Tell that to my doctor.”
You all giggle, Ruth’s mother narrows her eyes slightly. Dangerous.
“Isabell, I don’t want you to smoke in our living room. How many times—”
“God, Mom,” Ruth butts in and lowers the magazine. “Really, that’s enough. Please shut the door behind you. Take a look …”
She points around her, as if her mother hadn’t noticed where she was.
“—this is a girls’ meeting.”
For a moment you think Ruth has gone too far. You’re the only one grinning, because you know how Ruth’s mother will react. My daughter, she will say and smile.
“My daughter,” she says and smiles.
“My mom,” Ruth replies and smiles back and disappears into her magazine again as if her mother had left the room ages ago.
Schnappi strokes your head, you stretch and purr like you were Freddie. Nessi shifts her backside on the beanbag and says: This is going to be a delicious chili. You all snort with laughter, and when you’ve calmed down you notice that Ruth’s mother is still standing in the doorway.
“You’re such a bunch of bitches,” she says.
Stink doesn’t contradict her.
“We might be bitches,” she says, “but we’re sweet bitches.”
Schnappi raises her thumb, Ruth raises her thumb, and you raise your left leg. Nessi just shrugs and says, “When Stink’s right, she’s right.”
Ruth’s mother leans forward, her mouth moves, no words come out, but you’re used to reading her lips. Whether it’s Get out or Shut up. You know the nuances. You’re familiar with this one too. I hate you. It’s meant nicely. No one hates you, you are loved. The door closes, and at that very moment Parachutes comes to an end, the last song fades away, and you know what that means—there’ll be a little pause, followed by the song that Ruth found on the internet. A rarity that doesn’t appear on any Coldplay album. At any moment a guitar will come in and you’ll sing along the way you always do.
You taste the first lines in your mouth and realize why time has dragged you here—this song belongs to what has been, and it belongs to the Taja who will lie nine months later completely wasted on the sofa in her father’s living room and lose her connection with reality.
But your hair’s still long, your girlfriends are still with you, and you’re not yet the loneliest person in the world. The song brings everything together. You wait, the pause ends, the guitar sounds and you take a breath and Stink says, “Don’t imagine it’ll be as easy as that.”
You look at her with surprise. These are the wrong words. You’re singing now, it’s got to happen, but the music has fallen silent, no one’s singing.
Wrong, you think, that’s wrong.
“We’ll sing along later,” says Ruth and lowers the remote control.
“Did you really think you could avoid us?” Schnappi asks.
You sit up and slide away from her on your butt, a few nachos crumble under your hand, the girls look at you.
“We’re waiting,” says Stink.
“For … for what?”
You go quiet, you’re just bluffing, because you know very well what they’re waiting for. Nessi rummages in her jeans and throws you her phone.
“I’ve tried to contact you thirty-six