Other Words for Love Read Online Free Page A

front porch. I watched for a while, and then I sat at my easel, sketching a tree across the street. The leaves, the bark, the rays of sunlight peeking through the branches. It wasn’t the best thing to draw, not as interesting as faces, but my art teacher had said that I should practice drawing everything.
    An hour passed before I heard Mom’s voice. I saw her standing on our lawn, talking to the lady next door. Mom was calm at first, saying “I would appreciate it” and something about our driveway and when I looked at the driveway, I saw a Trans Am parked there with a dented Buick behind it. Our neighbor raised her voice and shouted something rude and so did Mom.
    “Get those fucking cars off my property or I’ll call the cops,” Mom said. “My husband’s on the force—I can get someone over here in five minutes.”
    Then I heard our front door slam and pots banging around in the kitchen. None of this was unusual, because Mom was feisty. That was the word Dad always used to describe her.
    I wouldn’t have survived in my family otherwise , I heard her tell him once, but I didn’t know exactly what she meant. Mom had only mentioned her parents a few times in my presence, using a tone typically reserved for talking about something distasteful, like diarrhea or Evelyn’s eczema. Her parents were both gone now, dead for years, although her brothers were still around. One of them had called our house a while back and Mom had hung up on him. She’d told Dad that her brother was a drunk looking for a handout and she didn’t believe in handouts. She was proud that she’d done everything on her own. Even her degrees had been financed by loans that had taken twenty years to repay.
    “Ariadne,” Mom said, startling me. “Didn’t you hear the phone?”
    I hadn’t heard. Now I looked away from my drawing and toward Mom, who was standing in the doorway, smiling and speaking in a gentle voice. She could flip the switch so easily, just like Evelyn. One minute Mom was screaming the F-word at somebody who cut her off in traffic, and the next minute she sounded as demure as a librarian.
    I shook my head and she walked into the room, stopping behind me to examine my tree. “That’s extraordinary,” she said. “I’m glad you took your teacher’s advice about drawing everything. He knows what it takes to make it as an artist.”
    “Or as a teacher,” I said, and Mom rolled her eyes because she didn’t want me to be a teacher. She wanted me to have an exciting career, better than what she had, even though that idea made me nervous.
    But the thought of teaching didn’t make me nervous. I imagined teaching art as fun and quiet and far from judgmental eyes. If I tried to be a real artist, people might say I had no talent, and that would ruin everything. There would be no point in drawing anymore, and life would be pointless without drawing. I’d have no reason to memorize people’s faces on the subway.
    “Summer called,” Mom went on, adding that Tina was catering a party tonight and she could use my help with the cooking if I was interested, which I wasn’t. I wanted to stay in my room and draw another tree, but Mom thought I had practiced enough for today.
    She drove me to Summer’s house, where she talked to Tina on the front steps and I went inside. Summer was sitting at the dining room table, cutting strips of dough with a pastry wheel. There was flour on her face, and she blew her bangs out of her eyes.
    “How’s your stud brother-in-law?” she asked.
    Gorgeous as always, I thought. I love it when he walks around the house without a shirt. That weight lifting he does in the basement must really work, because his shoulders are huge. But of course I can’t tell you that, Summer. He’s married to my only sister and it’s sinful for me to think these things.
    “He’s fine,” I said.
    Summer handed me a rolling pin and a bag of walnuts. I sat down and crushed the nuts, noticing that she wasn’t wearing