American Babe Read Online Free

really chic . . . um . . . crustaceans.”
    FUCK ME.

THREE
Why Would I Be Your Babysitter?
    â€œI ’m going to the airport. Terminal Seven. United,” I said to the Uber driver as I hopped into her black SUV a couple days later.
    â€œSure,” she said, smiling back at me.
    I love a lady driver. I normally ask them about cabbies’ rights and about women in that workplace, in the city, safety issues, etc. I’ll really go in sometimes. But not today. Today I was in a somber mood.
    â€œI’m gonna close my eyes now and meditate until we get there, so please don’t ask me anything or make any loud noises with your mouth or turn the car sharply. I so appreciate it. Thank you so much, you’re the best. Thank you.”
    â€œSure,” she said again, in the same tone but without the smile.
    I was mad.
    And sad.
    And bad.
    And glad.
    Just kidding, I wasn’t glad, or bad, really, I just got caught up with the rhyming.
    But seriously, I refused to sit there anymore and handle the dramatics. My family was acting like a soap opera. Like, what is everyone’s damage? Because I just don’t get it. I feel like I’m so super chill and really, really try to inspire an atmosphere of chillness around me, yet my family is always on level ten when they don’t even need to be. No one died, right? Right? Right, Lizbeth? I’m not some fucking murderer or degenerate running willy-nilly through Los Angeles. I’m not hopeless. I don’t need direction, okay? I Googled “Maryland,” and once I saw that it was definitely a continental United State, I booked a direct flight. I haven’t flown internationally since the Malaysian flight disappeared—I refuse to go out like that.
    I was going to be with my real family, a simple group of simple people who would probably be so confused by every thread my of being that they’d have no choice but to accept me for what I am: not simple. And I was genuinelyexcited to meet these normals, so I’m not using “simple” as an insult. There was no prejudging going on. I left LA with an open mind. In fact, a heavy pour of simplicity is what I needed in my life.
    We got to the airport annoyingly quickly, which probably meant that I needed more meditation than I got. I hate when I can’t get enough in. Meditation is actually horrible, don’t do it, or do, I don’t know, meditate on it and then decide. But I was there: LAX. I was on my cute way to cute Maryland, and this was happening. The flight was bumpy, but I will say the flight attendants in first on a United flight to Maryland are way more put together than you’d imagine. The tallest and modeliest of them was doing a brown YSL lip with her aubergine hair top-knotted to absolute death.
    When I slurred (1.5 Xanax and a glass of gin), “You’re too chic for this,” she looked blankly at me, then smiled and exited the scene. Don’t blame her for being caught off guard, it was challenging because it was true.
    The airport smelled weird and dealing with the woman at the rental car place was tough. I’m sincerely sorry for anyone that’s ever had to rent a car.
    I made it to the address in Donna’s email at around 7:30 p.m., and it was getting dark. I’d forgotten about the east coast being depressing with its short days. I slowly cracked the Chevrolet Malibu’s window and peered out. The housewas on a street with other houses that looked the same as each other, a variation on chimney placement or door color here or there. It felt simple. And . . . safe.
    I grabbed my royal blue Anya Hindmarch maxi tote (chic, holds everything, AND features a large, perforated smiley face across one side: a symbol that I had arrived in peace) in one hand and my rolling Goyard carry-on in the other and clomped my way up the path toward the front door. DING DONG DING DONG rang the doorbell. “They need to