The phone rang four times and I heard the click of the answering machine. Even if he’d answered, even if he’d been nice, we’d both have known: it wasn’t really him I wanted to talk to. I wanted Mom to pick up. I wanted to hear her voice on the phone: Oh, honey, hi, what time is it there? I wanted to tell her about living with Pippa and Faye. Dancing with Theo and Elton John. How simple and easy and beautiful life was here, my old life far in the distance, a sailboat slipping out of the orange-streaked harbor. I wanted to say, Wish you were here, Mom.
