She drops her bag on the couch, slips the loafers off her feet, pads into the kitchen to ferret out a snack. She doesn’t hear her mother’s footsteps behind her until it’s too late. “Where were you?” Maia whips around, hitting the open refrigerator door with one elbow and suppressing a yelp. “I walked home from Oscar’s.” Her mother smells of Chanel No. 5 and her lipstick is a dark, elegant red. She must have had a lunch date. Or an advisory meeting with one of her favorite students. Her mother’s favorite students are all men. “Don’t leave the refrigerator door open. What do you want in there?” “I was looking for something to eat.” “You don’t need anything to eat. Dinner’s in an hour. How many times have I asked you to put your bag in your room and not leave it on the couch?” “I’m sorry. Oscar gave me some new music.” “Then put it by the piano when you come in. Honestly, Maia.” “Oscar likes me to read it first.” “Then you should have put it in your room.”
