And now all of us are under one roof, meaning me and Mimi are sharing a bedroom the size of a large closet, her on a cot smack up against my little bed. “Isn’t this nice?” she said, reaching out across the sheets to hold my hand and chattering away into the night. So that’s why it’s one a.m. and I’m wide awake sitting on the front porch in a bikini and shorts, digging my way through a bag of cheddar popcorn, when Mom’s ex, Tofu Bart, walks up to the house, carrying a blender, of all things. “I’ve been summoned,” he says, holding up the appliance. “Now, if your mother asked for the electric mixer I wouldn’t be worried, but the blender is bad news.” With a deep sigh (poor TB is always sighing), he sits himself on the steps and reaches for the popcorn, though he’s not one for the hydrogenated oils. “So spill the beans, kiddo. What does she want it for?” “No idea. Icy drinks, maybe,” I say, capturing my hair and clipping it with a barrette. “See! I told you.
