Read Trauma Queen for Free Online Page A

Mom.”
    â€œShe’s great,” I said enthusiastically. “Busy with the dogs. She’s starting a drama club at the Y and learning sign language for this new piece she’s working on.”
    â€œWow, sign language.” He shook his head. “Your mom’s really something.”
    â€œOh, I know.”
    He opened his hand slowly, as if he didn’t want to let go. “Well, call me if you need anything, okay, Monster? Kennie, too.”
    â€œWe will. Bye, Dad!”
    â€œLove you.”
    â€œLove you, too!” I blew him another kiss and ran inside.
    By the time I reached our apartment, Kennedy had blabbed to Mom all about Mona, and Mom was calling Dad’s cell to give a loud screaming speech about Sensitivity and Respecting Your Daughters’ Choices and Putting Your Family First. (One thing about performance artists: They know how to get attention.) The landlord banged on our front door and told Mom that he was sick of all the noise, and that if she didn’t shut up, and also stop dropping marbles on the floor and bringing barking dogs up and down the stairs, he’d raise the rent. “GO AHEAD!” she yelled back at him. “I DARE YOU.”
    So he did.
    About a month later Mom informed us that we’d be moving to Aldentown, where two old friends of hers named Beau and Bobbi were opening the Two Beez Performing Arts Café. Aldentown would be perfect for us, Mom said. She’d appear at the Café every other Saturday night, and Beau and Bobbi had some friends at the local college who would see if Mom could run a workshop. We wouldn’t be living too far away from Gram, and we could visit Dad when he was in town. “If you really want to,” she added.
    â€œOf course we do,” I said, shocked that this was even a question.
    She snorted. “What about The Horrible Mona Woman?” That was her name for Mona; she was using it all the time now.
    â€œShe’s really not so horrible, Mom.”
    Mom’s eyes got big. “How can you say that, Mari? After the insensitive way she treated Kennedy? Serving her baby meat ?”
    â€œIt wasn’t Mona’s fault.”
    â€œOh, so you’re sticking up for her?”
    â€œNo. But how was she supposed to know Kennie was a vegetarian? Even Dad didn’t know.” I paused. “How come? Didn’t you tell him?”
    â€œOf course I did! You think I’d purposely not tell him something so important? I’m such a terrible mother? And besides,” she said, tossing books into a cardboard packing box, “you girls are always talking to him on the phone. I’m sure Kennie just told him herself.”
    â€œThen how come he didn’t know?” For a second I considered shutting up, like I usually did. But this time, for some crazy reason, I kept going. “You know what I think, Mom? I think Dad has a serious girlfriend and you’re jealous. So you’re kind of overdramatizing.”
    â€œI’m what ?” Mom said. Her olive-colored skin—the skin we all three have, Mom, Kennedy, and me—looked weirdly pale, as if I were looking at her through tracing paper.
    â€œMona isn’t evil,” I said. “You shouldn’t turn her into some kind of stage character. Or performance topic.”
    â€œMari. I can’t believe you’re talking to me like this. How can you possibly accuse me—”
    â€œShe’s just this person. She didn’t mean to hurt anybody; she was just trying to be nice. And I feel bad I was so snarky to her.”
    â€œYou were snarky?”
    I nodded.
    â€œWhat did you do?”
    â€œI was rude when she tried to calm down Kennie. And I didn’t thank her for making dinner.”
    Mom blinked. “That’s terrible manners ,” she scolded.
    All of a sudden we both started giggling. Not specifically about The Horrible Mona Woman or Dad. Who knows what we were laughing about,