Read When in Rome for Free Online Page B

inside, merely nodding at me with her chin instead. Her perfume is stronger than the smell of Dad’s entire nursery. She’s wearing a cashmere sweater that’s as soft as baby skin and leather gloves I doubt she takes off even at home.
    Dad comes in, wearing his own muddy gloves, to give her a cheerful greeting. Careful lest she get dirty, too, she air-kisses him. It’s weird that she’s here; all she usually does is make her obligatory phone call every couple months.
    The reason for her visit soon becomes clear. Among the few things that Dad kept after the divorce is a collection of ancient tapestries he inherited from his mother’s mother. Frankly, I find them ugly. When I was little, I was careful not to touch them for fear that the fabric would turn into a chameleon’s tongue and wrap me up. In one, the men and women, dressed in dark red, sit on the grass like they are enjoying a picnic, but stiffly, as if caught on the toilet. In another, glacial men stand with muskets drawn, as if ready to shoot me in the mouth. I wanted to get rid of them. Even now, as my dad is pulling them out, rolled up like papyrus, I hate to look at them. But Erika likes them. Or perhaps she likes the fact that she’s discovered they’re worth more than she originally thought. Either way, she’s asked Dad if she can have one. Dad must hate them, too, or has only kept them out of respect for his grandmother, because he agrees enthusiastically.
    After Erika examines them, she chooses the one I was most afraid of as a child. They chat while she puts the tapestry in a cardboard tube, all without ever taking off her gloves, like a thief who doesn’t want to leave fingerprints. Suddenly, Dad turns to me.
    “What was the wonderful news that you were about to tell me?”
    Ugh, right now? I blush, and I catch Erika watching me out of the corner of her eye. She seems both curious and a little disappointed. Is my prissy little sister challenging me? What is it about me that bothers her so much? What did I ever do to her?
    Just to spite her, I invent a mountain of bullshit, embellishing my tasks and quoting some ridiculous number for a salary. I talk about contracts I’ve already signed, promises of bonuses, Carlotta Lieti ready to conquer the world! My exaggerations make it sound like any day now I’ll be whisked away to paint a fresco in the Oval Office. Dad believes me, and he’s thrilled. Erika just smiles sardonically.
    Suddenly, I’m ready to get out of here. I’m tired of doing my Gloria Swanson act, and I’m ready to munch on a chocolate bar in front of a Grey’s Anatomy episode. But since Erika drove here and I walked, the beautiful sister offers to give the ugly one a ride. Before we leave, Dad gives me a small potted plant, handing it to me as if it were a jewel and asking me to take care of it.
    Erika’s car is a deep blue Mini Cooper with leather seats. There are no crumbs on the seats, not even an air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror, and the seat belts are covered in soft leather.
    After a while, she says smugly, “So, soon you’ll probably be running for president.”
    “I have just as much chance to become head of state as you do. Your work is so important that you’ll get the Nobel Prize in peace, medicine, and literature all together.”
    “At least you can finally stop living off of Daddy.”
    “Look, I’ve had jobs. It’s just that lately—”
    “You might as well have not gotten your degree, really. What good did that do you?” She doesn’t look at me as she speaks. She drives with a light touch, switching gears quietly. The only thing that moves is her hair every time she glances in the side mirror.
    “Not everyone is lucky enough to land a job where it doesn’t matter if you can draw a straight line,” I say, rigid in my seat. Erika pulls away from me, her hands shaking as she grips the steering wheel. For a few minutes, silence prevails. I keep wondering why, why, why do we have to have these