Free A Little Ray of Sunshine by Lani Diane Rich Page A

away from Danny’s house, I was beyond even her powers to calm.
    “Okay,” I said, my chatter matching the pace of my racing heart, “here’s the thing. Danny’s a sweetheart. He’s big and cuddly like a teddy bear, and he’ll make you feel at home instantly.”
    The light turned green and I hit the gas. “He’s got a big, soft heart and at some point during the visit, I almost guarantee he’ll adopt a three-legged stray or save a whale or something. It’s just Danny. He’s an architect, and he does pretty well for himself, so the house might be a little intimidating at first, but he’s got a great, warm style and—”
    I paused as we passed by the old second-run movie theater where Luke and I used to go every year for the Humphrey Bogart festival. At the top of the marquee, in all caps, was PETE’S FEED AND HARDWARE, with, “Sweet Crimped Oats and all hammers 20% off til June 25,” in smaller, mismatched letters underneath. The knowledge that the Lyceum had sold out to become a feed store shot a weird panic through me, and I stopped breathing for a second.
    “EJ?”
    I snapped out of it and glanced back at the road, my heart still hammering. I took a left onto Wingdale Road.
    “Right? Where was I? Oh, yeah. You need to be prepared for my mother. She’s probably already living there. I mean, she’s getting married for the eighth time in a week for the eighth time, why be precious about it, right? So. My mother.” I heaved out a long breath. “I don’t want to say she’s evil, but I find myself at a loss for a more fitting word. First of all, she wears pearls and diamonds and dresses all day long, even at breakfast. Her hair styling habits alone have probably contributed to half the hole in the ozone. The second we get there, she’s gonna start in on my hair, then my clothes, then my shoes, then my weight.”
    “Your weight?” Jess said. “You’re kidding. What are you, a size eight?”
    I shot her a look. “In Hollywood, the fat girls are a size six. But that’s okay; the physical critique will only last an hour, tops. By then, she will have moved on to my disappointing character traits, such as how I have no appreciation for making a good first impression, and how my unwillingness to participate in the latest gossip about her fading Hollywood D-list starlet friends constitutes an ignorant disdain for current events and popular culture. She won’t even notice you until probably day two or three, at which point she will quote-unquote ‘kindly’ offer to take you to the salon to fix either your hair or your nails or your skin, whatever feature she feels is less than acceptable. Whatever you do, don’t buy into her bullshit. You’re fine the way you are.”
    “Thank you.”
    “Oh!” I snapped my fingers in the air. “Also, whatever you do, do not mention Shelley Fabares.” I swallowed hard as we took a right onto Kotter Drive.
    “Shelley Fabares?” Jess asked. “The lady from Coach ?”
    “Oh, crap. You know who she is. Yes, it’s the lady from Coach and also she was on The Donna Reed Show and she starred in a movie with Elvis and my mother is completely obsessed with her for reasons that are way beyond my comprehension.”
    “Didn’t she also have a hit song in, like, the fifties?”
    “‘Johnny Angel.’ Nineteen sixty-two. You hum one bar of that song, my mother’s head will twirl around, she’ll start speaking in tongues. It’s crazy. Just to be safe, don’t mention Shelley. Not that you would, I mean you’re smarter than that, but...”
    I released a long breath as the road wound its way toward Danny’s house, which sat at the end. I pulled my foot up from the accelerator and let the truck slow down to twenty miles per hour.
    “Um... EJ?” Jess’s voice was thick with worry, but I couldn’t take my eyes off the road. “Are you okay? You look kind of pale.”
    “I’m fine,” I said, on a weak and I’m sure thoroughly unconvincing laugh. We wound around a curve