Her Mother's Daughter [antikvár]

Chapter I one My mother lived to be old, although she always said she would die young. All through my childhood she warned me - threatened me? - that because of her defective heart, she would depart early from this vale of tears, whereas my sturdy peasant-like father would live forever, drowning the memory of her fastidiously prepared meals in canned pork and beans, which he would enjoy just as much. When I was fifteen and searching through her bureau drawers one afternoon - hoping, probably, to discover some clue as to how she felt about me - I found a sealed envelope marked 'To Be Opened After My Death'. In a rage I tore it open, pulled out a piece of stationery, and found that her Limoges china service for eight (with some missing), her five crystal water goblets (one had broken), and her silver service for < eight were to be evenly divided between my sister and me. Still furious, I burned the thing, and as it went up, I panicked and threw it into the toilet. The paper kept burning, so I slammed down the lid, not realizing it was plastic and flammable. When the toilet seat began to burn, I called the fire department. The neighbors clucked their tongues for weeks afterward about young girls sneaking cigarettes when their mothers were away from home. My mother not only didn't get angry, but she invited me to sit in the backyard with her and smoke. She never wrote another will. I checked. In any case, her flawed heart did not noticeably shorten her life. She lived long, only she shrank. Or maybe my