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In fact, Ramona Quimby hadn’t spoken to Beezus in three years. Her parents accepted her when she came out as gay six years ago, but Beezus – or Beatrice, as she haughtily went by for the past ten years – had become Christian. Very, very Christian. And she could not be in the same room as Ramona without acting like she smelled something bad.
When Ramona was little she was desperate for Beezus’ approval. But now she was grown up – so grown up! She could hardly believe it – and she realized she didn’t have to put up with that. About five years ago, Ramona moved to New York City for her current job working for a publisher, and she just sort of stopped calling. She always used to call her sister on Sunday nights, and then call her parents kind of as a palate cleanser, but one week she just sort of…stopped. And her sister didn’t call. Her parents didn’t start nagging her to call her sister. No one said anything. And then like that, it was three years.
She stared at her phone message in a stupor. She knew she didn’t have to respond – it was her first cell phone but she was not dumb. She knew how the technology worked. But somehow she irrationally thought her sister would know if she pretended she hadn’t seen it. But she didn’t want to respond, either. She didn’t know what to say.
Hey Ramona, mom said this was your number. Maybe we should talk.
Why now, Ramona wanted to ask. But she’d have to text back or call to find out. What had happened, on this random Tuesday morning in 2012 when Ramona was getting ready to go to work, thinking about how she really hated this new online dating thing, after another disasterous OKCupid date. She just didn’t know how to date. She wasn’t good at it. She was too direct, too straightforward. She “didn’t play the game” one friend told her, as she smoothly picked up woman after woman at every dyke bar in New York City. But she didn’t want it to be a game? Why did it have to be a game?
Maybe Beezus would lecture her about her lifestyle and how she was going to go to hell, mom and dad were just too nice to tell her the truth. That was basically what she’d said four years ago, one of the last conversations of any length they’d ever had. How did they come from the same family and yet have such wildly different views of their parents and experiences of the world?
Maybe something had happened to Beezus. Maybe she was sick. Maybe she was pregnant. Would she have told Ramona if she had already had a baby? She desperately wanted to have one three years ago, the last time they talked. Ramona had very little patience to listen to her talk about it.
Hello, Beatrice. How are you?
Ramona typed the words and then paused. Not sure if she should send them. They sounded too formal. She deleted them and tried again.
Well well well Beezus my long lost sister.
Too snarky. If she wanted Beezus to tell her why she was reaching out, she better hold her tongue. She’d been trying to learn to do this for at least twenty years and she was finally learning how.
Hi, B. What’s up?
That was better. Casual but direct and to the point. She hit send. Almost immediately her sister replied. It was spooky.
I’m in New York. Can we talk?
Ramona was in shock. This was too much. And she was now ten minutes late – she needed to leave for work. Maybe she’d finish texting her sister on the J train into Manhattan.
But in fact, she spent most of her commute staring at her sister’s texts, not sure what to say. It had taken all her energy to respond to her messages and have a conversation that way, she didn’t know if she had any left for an in person visit. But she’d opened the door and didn’t feel right slamming it shut now.
Where are you staying? How long are you here?
She put her phone in her bag and deliberately didn’t take it out the rest of the day. She read through some dreadful manuscripts and one halfway decent one, sent some emails to her editor in chief, and sat through a really boring staff meeting. At five PM she walked out of the office and into midtown Manhattan. She decided she’d grab pizza at Joe’s Pizza before heading back to Brooklyn tonight, and this gave her and excuse to walk a little further than the subway station, delay sitting down and having a reason to reach back in her purse and look at her cell phone again.
But eventually, sitting in Times Square eating her slice of pizza, she did pull out her phone. There were now multiple messages waiting for her. One from the woman she exchanged numbers with a few nights ago and hoped would lose her number. No spark. Three from her sister.
I’m in Manhattan. Close to Times Square. I have an interview tomorrow.
I head home on Thursday.
Can we meet up or what???????
The last message was a few hours after the first two. Obviously she’d made her sister frantic. Something must really be up.
On a lark, Ramona recklessly texted I’m in Times Square right now.
Immediately her sister replied ARE YOU SERIOUS????? and it was so sudden and forceful it actually made Ramona jump a little.
Yeah was all she replied. I’m by the TKTS booths. There’s some tables here. I’m eating pizza.
Then her phone went silent, and Ramona almost breathed a sigh of relief. She’d called her sister’s bluff and her sister freaked out. She didn’t want to see her weird, freakish lesbian sister any more than Ramona wanted to see her. They could go back to joint custody of their parents and holiday celebrations and pretend they didn’t have more than one sister. They both still kept in touch with Roberta, who was fine. Somehow she managed to be totally nonplussed when Ramona came out but also didn’t seem bothered by Beezus’ right wing Christian-ness. It wasn’t just that she was straight (as far as Ramona knew, she kept hoping otherwise) it was something else. Maybe it was the youngest sibling thing. Everything was easier by the time Roberta came along. Her parents were less stressed about money, they had parenting down by that point, things were just..easier.
“Ramona?” someone asked over her shoulder. Ramona jumped in her seat and swiveled around. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you!”
Ramona took in the woman before her. She still looked perfectly put together, just like she always managed. Ramona was pretty sure she had pizza sauce on her face and her fingers and maybe her clothes, and her hair was barely brushed. But Beezus looked flawless. Too flawless, Ramona always thought, she was almost not real. She clutched her purse to her chest as though afraid someone would come up and rob her in broad daylight.
“Is this always where you eat dinner?” Beezus asked, gesturing to a chair at Ramona’s table.
Ramona stared at her and then burst out laughing when she realized her big sister was serious. “Uh, no,” was all she said. Did she seriously think she didn’t have a kitchen and a place to eat in her apartment?
“I mean, of course not, sorry, that was dumb,” Beezus said “I’m so out of sorts. I’m a little overwhelmed in this city. It’s so much bigger than Portland.”
Ramona recalled the text earlier today. Beezus has an interview tomorrow. In New York City? What was going on?
“Henry left me,” Beezus said, and burst out in tears. “I don’t know what happened, I just woke up one morning and he’d left a note. He doesn’t want to be married anymore.”
“Oh Beezus,” Ramona said, forgetting her anger as well as her promise to never call her by her childhood nickname. She reached across the table and grabbed her sister’s hand. “If it’s any consolation I always thought Henry was a stupid boy.”
Beezus laughed and sobbed at the same time. “I’ve been crying for weeks. I’ve known for weeks but I haven’t told anyone except mom and dad. Then I saw an opening for an accounting firm in New York City, and I thought of you. I miss you so much, Ramona!”
Ramona didn’t know what to say. She did miss her sister. She had missed her sister, even while she pretended not to care. But she wasn’t quite sure whether she could trust this really was her sister. Did she really miss her, or did she just need her now?
“I know I’ve said some terrible things,” Beezus said, as if she was reading Ramona’s mind. “And I’m sorry.”
In all Ramona’s twenty-three years on this planet she didn’t think she’d ever seen or heard her sister apologize. Not to her. Not for real. She’d say “I’m sorry” when she thought she was upsetting somene, but not when she actually said something hurtful. It was so confusing. But something was different this time. Her sister really seemed to be back.
“Let me get you a slice at Joe’s,” Ramona said. “It’s the best pizza in New York.”
“I am hungry,” Beezus sniffled.
“And Junor’s has pretty good cheesecake if you want to head up the road after that.”
“Where do you live? Do you need to go home?” Beezus asked as they started walking toward Joe’s.
“I’m in Brooklyn. It’s kind of a haul. Do you want to stay over or do you have a hotel?” Ramona asked.
“I’ve got a room right around the corner,” Beezus gestured vaguely in the opposite direction, and Ramona was pretty sure there wasn’t a hotel there. It didn’t matter. They would find it.
“Why don’t you stay in my hotel tonight?” Beezus asked. “We have a lot of catching up to do.
“We sure do, B. We sure do.”
Ramona held the door to Joe’s Pizza for her and smiled as she went in. Her sister was back. Things felt right again.