The Glass Is Always Greener by Tamar Myers Read Free Book Online

far-fetched.”
    “Just name me one!”
    “For instance, you don’t have goat DNA, C.J. That’s physically impossible—not to mention that’s a lot of initials.”
    “I have horns and a tail, Abby. What further proof do you want?”
    I glanced around the room. I saw normal people eating pillow-size biscuits having normal conversations. It was probably a safe bet that none of them was claiming to have barnyard kin.
    “C.J., I’ve said this before—and you know that I say this out of love, as your friend, and not as your ex- sister-in-law—that I know someone in Charleston who is excellent. I can recommend her personally, because I am one of her patients. It’s strictly talk therapy, mind you, nothing—”
    That’s when she lunged. She threw herself across the table and grabbed my right hand, which she then forcibly placed on her head.
    “Feel that,” she bellowed.
    “Ouch!” I tried in vain to yank my hand away. “What is it?”
    “Get a good feel,” she ordered.
    “Okay, okay. You can let up.”
    “No, you have to feel the other side. And push the hair away too, and tell me what you see.”
    “Gross! C.J., they make special shampoos for this condition—oh my fathers, what the hell? C.J., is this really a horn? No, that’s ridiculous! You’ve obviously glued something to your head.”
    “Uh-uh, Abby. Here, I have a tail too. You gotta feel that.”
    “Get out of town and back! A tail?”
    “That’s not so uncommon, Abby. Like one in a hundred thousand people is born with a little extra something that needs to be removed, but this—Abby, you really need to feel it.”
    This was getting surreal. The only pills I’d taken that morning were a multivitamin and extra vitamin C, but they were Mama’s pills, ones that she’d brought with her and foisted on me. Left to my own devices, I picked up my nutrients via a glass of orange juice and healthy eating choices (which did not include pillow-size biscuits, no matter how tasty). My point is that I had not, to my knowledge, ingested a hallucinogen, nor was I still asleep and having a nightmare. I knew the latter because I could smell bacon, and I don’t smell anything when I dream.
    “C.J., I’m not going to go feeling around in your pants—not here, at any rate.”

Chapter 5
    T he pseudo-giantess from Shelby pivoted around the table and would have forced my hand down the back of her Gloria Vanderbilt denim jeans had not Mama and Wynnell returned from the ladies’ room. As it was, we presented quite a spectacle and had the attention of everyone in the restaurant.
    “What’s going on?” Mama said in a tone that only a mama can muster.
    “Nothing, ma’am,” I said.
    “Then why is your face the color of a raw pork chop, and why is everyone staring at you?”
    “C.J. and I were arm wrestling,” I said. “I lost badly—of course.”
    “Why Abigail Wiggins Timberlake and Oughta-Be-Washburn, you’re lying to me, as sure as Sherman razed Atlanta. C.J., you wouldn’t lie to an old woman, now would you?”
    “Yes, ma’am, I would.”
    Mama turned and faced the other customers. “Y’all see what I have to put up with? Have y’all ever seen such an incorrigible pair of twins? Oh yes, they are twins—normally they’re as close as Frick and Frack. I guess they’re just overly excited about this being their thirtieth birthday; I know, it doesn’t seem possible—but Abby here played in the sun a lot as a baby. Plus she used to smoke. There’s a lesson there, folks.”
    “I am not C.J.’s twin!” I cried. “I’m practically old enough to be her mother!”
    “You said it, dear, I didn’t.”
    At that Mama gathered her crinolines in both hands and glided from the room like a swan on ice skates. Wynnell hurried after Mama, and C.J., bleating a pathetic apology, trotted three steps behind.
    I was stuck with the check.
    Toy and I never got along—except late on Christmas Eve day, when we could be found canoodling over a puzzle, or