The Traveling Tea Shop by Belinda Jones Read Free Book Online

she can’t leave her mother unattended. And Ravenna wouldn’t be caught dead viewing anything as cheesy as a musical. Even if there are some pretty edgy ones on Broadway these days.
    I see them all checked in. (Fortunately I am able to add an adjoining room, which keeps everyone happy. Relatively speaking.) And then I prepare to head home.
    “All right. Well I wish you a good sleep and I’ll see you here in the lobby at nine A.M. for our Red Velvet Cake-making demonstration!”
    I’m about to step into the revolving door when Ravenna comes scurrying down the carpeted steps toward me.
    “You said you can get whatever we need?”
    Here we go. “Within reason.”
    “I need a fake ID. For tonight.”
    I stare back at her. “Really?”
    “It’s totally ridiculous—this morning I was legal drinking age and I get here and suddenly it’s off limits. I mean, I’m twenty years old.”
    Diplomacy, remember diplomacy. “I totally understand your frustration—”
    “Great. You can just have it sent up to the room.” She turns to leave.
    “Ravenna.” I lay a hand on her bony shoulder. “I’m sorry. That won’t be possible.”
    “Why not?” She looks outraged.
    “Because I like living here. And I don’t want to get deported.”
    “So it’s all about you? I thought you were supposed to be taking care of us.”
    “Without turning to a life of crime, yes.”
    “It’s just one lousy ID!”
    “That’s all it would take.”
    “So you’re saying no?”
    “I’m saying no.”
    She steps closer, eyes flitting with desperation. “If I’m going to get through this trip, I’m going to need to drink.”
    “Well, I’m sure we can come to some arrangement in the hotel rooms, with your mother’s approval of course, but as far as going out on the town goes . . .” I give a little shrug. “Not going to happen.”
    For a second she stares openmouthed at me. I don’t think she’s used to hearing “no” too often. That’s fine. I’m more than happy to up the quota.
    “All right,” she says, pacing now like a prison inmate trying to figure out how to get even with her guard. “But just know that it’s been noted.”
    “What has?”
    “Your unwillingness to help me out.”
    “As has the unreasonableness of your request,” I counter.
    “Excuse me?”
    “I’m watching you too, sister.”
    No doubt Ravenna now thinks I’ve been hanging “in da hood,” but I guess it’s more of a Freudian slip than anything. I know her type. All. Too. Well.

Chapter 6

    It always amazes me, how different two siblings can be. Same parents, same upbringing, two polar-different attitudes to life.
    I was the little workhorse—always wanting to be occupied in some productive capacity, always making lists and laying out little stepping stones to get from A to B. I would have made an excellent scout because I was Always Prepared.
    Jess was a sleepier individual, more the type to wait for things to come to her. Somehow harmless daydreaming morphed into a sense of entitlement and she would become utterly indignant when she didn’t get her way. “How could Mark Allen ask Claire out instead of me! I’d already picked out the dress I was going to wear on our first date!” This in turn became a sense of deprivation—everyone else had it easier than her; she was the one who had to struggle against a cruel world. Her misfortunes had nothing to do with the choices she made (or the lack of effort on her behalf); she was an innocent bystander, randomly cursed and often beginning her sentences, “It’s all right for you . . .”
    Mum used to say that Dad leaving had affected her younger daughter in a profound way. She thought that was the trigger for the sense of lack. But he left when we were nippers and elected never to see us again. I hardly think him sticking around would have been a bonus. As far as I was concerned we were extremely lucky to have a mother who was so devoted, so encouraging, such fun—how ungrateful