Unspoken

It’s going to be great! The plane leaves at six, so I’ve really got to start packing. Is that okay with you?”
    “Sure, that’s fine. When are you coming home?”
    “Sunday evening. The whole thing works out perfect because I don’t have to go to work until Monday night. Oh, this is going to be so much fun. I’ll leave you some money. But I don’t have time to take Spot out, so you’d better come home soon. He’s getting restless.”
    “I suppose I’ll have to,” Fanny said with a sigh.
    She was supposed to ride Maxwell, but now she wouldn’t have time. She would have to change her plans and head home.
    When she got to their apartment she found her mother on her way out, with newly applied lipstick and blow-dried hair, her suitcase and purse in her hand.
    After her mother finally left, and after walking Spot, Fanny lay down on her bed and stared at the ceiling.
    Alone again. No one cared about her. Why did she even exist? She had an alcoholic mother who thought only about herself. As if that weren’t enough, recently she had started giving some serious thought to her mother’s extreme mood swings. One day she was as happy as a lark and full of energy, only to change the next day into a limp dishrag. Depressed, listless, and filled with dark thoughts. Unfortunately the bad days were getting more frequent, and that was when she would turn to the bottle. Fanny didn’t dare criticize, because it always ended with her mother having a fit and threatening to kill herself.
    Fanny had no one to talk to about her problems. She didn’t know where to turn.
    Sometimes she dreamt about her father, imagining that one day he would suddenly appear in the door, saying that he had come to stay. In her daydream she saw him embracing her and her mother. They celebrated Christmas together and went on vacations. Her mother was rosy-cheeked and happy and no longer drank. In certain dreams they would be walking along a beach in the West Indies, where her father was born. The sand was chalk white, and the sea was turquoise, just like in the colorful travel magazines she had seen. They watched the sunset together, with her sitting between her parents. That was the sort of dream that she never wanted to end.
    She gave a start when Spot jumped up on the bed and licked away her tears. She hadn’t even noticed that she was crying. Here she lay, all alone, with only a dog for company, when other families were having a cozy time at home. Maybe her classmates were visiting each other, watching a video or TV, listening to music or playing computer games. But what kind of life did she have?
    Only one person had shown the slightest interest in her. She might as well see him again. To hell with everything. She would sleep with him, too, if that’s what he really wanted. There had to be a first time, after all. He had said that he would call her tonight. The invitation to go horseback riding still stood, and she decided to say yes.
    She got up and dried her tears. Heated up a meat pie in the microwave and ate it without much enthusiasm. Turned on the TV. The phone was silent. Wasn’t he going to call after all? Now that she had made up her mind? The hours passed. She took a can of Coke out of the fridge, opened a bag of chips, and sat down on the sofa. It was nine o’clock, and he still hadn’t called. She felt like crying again, but couldn’t squeeze out more than a few dry sobs. He had probably given up on her, too. She started watching an old movie as she ate the whole bag of chips. Finally she fell asleep on the sofa with the dog beside her.
    The sound of the phone ringing woke her. At first she thought it was the landline, but when she picked up the receiver she realized it was her cell phone ringing. She got to her feet and hurried out to the entryway to rummage through her jacket pockets. The phone stopped ringing. Then it started again. It was him.
    “I have to see you . . . I have to. Listen here, honey. Couldn’t we meet?”
    “Sure,” she said without hesitation. “You can come over here. I’m home alone.”
    “I’ll be right over.”
    She regretted it the moment she saw him. He reeked of liquor. Spot started barking but soon gave up. The dog wasn’t the menacing type.
    She stood awkwardly in the center of the living room, unsure what to do, as he threw himself onto the sofa. Now that she had invited him over, she couldn’t very well ask him to leave, could she?
    “Would you like anything?” she asked