Пятьдесят оттенков серого
Chapter 2
IcallmymominGeorgiatocheckonher,butalsososhecanwishmeluckonmyfinalexams.Sheproceedstotellmeaboutherlatestventureintocandlemaking—mymotherisallaboutnewbusinessventures.Fundamentally,she’sboredandwantssomethingtooccupyhertime,butshehastheattentionspanofagoldfish.It’llbesomethingnewnextweek.Sheworriesme.Ihopeshehasn’tmortgagedthehousetofinancethislatestscheme.AndIhopeBob—herrelativelynewbutmucholderhusband—iskeepinganeyeonhernowthatI’mnolongerthere.HedoesseemalotmoregroundedthanHusbandNumberThree.
“Howarethingswithyou,Ana?”
Foramoment,Ihesitate,andIhaveMom’sfullattention.“I’mfine.”
“Ana?Haveyoumetsomeone?”Wow…howdoesshedothat?Theexcitementinhervoiceispalpable.
“No,Mom,it’snothing.You’llbethefirsttoknowifIdo.”
“Ana,youreallyneedtogetoutmore,honey.Youworryme.”
“Mom,I’mfine.How’sBob?”Asever,distractionisthebestpolicy.
Laterthatevening,IcallRay,mystepdad,Mom’sHusbandNumberTwo,themanIconsidermyfatherandthemanwhosenameIbear.It’sabriefconversation.Infact,it’snotsomuchaconversationasaone-sidedseriesofgruntsinresponsetomygentlecoaxing.Rayisnotatalker.Buthe’sstillalive,he’sstillwatchingsocceronTV(andgoingbowlingorfly-fishing,ormakingfurniture,whenhe’snot).RayisaskilledcarpenterandthereasonIknowthedifferencebetweenahawkandahandsaw.Allseemswellwithhim.
