Diva Runs Out Of Thyme

To the residents of Old Town, I apologize for taking liberties with your beautiful city. Sophie’s home and several other locations are blends of various places and are not based on any particular existing structure.

ONE

Live on Good Morning Washington!

Special guest in the Washington, DC,

television studio: Natasha

“My very favorite holiday is Thanksgiving. No other day is so much about family and friends and fabulous food. By now, I hope everyone has sent out their invitations. We crafted these darling ones by ripping recycled natural-colored paper into the shapes of maple leaves. Don’t cut them or you won’t get this lovely soft frayed effect. Glue each leaf to a square of darker linen. Ours has a slight golden cast to it that says autumn. Then, with a calligraphy pen, handwrite a special note to each guest. Don’t forget to make matching envelopes out of the recycled paper.”

Natasha’s velvety voice drifted up the stairs. I clenched my teeth at the sound. In sixth grade she started a rumor that I wet the bed at her slumber party. That scandalous lie had followed me to graduation.

I didn’t actually hate her but found her annoying in the way perfect people so often are. Even though I felt fairly content with my life, Natasha had a tendency to pop up and make me feel inadequate, like an embarrassed sixth-grader again.

We’d competed against each other for almost everything when we were in school—sports, grades, honors. Competition became the norm for us. I fought it but Natasha loved to act superior, which brought out the worst in me. I never entered her world of beauty pageants, though. She did quite well, but I took some satisfaction in the knowledge that she never won a Miss Congeniality title.

Who’d have imagined that Natasha would have her own lifestyle TV show on a local cable channel in Washington, DC, not to mention a lifestyle advice column? And now that my ex-husband, Mars, had set up housekeeping with her, the sound of her voice made me boil. It seemed like she was turning up everywhere lately. But not in my house!

I pounded down to the family room off my kitchen. My mother immediately changed the channel.

My sister, Hannah, reached for the remote. “Mom! I was watching that!”

Dad leaned against the doorway to the sunroom, a mug of coffee in his hand. “I warned them. You shouldn’t be subjected to that woman in your own home.”

“It’s been two years since Mars and Sophie split. She told me she’s moved on. Besides, it’s not like Natasha had anything to do with their divorce.” Hannah tugged the remote from Mom and switched the TV back to Natasha’s show.

The baby in the family, Hannah wore her blonde hair long and loose like a teenager and still thought the world revolved around her even though she was about to turn forty.

My brother and I headed for Northern Virginia, just outside of Washington, DC, after college. But Hannah married two losers in a row and remained in Berrysville, Virginia. Fortunately, she turned out to have an uncanny knack for computers, but I wondered if living in the same small town as my parents had sheltered her too much.

I stifled a sigh of frustration and headed for coffee. Less than twenty-four hours with my parents and sister and I already felt like a child again. I was forty-four, a competent, self-sufficient woman. How did they do that to me?

A fire crackled in the stone fireplace in the kitchen, dispelling the November chill. My dad must have lit it. Just being in my kitchen made me feel better.

Antiqued cream-colored Old World cabinets with plenty of glass doors had replaced drab brown ones. The new hardwood floor still gleamed, as did the Madura Gold granite countertops. But the very best part was the stone wall we uncovered when we renovated. Most likely part of the original house, the rough stones were thought to be ballast stones, used to weigh down ships crossing the Atlantic, then discarded in the streets in colonial times. A four-foot-tall fireplace with hooks for kettles made the wall the best feature in the room.

Built in 1825, my house retained its original Federal-style exterior with red brick walls and tall windows. But when Mars and I inherited it from his aunt Faye, the interior had been authentic 1960s flower power. Twiggy would have been at home in the kitchen with orange countertops and faded mod daisy wallpaper.