She wore tight white jeans, a bright red blouse, large hoop earrings, and bracelets that clattered when she moved. Her hair was freshly highlighted, her nails long and glossy. She carried no dish, no wine, no flowers. She entered our house like someone checking into a hotel where the staff knew her preferences.
“Baby girl!” she shouted, crouching as Ellie ran toward her.
Ellie hugged her because Ellie hugged nearly everyone. Melanie squeezed her dramatically, then stood and kissed Jason on the cheek.
“Mr. Big Promotion,” she said. “Look at you.”
Jason grinned. “Hey, Mel.”
She glanced at me and gave a nod so small it barely counted. “Nora.”
“Melanie.”
Her eyes swept the living room, the rug, the framed preschool art, the folded blanket on the couch, the basket of toys, the shoes by the door. She always scanned my house like she was looking for evidence that I had failed to deserve it.
“Smells good,” she said, walking toward the kitchen.
“You’re welcome,” I replied.
She either did not hear the edge or chose not to.