Page 13 of Don't Tell Me How It Ends
“No,” Zola insists. “This is happening.”
She looks so serious I’m legitimately worried that sheisserious.
“You were right,” she says, using my three favorite words against me. “I need to at leasttryto get my own thing going, and you need to get out of your own way too. You’re an adult now. You can’t hide behind pithy one-liners and casual sex forever.”
“But if not for casual sex,” I retort, “thenwhy are there men?”
Zola throws her hands in the air. “I rest my case.”
Usually, I don’t mind having the spotlight on me. As the younger sibling, I sort of revel in it, but this is different. This is an ambush!
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize not falling for every guy who flexes in my direction is cause for an intervention.”
“Well, maybe it is,” Mom says, betraying me for the second time. “Nobody’s trying to marry you off, but I figured at some point in the last four years, you would’ve brought somebody home. Or gone to theirs.”
“Or gone to dinner,” Zo jabs, under her breath.
I snap my fingers theatrically. “I knew I forgot something. I thought I was supposed to be building a life for myself. But I was there to find aman.”
Zola scans the room like the mystery life I speak of must be hiding somewhere around the corner. “Oh, isthatwhy you were able to pick up and leave with three days’ notice? Because of this robust life you’ve established.”
“Zo,” Mom warns, but her effort to shut Zola up is half-assed, and we all know it.
“You got your degree, but you act funny when I ask about job prospects,” Zola continues. “You saylovelike it’s a dirty word. Even picking a movie just led to a dissertation about how the modern woman’s better off alone. You’re practically begging for an intervention.”
“Well, this has been enlightening,” I say, already moving toward the nearest exit. “So glad I came home to help out. Zola, good luck on your new venture. Mom, please enjoy my wine.”
Zola lies back on the couch, effectively giving up on me, but Mom’s not put off as easily.
“Honey, don’t leave,” she says with a sigh.
And I can’t stand being the reason that flicker of light in Mom’s eyes has gone out again, but if this confrontation is any indication of what’s coming this summer, I’m going to need something stronger than rosé.
4
What is it about familyand old stomping grounds that brings out your angsty inner teen in sixty seconds or less? Back in city limits and immediately back in time. As evidenced by the surreal string of texts hitting my phone.
5:16pm
Liv:You should come! Everybody’s here
Liv Foster’s been my best friend since forever. Which is why when she says “everybody,” I die a little, picturing the impromptu high school reunion of my literal nightmares. It’s also the reason I can’t figure out why this invite sounds like an afterthought.
Me:You’re already there? Why didn’t you hit me earlier? And since when does Speckled Pig do private events?
Liv:These are all questions you can ask when you get here. COME!
I hear it in her usual singsong tone but still take notice that this must’ve been why Liv couldn’t pick me up earlier. I hadn’texpected her to drop everything for my last-minute return, but I also kind of had.
Me:Today’s already been a week.
Liv:My train’s in a couple hours. You have a hard out!
Me:should we just meet up in the city next week then?
Liv’s been in Manhattan since her parents divorced the summer before she started NYU. Pitting Mommy and Daddy against each other kept Liv well fed and well housed all four years, despite the city’s soaring real estate costs. Oh, to have estranged parents desperate to buy your love. I can’t even get a three-dollar birthday card out of dear old dad. Of course, that would require that he remember a birthday.
Liv:JUST COME!
