Chapter 32 One Big Unhappy Family
One Big Unhappy Family
Eve
The moment Eve arrived home, the profound sense of gloom that she left with all those months ago seemed to come right back.
She used to adore Christmas in the city, but after the splendor of Dollywood with Jamie, New York City seemed anemic in comparison.
The rainy weather didn’t help, turning a normal twenty-minute ride to Harlem into an hour and a hundred-dollar Uber—shout-out to surge pricing—with nothing but her scattered thoughts as company.
She tried to come up with a palatable story to sell her parents once she walked through the door, but everything about her disappearing act opened up a world of questions.
So she figured it best to just let them ask and she would answer.
But when she arrived, there were no questions—not even the silent ones that only existed in her mother’s eyes.
They seemed to actively avoid speaking on anything of substance.
They only said they were happy to see her alive, in the flesh—as if they expected some stranger to show up in her place. Then again, maybe one had.
Instead of interrogating her, they started in on their usual gripes with their neighbors: One of them couldn’t control their dog, another had tacky Christmas decorations that were “ruining” the aesthetic of the block.
Her mother went on a full rant about Michael and Doris Akinyele across the street, allowing their eleven-year-old to come home from school alone.
They evoked images of Gatlinburg, and the petty grievances the Crockett’s staff liked to share with her about their coworkers.
For the afternoon, Eve snuck away to grab lunch with Stella.
She was Jewish and so unencumbered by the last-minute bustle of Christmas Eve.
She was also, unsurprisingly, eager to see Eve’s face; and ultimately, despite hiding from her for the better part of six months, Eve was happy to reconnect with Stella, too.
They sat in a corner of Melba’s, sharing a platter of fried chicken with a side of eggnog waffles for Eve, discussing the current state of the play Eve was supposed to be drafting.
And when Eve admitted she wasn’t done yet, she did not get the reprimand she expected from Stella.
“Do you still wanna go with our original plan, or should we reassess?”
Eve’s first instinct was to emphatically confirm that she wanted to move ahead as planned.
But she decided to reply with the truth.
“I don’t know. I’m excited, but I’ve also been distracted.
And with the scrutiny Gamba Adisa is going to be under, I don’t want to overpromise and underdeliver with the next. ”
Stella was nodding, but it was clear she did not agree. “Can I tell you something?”
“Of course.”
“You’re not going to underdeliver, Eve. Can we just, like, knock that thought away?”
Eve was irrationally annoyed that Stella couldn’t conceive of her insecurity, especially as a Black woman in an overwhelmingly white space like theater.
Yes, it was great that her agent believed in her, but she couldn’t do so blindly.
Of course, avoiding Stella instead of just saying these things probably didn’t help.
“It’s not that easy. But I can try,” Eve offered.
“I promise that I’m in this. I’m gonna ignore all this fear and do whatever you need me to do. ”
“I need you to finish your fucking play,” Stella said loudly as she casually deconstructed their last chicken wing.
There was a warmth in her words, matching the smile that punctuated her sentence, but Eve also knew she was at least fifty percent serious.
“But it’s about what you want, Eve. You have a unique opportunity here, and I want you to be able to take full advantage of it.
But I can’t want it for you. I’m here to make your dreams come true, not the other way around. ”
Indeed, having two pieces premiere at the Public in succession could seriously bolster her career—and more frankly, get her to Broadway. But that meant actually finishing the second one. The last few months, she’d done a whole lot of play and no work on her plays, and now she was paying the price.
“If I can get it done by the end of January, does that give us enough time to stick to the original plan?” Eve asked.
“I think so. But please let me worry about that,” Stella said. “Just do your thing. And maybe keep me updated.”
Eve knew she was going to do everything but let Stella worry about that. Perhaps if she could finish sooner, it would alleviate some of the pressure to get the rest of the deal done.
Then again, she would already be pushing her limits to get it all done in just a month—especially when she had no idea what more she wanted to say.
It was as though she’d hit a wall, unable to get past the mental block that was her pregnancy and her parents.
She would have to really batten down the hatches.
Focus. Which meant Paris was out. And the thought of breaking her promise to Jamie raised a whole different set of anxieties.
“I’m gonna have it to you in two weeks,” Eve announced.
She exhaled heavily and chugged her sangria, wishing it were something stronger.
Something that would give her the courage to disappoint her boyfriend after all the work she’d done to stop disappointing him.
But if anyone understood priorities, it was him, so she internally committed to this timeline—for herself and for her career, and even for Stella, who had been her patient cheerleader, despite Eve not living up to any of her promises to her.
Eve left lunch feeling chastened—and necessarily so.
But there was a bright side: Stella revealed that there were whispers about Gamba Adisa being short-listed for an Obie Award, which was an illustrious accolade for Off- and Off-Off-Broadway plays.
She’d never imagined her little run in Clinton Hill had been noticed by anyone, but just the possibility was enough reason to get her head out of the clouds.
Her time in Tennessee had been fun—elevating—and she looked forward to going back eventually, but for now, she needed to attend to her job.
Eve used the rest of the afternoon to finish up her holiday shopping.
She’d done most of it in Nashville, but her mother always only wanted her favorite perfume for Christmas, which was exclusively available at a little fragrance shop in Flatbush, which Eve made it to just before their early closing.
She picked out a few incenses for her dad and a special treat for Maya at the dispensary nearby before heading back uptown.
She returned to her parents’ just in time to sit down to Christmas Eve dinner.
Her father had been proud to tell her about the bouyon bef he had simmering in the Crock-Pot all day, meaning she was obligated to try it.
But they were already eating when she arrived, which only managed to make her feel more out of place.
“I didn’t know if you were going to eat,” Joan said when Eve stepped into the open kitchen. “We usually have to beg you,” she added when Eve didn’t reply.
Eve smiled politely. She’d gained weight in Tennessee and hoped she’d get a compliment or two from the people who’d been telling her all her life that she didn’t eat enough.
“Daddy told me he was cooking, so I ate light at lunch,” she said.
She filled her bowl with a hearty helping of the soup and looked around for some kind of roll or cornbread to go with it, but didn’t feel comfortable enough to ask.
Instead, she silently joined them at the table.
As she took her seat, her mother reached out to pinch her face. “Ma…”
“Such a beautiful girl,” Joan commented. “You see the way her skin bounces back?”
“You don’t have to prod the girl,” Roger said. “That’s what happens at thirty-three.”
“I’m thirty-four, Daddy,” Eve gently corrected him.
“You know what I meant.”
“Your hair has grown,” Joan said, as if surprised. She pulled at one of Eve’s untwisted coils until it stopped halfway down her arm, seemingly satisfied with the length. “Looks healthy.”
“Thanks,” Eve said, letting out an undetectable sigh as she started on her food.
“So,” Roger started, pushing back from the table, “where are we with this next play?”
“Oh,” Eve replied, observing as her father went to the oven. She should have known they were saving the interrogation for dinner. She felt like she was back with Stella again.
“We assumed you stayed all this time because you were finishing up.”
“I’m still…working…on the…third act,” she answered slowly, purposely dragging out her words until she could see what her father was up to. He ended up bringing her not one, but two rolls. “It’s not done, but I promised my agent it would be in two weeks.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” Joan said. “You’re gonna need all the plays your little mind can write since you’ve wrecked your engagement.”
“Here we go,” Eve said.
“Third act,” Roger said. “Should be the easiest part. That’s the end, yes?”
“Depends on the writer,” she said.
Eve had yet to tell her parents that her current production would be premiering at the fucking Public Theater in the spring, but when her mother and father exchanged a look of skepticism, she decided to continue holding on to that news.
“I’m fine,” she said. “Jesus, you’d think I would’ve earned at least a little credit by now.”
“Leaky roof tricks the sun, but not the rain,” her dad replied.
“You squandered your credit when you decided to set fire to your life and all your wonderful opportunities by not coming back for several months,” Joan said.
“And I guess it didn’t matter to you that I needed to,” Eve said. “That I feel better than I have in a long time.”
“Because you only enjoy wreaking havoc, Eve. You always have.”
“Joanie,” Roger cut in.