Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
AVERY
Since I haven’t managed to connect with Josh in an official meeting, I’ve been using every free moment to jot down arguments I can make to convince him to keep Playgroup around, as well as ideas for changes to other programming at the center. By the end of the day Monday, I feel more confident about what I want to say.
But when I get home, all that goes out the window. The kitchen is a disaster area, looking like someone started and abandoned a few different recipes. That’s in addition to the usual piles of unopened mail on the counter, a trash bin that needs to be emptied, and a dog whining to go out.
As I’m putting on his leash, another whimper snags my attention. In the dim light, I can just make out a human shape in the cozy nook under the bay window. My father hand-crafted the built-in bench years ago and it’s been a favorite place for all of us to read or giggle with friends while my mom cooked dinner. These days, it’s one of the places my mom ends up when she needs to lie down.
An impatient “woof” from the dog startles us both, but I quickly reassure my mother so she doesn’t try and get up. “It’s just me, Mom. I’m going to take Lenny for a quick walk. Be right back.”
As our elderly Lab mix and I walk slowly around the block, I try to count my breaths like I read about on the internet, but worries about my parents and the rec center keep crowding in. It doesn’t help that my mother hasn’t moved by the time I get back.
“I’m sorry I didn’t take the dog out,” she says, her arm covering her face.
“It’s fine. I needed to move after sitting on my patootie all day.” Turning on the lights over the stove and counters, I ask, “Where’s Dad?”
“Um, I think he’s taking a nap.”
I can’t fix their health issues, but I can at least make sure they eat. Looking around the kitchen, I ask, “So, what were you working on for dinner here?”
My mother peeks under her elbow, like she’s afraid of what she’ll find. After a long moment, she shakes her head. “I’m honestly not sure.”
It is so hard to see her like this. This woman raised three kids while working full-time, and never complained a day in her life. She met every challenge like it was a game, and our house was always full of people—our friends, her friends, random other people—all drawn in by her effortless hospitality.
But long-haul COVID has all but erased that person. Just like chronic pain has turned my once-hearty father into a shell of himself. I am the youngest by eight years, a classic oops baby, so my parents were always a little older than those of my friends. But now, they both look and behave like they’re in their late eighties instead of late sixties.
I suppose it’s the way of things. In the end, you take care of the people who took care of you. I get resentful sometimes that I’m the only one of my siblings doing so, but I’m also the one who moved back home with my tail between my legs.
“I’m sure I can figure something out,” I say. “Do you want to go take a nap too?”
“No, it feels like I’ve been doing that all day. I’ll just stay and talk to you if that’s okay.”
“Of course it is.” As I take out the trash and get organized, figuring I’ll just throw together a pasta dish with the vegetables my mother has half-prepped, I tell her silly stories from the day and ask her advice about a child in Playgroup.
I do not talk about the potential changes on the horizon.
No need to have her worrying. I can do that perfectly well on my own.
In the end, my parents end up having a decent night, both pain- and energy-wise. After dinner, we rewatch episodes of one of our favorite shows, Parks the other is broken up into a meditation room, a yoga room, and a traditional gym. Except for the auditorium, every space has a view of the river.
“Being able to contemplate water is so healing,” Van explains.
On the next floor, people work on computers. Some at traditional desks, others in couches or squishy chairs that look like they’d swallow you. People have dogs curled up at their feet. Fidget toys and tension balls are piled in baskets, and plants grow up trellises and hang from the ceiling.
“Would you like a milkshake?” Van asks. “We source the cow and goat and oat milks from local farms.”
Before I can decline, Van gets my flavor and milk preferences, pushes a bunch of buttons on a machine, and then hands me a mocha almond freeze, which is delicious and exactly the sweet pick-me-up I didn’t know I needed.
The next floor has more workspaces, plus game rooms with laser tag and nerf basketball. It’s only when a man in a coat and tie lifts a plastic bag of what looks like garbage from a bin that I finally ask one of the many questions running through my mind.
“Does the janitor have to wear a tie?”
“Ken?” Van tips their head in the direction of the garbage-carrying person. “He’s the director of IS. Kind of like Josh's counterpart but inward facing.”
“If he’s the director, why is he taking out the trash?”
Van shrugs, like Why wouldn’t he? “Everyone takes out the trash.”
They steer me around a corner into what Van calls a studio. On one end, a few people confer in front of an oversized monitor displaying what look like architectural plans. Easels face a bank of windows overlooking the river, complete with painting supplies. A backdrop, lights, and a camera on a tripod huddle together like a fancy version of a yearbook photographer’s setup.
“This is my domain.” Van grabs my hand and whispers, “Would you like a makeover?”
“You do makeovers? At work?”
They point to a set of mirrors surrounded by bulbs. “I do them for clients before we take their headshot photos.” When I open my mouth to protest, they hold up a finger. “Whether you’re a member of our globally sourced, diverse pool of entrepreneurs, or a small-town girl with sad eyes, anyone can benefit from a makeover.”
As I wonder what about my eyes looks sad, they deposit me in a chair and cover me with a drape, murmuring something like, “We’ll take care of that later.”
“May I?” Van meets my gaze in the mirror, hands hovering over my head. When I give them the okay, they run their hands through my hair. “This color is unbelievable. Do you know what people would pay to achieve this cascade of blonds?”
They don’t wait for my answer. Dropping the hair, they move on to my face, taking my chin and moving it side to side. “I wish all my clients were as faithful with their sunscreen as you obviously are.”
They sigh and turn the chair so we’re both facing the mirror again. “With your permission, I’d love to show you a couple makeup tips. I want to take all the beauty you’ve got and make it pop !” Their hands open like fireworks, and I can’t help but get swept up in the moment.
Still, as Van starts fussing around with foundation and blush and eye shadow palettes, I have to ask, “Don’t you have, like, work to do?”
Hand on their chest, Van meets my gaze in the mirror. “Honey child, this is my life’s work.” They gesture around the airy room. “All of it.”
As they dab my face with a cleansing wipe, Van continues. “Each person at Trede is assigned a primary role to fit their strengths—for me that’s design, obvs—as well as additional roles that give them a chance to take on new challenges.”
“So, what are IS and OS exactly?”
Van slaps their hands to their face Home Alone style. “Eek! I’m supposed to explain that. Is it obvious that giving tours is not my core competency?”
Before I can politely protest, they continue. “IS stands for Inward Service, and OS is for Outward Service. Because Trede is a pre-seed global tech builder, we balance service with growth. Our accelerator programs offer entrepreneurs the tools they need in the planning stages”—he waves a hand at the studio—“which includes all aspects of design.”
Whatever any of that means, they must also be growing money. None of what I’ve seen could have come cheap. Before I can ask what the horse feathers a pre-seed tech builder is, however, they tell me to close my eyes and relax. “Time for me to play!”
Van’s touch is gentle, and their voice is soothing, so I relax into the chair and just enjoy the experience, opening and closing my mouth and eyes as instructed, and wait to look in the mirror until they’ve finished.
“Ta-da!”
After Van turns the chair to face the mirror again, I can’t quite believe what I see. My skin glows, my cheeks blush, and my eyes are somehow bigger and rounder. I look exactly like myself, just… more.
“Thank you for trusting me with this gorgeous canvas.” Van hands me a small cloth bag. “Product samples and instructions.” They fan a set of color swatches in front of me. “This is for you to take home. I want you to throw out anything in your closet that isn’t in this palette.”
Before I can thank them for working their magic on me, we’re interrupted by a familiar voice.
“Van! I’ve been looking for you. I need you to move the needle on the Pegasus group mockups. The Tiger team on that project wants to whiteboard before sending them over the wall.” Eli, dressed in an outfit I bet he thinks is casual—a tie with a vest instead of a coat—turns his attention to me. “Who’s your friend?
Van squeezes my shoulder and whispers, “Face blindness.”
At least I’m not the only one who’s invisible. “Eli, I’m Avery Mills. From Climax Parks and Rec? And from high school?”
“Of course. I didn’t recognize you out of context.” Tapping his head, he murmurs, “Tamagotchi.”
I pause, halfway out of the chair. “Tamagotchi?”
“I apologize.” He bows again, but only halfway. It’s really kind of a nod. “Did I say that out loud? Because I don’t recognize faces, I employ mnemonics to file people in the cache.”
“What does that have to do with Tamagotchi?”
“You run children’s programming at the center, and you were the girl who got people to pay her to babysit their Tamagotchi’s in high school,” he says, like Duh.
“Huh. I totally forgot about that.”
“I did not.” Hoping Josh will be available by now, I step away from the makeup table. “Thanks for the makeover, Van.”
“My pleasure,” Van says, and I actually kind of believe them.
Remembering that they’d said it was a challenge for them, I add, “Your tour was truly awesome.”
“Aww, thank you!” They open their arms wide, but then freeze. “I forgot to ask first. I’ve learned things are different here in New York. Can I hug you?”
“Um, sure. Don’t want to leave you hanging.”
When their arms enclose my torso, a hiccup of emotion bubbles up. I don’t think anyone has hugged me for a long time, and it feels really good. “Thanks, Van.”
“Thank you, Avery.” They step back and point a finger gun at Eli. “I’ll go make some hay for Pegasus, Eli.”
I turn to leave as well, before realizing I have no idea which way to go. “Um…”
Van has disappeared, so I ask Eli for directions back to the elevator banks, which are not at all in the direction I would’ve chosen. “I’m so glad you took the time to visit. I want community members to feel welcome here.”
“I enjoyed the tour, but I actually came looking for Josh.”
“He’s been growth hacking with our new accelerator group. Doing some real blue sky thinking.”
I nod, even though I have no idea what any of that means, exactly. “I was worried at first when he missed Playgroup. I’d thought maybe his wife would’ve brought Percy, but his mother did instead,” I say, even though I doubt Eli even knows what Playgroup is.
But as I’m thinking that perhaps he does know, and that maybe he’s the one—not Josh—who wants to cut the program, Eli says, “Oh no, his wife can’t bring Percy anywhere. She’s deceased.”
The doors close between us before I can ask anything else.
Josh is not married! my girl parts sing as I head back to my car. We’re allowed to lust over him!
But he is a widower , my frontal lobe warns. He’s grieving. Not a good time to get involved. For either of us.
We could be a part of the healing process, girl parts argue, complete with a hazy, romantic movie of the two of us running toward each other in a field of flowers.
Tires screeching and the honk of a car horn bring me crashing back to reality. And into a hedge. When I try to remove myself, I end up getting tangled further. “Oh, for cod’s sake!”
“Avery?” the man of my daydreams towers over me. His face is flushed, but I’m guessing it’s not because he was just fantasizing about me. “You just walked in front of my car!”
The anger in his tone has me shrinking farther into the bushes. “I didn’t do it on purpose. I was—” Suddenly, something below me gives way and the hedge swallows me. “Son of a bee sting!”
Josh pries apart the branches over my head. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah. Just… stuck.” Wincing, I manage to disentangle one arm. “And a little scratched.”
He reaches through the greenery to help me release the other arm but ends up pulling my hair. “Ow!”
“Sorry, sorry! This is like a scene from Little Shop of Horrors .”
After several tries, we manage to free both of my hands, but my rear end is still wedged between branches. “Now what?”
“I think the only thing to do is pull you out. On three?”
When I nod, he says, “Take hold of my wrists.”
I do so, and he grasps mine firmly, sending little tingles up my arms. “One, two…” we say together, but before I can say three, he hauls me out of the hedge and into his chest.
Grabbing his upper arms to keep from falling, I sputter, “You said three!”
He winces. “I was thinking the element of surprise might help.”
We’re nose to nose, breath puffing between us, his smelling faintly of mint. The need to know what he tastes like is stronger than my need for peanut M&Ms every afternoon at four.
His eyes rove my face, circling back to my lips. “I…” he begins, looking as discombobulated as I do. “Can I… ask you something?”
If it’s Can I kiss you? The answer is Oh, yes.
Instead of saying that out loud, however, I just nod.
Eyes never leaving my lips, he sways slightly, like he was the one who just fell in a bush, or maybe fell under the spell that has me entranced. That has me closing the space between us millimeter by millimeter until… a loud honk has us both jumping back.
Son of a motherless goat!
Josh's head whips around so fast in the direction of the car horn I’m afraid it might fly right off his neck, and when he turns back to me, his eyes no longer shine with desire.
And it was desire, dagnabbit. It was raw need.
At least I think it was.
I step closer, but he steps back.
Okay, wait. Did I just imagine that almost-kiss? I rewind the conversation in my head. “Um, you wanted to ask me something?”
He just blinks for a few moments, so perhaps he is as flooded with hormones as I am, but then he wipes a hand down his face, wiping away all expression. “Yes. I did need to ask you something.”
When he doesn’t go on, I shift closer and roll my hand in the air encouragingly like Go on .
“Right. I needed to ask you…” He’s blinking again, almost like he’s clicking through options in his mind. “Oh! Yes.”
I lean in just a hair farther, hoping we’ll return to the immediate-post-hedge version of this convo, but then he clears his throat and blurts, “Why does Leia hate Eli so much?”