Chapter 3 #2
I whisper the next part, the way I would if approaching a rabid dog or wild animal. “Zo. Maybe I could help by like passing out business cards or watching the baby.”
She doesn’t respond. I’m not totally sure she can even hear me. Her singular focus remains on that binder, flipping through the pages with a look on her face that leaves me genuinely concerned she may be in the throes of a psychotic break.
I look to Mom for backup, but even as she cringes for my benefit, it doesn’t hide the first genuine smile I’ve seen in her eyes since I got home. I’m relieved to see signs of life, but also—traitor.
I try again. “Zo.”
“Here,” Zola says, splaying the binder open on the coffee table so I’m staring into the article that will be my demise. “I prepped this presentation for Eliza before—”
“She fired you,” I finish for her this time. If I’m going down, I’m taking everybody with me. “Anyone else need wine for this?” I ask, rising from my chair.
Zola’s glare is ice, but Mom raises a hand and I high-five it on my way to the kitchen.
Before I can pull away, Mom wraps her fingers around mine and squeezes. Just for a moment—there and gone—but there’s a silent promise in her grasp that says, I’m trying.
The whole first floor of the house is open, so there’s nowhere to truly escape, but I still spend longer than necessary uncorking the rosé I picked up earlier.
Moving my body a little offers an outlet for my mounting anxiety.
And it can’t hurt to put some distance between myself and Zola’s evil genius energy.
“An-y-way.” Zola says those three syllables more deliberately than anyone in the history of the world.
A less than subtle indication that she’s reclaiming her time.
“I had a pitch ready for our next social media push. It’s based on this: thirty-six questions psychologists say can lead any two people to fall in love. ”
I reenter the lion’s den, snatching the printout from Zola’s hands as I sip my afternoon wine like the lady of leisure I am now.
“Let’s see,” I say, flopping sideways into the recliner so my legs dangle over the armrest. A lady of leisure, sure, but never a lady. I could swear Mom actually giggles into her wineglass.
I rattle off a few of the less invasive bullet points from Zola’s article.
“Who’s your ideal dinner guest? Would you want to be famous? Wait,” I say, getting tripped up on the third one. “Doesn’t everyone rehearse phone calls before making them?”
Mom and Zo laugh like I’ve delivered a punch line. Note to self: apparently no, everyone does not.
“I think there’s something here,” Zola says, with renewed focus.
She sounds like she’s seated at a conference table, while I’m still lying here in yoga pants, picking cookie dough chunks from my teeth.
“It’s gimmicky enough to hit on socials, but there’s real scientific backing for the client. For Kaia,” Zola clarifies. Threatens.
A few sips of rosé with a splash of midday collusion, and Mom’s almost giddy. “Yesss. Zo, you’re a genius.”
“Duh,” Zola says, flipping her boho braids behind her shoulder.
“You’re both hilarious,” I say through a snarl. “Can we please get back to picking a movie?”
“No,” Zola insists. “This is happening.”
She looks so serious I’m legitimately worried that she is serious.
“You were right,” she says, using my three favorite words against me. “I need to at least try to 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, “then why 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 a man.”
Zola scans the room like the mystery life I speak of must be hiding somewhere around the corner. “Oh, is that why 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 say love like 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.