Chapter 12
I expected to have to fight harder to push the next date back a week, but when I tell Zola about Ro’s show, she can’t really argue.
Ro’s not only helping with her site, he’s cutting his design rates by more than half so Zo can afford him.
Sparing me for a night is the actual least she could do for him in return.
“I can’t believe you’re going out of town with a guy you hardly even know,” Liv says that Saturday from my bed.
“We’re driving an hour away,” I remind her. Still disappointed that her being here means she won’t be there. “It’s not like we’re flying to Bali.”
I’d been so ready for a night with Liv in the city—my excitement had almost been enough for me to forgive her for ignoring my Chris Hansen SOS.
But when I told her that Ro and I would be by her place later, she informed me that she was already on her way out.
Because of course she was. We’ve been out of sync all summer.
“Still,” she says, texting more than talking.
I don’t ask who with. Or who she came to Connecticut for today.
If her Instagram stories are any indication, Liv’s entire summer has been spent following Travis from gig to gig.
“Quite a leap to go from complaining about driving twenty minutes to meet a guy for dinner.”
“In my defense, I tried to cancel this, too, when I realized you were heading home. I didn’t know I needed to book time with you weeks in advance.”
“Nuh-uh,” she says, holding a finger up to stop me. “Don’t put this on me. You made this plan all by yourself. You want to go. And you’re allowed to wanna go!”
“Well, I can’t say I’m mad he got me out of going on another date. He could’ve sent an itinerary for a night in Poughkeepsie, and I would’ve been immediately down.”
“I bet you would’ve.” Her singsong tone is heavy on an implication that I willfully ignore. “But for the record,” Liv says, rolling over on the mattress to make eye contact. “I wouldn’t be so sure you’re not going on a date. When a guy invites you to—”
“Guys can’t have friends?”
“Don’t be that girl. Of course, guys can have friends,” she says, turning her phone to reveal the archives of Ro’s Instagram grid. If she accidentally likes something, I’m fleeing to Canada. “But guys that look like this don’t have friends that look like you.”
“Ro’s the only person I talk to out here who doesn’t remember what I looked like in braces. And with you otherwise occupied in the city, I’m in no position to pass up new friends.”
“With benefits,” Liv suggests, matter-of-factly. Like it’s a given.
“Right,” I say, sarcastically. “Because that always ends well.”
—
I’d planned for my exit to coincide with Mom and Zola’s gym run, but as I jam the contents of our kitchen pantry into my crossbody, Mom joins us downstairs wearing a full face of makeup and her favorite jeans.
I don’t know what (or who) was worth canceling on Zo for, but I make a mental note to text my sister later to find out if we’re mad about it.
Liv rushes Mom, shouting her standard “Miss Harper!” into their hug, and I’m glad her genuine excitement at seeing my mom overshadows my unease. Liv pulls back. “Wait. Miss? Ms.? You kept Harper last time, right?”
Mom laughs. “Girl, some days, I don’t even know. But you’re grown now. Just call me Angela.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Can you imagine guys having this conversation? Their names and identities legally bound to their relationship status.”
Liv’s and Mom’s matching eye rolls might as well be choreographed.
“She’s like one of those dolls,” Liv says, switching to her infomercial voice when she continues. “Just pull the string in back and she’ll spit out one of ten preprogrammed phrases damning the patriarchy.”
Mom slaps Liv’s arm and they have a quick laugh at my expense, until they feel the heat of my stare.
“You’re no fun.” Mom’s words are as juvenile as her eye roll.
But I’m unbothered—singing, “I never claimed to be,” while shoving a protein bar into my purse for the ride. It’s an easy drive, but Ro’s already seen me drunk. He doesn’t need to see me hangry.
I’m attempting to coax Liv toward the door, when Mom asks, “So what are you up to this summer, Livvie?”
Liv sidesteps me to take a seat at the kitchen island, raising a hand to her chest in feigned disbelief. “Does this mean Kaia hasn’t been complaining about me touring divey concert halls with my boyfriend? I’m shocked!”
She wants me to bite, but I can let one go by. I’m nobody’s windup doll.
Liv’s eyebrows lift gently in approval of my restraint before she turns back to my mom.
“Unfortunately, that part of the summer is almost over. My dad lined up a bunch of interviews for me starting Monday. Deutsche Bank, J.P. Morgan, Morgan Stanley. So now I have to at least pretend to be serious.” She says it nonchalantly, as if she didn’t just name-drop Manhattan’s titans of wealth management.
“And I’m still waiting to see if I made it to the next round at Goldman Sachs. ”
At the same time Mom shrieks something like, “Okkkay, little Livvie,” I yell, “What the fuck?!” But when I see their faces, I wish I would’ve erred more on the side of little Livvie.
“Sorry,” I say, indiscriminately. “But—what? I had no idea.”
It’s not the first time since I got home that I’ve felt this distance between me and Liv. It’s not even the first time I’ve felt it today.
“Of course, you didn’t,” she says, and though she’s still smiling, Liv’s tone is more growl than POP! Apparently, it’s not her first time feeling the distance either.
It’s only the three of us here, but with the way they’re judging me, I might as well be naked onstage at Madison Square Garden, asking them to use onomatopoeia in a sentence.
“Okay,” I say, physically pulling Liv out of her chair now. “As soon as I get back, I promise we’ll do a lightning round Q&A on our five-year plans and set aside a night to sell band merch at whatever venue Travis has lined up next. But right now, I really do have someplace I need to be.”
“Go on then,” Mom says, standing to see us off at the door. “But Liv’s right. It’s time to get serious. Summer won’t last forever.”
“Promise?” I yell back, as if I’ll have somewhere better to be by fall.
But luckily, the closing garage door drowns out whatever Mom’s saying about me under her breath.