There’s her famous “we.” My mother tends to throw out a “we” when she has a suggestion for me, but wants to soften the blow.
She persists. “What did you have for lunch?”
“I had a burrito on the way here.” I shift my pose to a new fake stretch, and my mother adjusts as well. The photographer circles around us now, getting our outfits from behind. I hate having him behind me when I haven’t done as much as a squat in over a week. To flex the butt cheeks, or relax the cheeks? That is the question.Chill out, Indie. You have to stop thinking about this or you’ll end up flexing only one cheek and looking like a mutant.I send a message from my brain to my behind:Relax the cheeks. I can’t tell if it’s working.
“Perfect. A big lunch like that should hold you until tomorrow.” She sighs and smiles. “I think that’s enough for today, Benny.” She dismisses the photographer.
Gone is her peaceful, empowered hiker face. Kara Fox, Boss Mom is back on duty. “Let’s talk about tomorrow. We have the shoot at sunrise, then a video meeting with the head mucky mucks at Skinnybee over lunch. We’re doing a Live from the resort after dinner. I promised one, and everyone needs to see your face. And somewhere in there wemustget a workout and a facial in.” See?We. “You knowwhat, I’ll just email the schedule. Keep an eye out.” She says this like she wasn’t going to email the schedule either way. I wonder how much caffeine she had in that makeup tent.
We make our way toward the tent and she goes on, “As for tonight, we need to meet with the team and brainstorm ways we can cross-promote on this trip. Let’s talk in my room after dinner.”
I tug up on the sports bra to put it back where it belongs, stalling. “I promised a friend I’d spend time with her tonight since I’m leaving early.”Subtle reminder that you are crashing my vacation, Mom.“Can we brainstorm tomorrow?” Why do I feel like a teenager asking to stay out after curfew?
A gusty sigh comes from my mother as she packs up her things. “We need to meet tonight so we can get a move on. We only have this week.”
Exactly. I only have this week. I needed these last few days of escape, but reality is closing in like a wrecking ball. “What if I brainstorm tonight and send you a list? Then we can get together with the team after lunch but before the Live?” I don’t want to, but I can totally do that after Mercer falls asleep. I can make this work.
My mother purses her lips, and her tiny nostrils flare. “Fine.”
I pretend that she means what she says, happy to be free for one more night.
Chapter 13
“Are you ready to par-tay?!” Mercer yells from the rolled-down window of her car. Calling it a car is generous; it looks like a rust and mint green colored science project held together by duct tape and optimism. It was probably a Honda or something at the beginning of its life. She has an old Mariah Carey song playing full blast as she skids to a stop behind The Hulk. Brakes squeal and gravel flies, punctuated by Mariah belting out “Fantasy.” She kills the engine and Mariah is silenced.
“I amsoready to party,” I say as the dust settles around me.
Her driver’s side door creaks open, “Good, because Sunny is coming, too. She’s right behind me. We left at the same time, but she drives like a grandma.” She laughs. “Actually, that’s an insult to grandmas.”
She unloads a wadded up comforter and a reusable grocery bag that looks like it’s her luggage, and scans our surroundings. “So this is where you’ve been camping?Nice.”
I have to agree. It is pretty spectacular. The Hulk is parked on the far side of Joe’s property, under a tall cottonwood tree for shade and a little bit of privacy. There are sheer rocky cliffs not far behind us, and an unobstructed view of the sunset in front of us. The sun is juststarting to sink behind the horizon and it's one of those sunsets that requires a picture—lots of pink, lavender, and coral colored clouds with yellow rays of sun peaking through. I’m going to have to put this one in my mental photo album, though. I already stashed my phone in the glove box for the night for my sanity.
A small white car stops quietly behind Mercer’s science project car and Sunny gets out, with a sleeping bag and pillow under one arm and… a board game?
“Yessss! You brought it!” Mercer crows. “Indie needs to be initiated.”
“I’m afraid to ask.” I try to peek at the game, but all I can see are 90s-style graphics and a lot of hot pink. “What is that?”
Sunny has a sheepish smile. “You’ll see. Let’s get settled and we can play.”
Mercer rolls open the side door of the van, making herself at home. “We’ve been playing that game since the fifth grade. It’s a non-negotiable slumber party tradition.” She looks around the van, “Wow, there’s a lot of stuff in here.”
“Welcome to my home,” I say with a laugh. I had straightened up and rolled down the other bench-slash-bed to make room for Mercer, but, “It might be tight with three people. Not impossible, though. We can squeeze, right?” I sit cross legged on my makeshift bed and watch my new friends settle in, grateful for the light breeze coming through the open door. I catch that creosote scent I love on the air and I can’t stop my smile. Today’s photoshoot is almost forgotten. Sunny unrolls her sleeping bag and makes a place for her pillow. Mercer un-wads her blanket and throws it next to Sunny’s spot.
“Shoot. I forgot my pillow. Want to share, Sun?”
“Nope. If I share, you won’t learn to remember your stuff.” She makes a perfect dividing line between her bedding and Mercer’s pileof stuff, “And you’ll end up with the whole pillow like you did last time.”
“Did you guys get dinner? Are you hungry? I have snacks and drinks and stuff.” I am in full hostess mode in the back of this crusty van. My mother would be so proud.
Sunny shakes her head, but Mercer is predictable: “What do you have?”
Knowing that tonight will likely be my last hurrah with this type of food, I’ve stocked up on a selection of treats that my mother can never know about. It looks like a teenager used my debit card to prepare for the apocalypse. I have Oreos, obviously, plus a few other bags of candy, Flamin’ Hot Cheetos, Funyuns, and a twelve pack of cherry Coke.
A few minutes later, Mercer is elbow deep in a bulk bag of licorice and the girls are explaining the rules of their game. It’s calledGirl Talkand it’s clearly meant for tween girls who dream of being teenagers. It’s definitely not a game for fully grown, respectable adults. The player spins the wheel and completes a truth or dare. If she chickens out, she has to wear a red zit sticker on her face for the rest of the game. If she completes the truth or dare she gets a Fortune card.
“Yeah, so the Fortune cards weren’t in the box when we found the game at Goodwill. We just play it without them,” Mercer says. “But I got some fresh zits!” She pulls out a packet of red dot stickers that looks like it came from an office supply store.
