“What you really want to know is what Ash said to Mrs. Eisenberg.”
I shrug at the differentiation, knowing I’m doing a poor job convincing my best friend I couldn’t care less one way or the other. Zwena knows me too well. She understands I’m a stickler for correctly reported facts.
“You sure you want to hear?” Zwena teases. She’s having too much fun at my expense to recount the details easily.
“You know I do,” I concede.
“Ash told his grandmother he just had the best night of his life.” Zwena smiles and raises both eyebrows at me, indicating she’s proud of me and to spill it.
“Is that so?” I beam. “Was that it?” I cross my fingers on my lap hoping there is nobutto follow.
“Is that it?! What more could you want? That was a great review!”
“I don’t know, he could have shared the specifics.”
Noticing my intertwined fingers, Zwena pats my hands. “Well, I know they are close, but let’s hope not that close. I’m not sure Mrs. Eisenberg could handle all the details.”
“No, I’m not sure she could,” I brag and chuckle as last night’s highlights flash through my mind, triggering a light sweat to form at my hairline.
“But I can,” Zwena insists just as we hear Gloria turn the water off.
“Time to get ready,” I announce and pop off the floor. “We gotta get going, Z—big day ahead of me.”
“And apparently a big night behind you,” Zwena heckles and reluctantly rolls over to stand up and let me off the hook. For now.
“You go ahead and take that coffee to Mrs. Eisenberg. I think this is going to be a quadruple espresso shot kind of day for me.”
“It’s gonna be some kind of day for sure,” Zwena calls over her shoulder, striding down the hall, two coffees in her hands.
For sure,I admit to myself, sliding my key through the card lock and heading inside to get ready for the rest of my life.
“I don’t think I can watch. I thought I could, but I can’t.” I peek through my index and middle finger long enough to catch a glimpse and then quickly hide my eyes again.
“Turn it down. Turn it down!” With my hands over my face, I can’t cover my ears. Purposely, I turn my body away from the monitor in our dressing room and into the corner by the air-conditioning unit.
“I can’t find the remote,” Gloria panics, and I hear my mom riffling through the green bottles of Perrier and bowls of every imaginable salty and sweet snack littering the coffee table in our small butwell-appointed holding stall. I hate to be a diva, but when I walked into the windowless room on zero hours of sleep and there was not a Diet Coke in sight, I begged the scattered intern giving us the history of the studio to find me three cans and a bucket of ice immediately. She spun on her heels at my request and sauntered off to fulfill my order at a less-than-hurried pace.
“Do you want the volume off or just down?” Mrs. Eisenberg asks, weighing the options calmly from the love seat. She is not at all pressed by Simon walking onto the national stage to spew some nonsense about how he stands before the judges as his truest self, living at the intersection of wellness and wokeness. I’m not sure she fully appreciates that this is the exact stage we will be occupying in under an hour and that we are not solely in LA for a girls’ getaway. Behind my back, I can hear Mrs. Eisenberg’s hand fondling the bowl of Raisinets when she thinks everyone is focused on me and my reaction to Simon opening the final episode of Season 18 ofInnovation Nation.
“Innovation Nationwelcomes Simon Evans, founder of Best U Man, incorporated this March in Palo Alto, California. As a former investment banker and current life coach ...”
“Sound down, but maybe not off. And keep the screen on,” I direct from my chosen corner. “Z, how does he look? What’s he doing? Does he seem nervous? What are the judges’ reactions? Is he waving his arms around? Simon’s always talked too much with his hands.” Not wanting to rely on my own eyes, I bother Zwena with a new question before she can answer the last one.
“Oh, so you wantmeto giveyouthe play-by-play when it comes to Simon, but you get to stay quiet about what went down with Ash last night?” Zwena finally gets a full sentence in, and it is not the one I was looking for. Mrs. Eisenberg’s fistful of Raisinets tinkles back into the bowl, and I hear my mom plop down in a seat, ready to listen.
“After fifteen-plus years as an investment banker, working hundred-hour weeks, missing out on my daughters’ soccer games and spring breaks, I knew I had todo the workto turn my life around so I couldlive it authentically as well as in harmony with humankind. I needed to drastically reevaluate my lifestyle, and how I view my role in society, my purpose on this earth, my passion in this complicated world.” I can barely make out Simon’s confession to what will eventually be millions of viewing Americans, so I take three steps backward to be closer to the monitor without having to turn.
“No, he didn’t. He. Did. Not,” Zwena emphasizes at the top of her lungs, her attention quickly swinging from Ash back to Simon.
“What’d he do?” I whip around, desperate to see how Simon just blew it on network television.
“He used the termdo the work. Do the work!” Zwena’s body tightens like she’s ready to throttle Simon and his idiocy for including too many trendy idioms in his opening remarks. I shudder, triggered by Simon’s words as well. Nothing raises Zwena’s, Krish’s, and my cynical hackles more than hearing people wax on in books, podcasts, talk shows, and health-o-mmercials that what we as a society need is more people willing to dig deep anddo the work. It’s repeated so often and definitively that one would think every American ascribes to the same definition of whatthe workis when, in fact, there are innumerable claims. Is it a dedicated three-hour morning routine, complete with meditation, journaling, mushroom tea, and perineum sunning? Or is it cognitive behavioral therapy? Microdosing psilocybin? Maybe you can just get yourself an anxiety alert dog and call it a day? With all the people out there withDr.in front of their name, why any investor would back Simon’s unfounded pseudoscience is beyond me.
“And yes,” Zwena recounts with a huff, “his mandala beads are waving at the audience from his wrist while he explains all the ways he feels years younger from practicing his Best U Man rituals.”
He feels years younger because he got to skip his daughters’ middle school years,I think to myself.That drama will age any parent.When sneaking a peek at the monitor, I take note Zwena has turned back to the mirror, done with Simon but not her false eyelashes. Now that I’ve lost my commentator, I am forced to face the screen.
The camera closes in on Ash as he listens attentively to Simon’s pitch. I feel heat rise from my stomach, and I exigently begin to fan my armpits. My mind flickers too fast, back and forth from last night to this moment, from the comfort of my past relationship with Simon to the anticipation of what could be with Ash, from the years driving a transportation cart to launching my own company. The life whiplash makes me lightheaded.
