No no no. Bad. Must change subject.
“Did you and that guy Chord break up?” Vivian asks.
“No, Chord and I are good. Great, even. Dad and I were talking about... other stuff. Nothing, really. It’s not—It’s stupid.”
“Okay.” Vivian’s on to me. Maybe it’s time to go to the bathroom.
“Oh! Viv.” Dad reaches under the table again. I’m so relieved. “I thought I left it in the car, but it was in the same bag as Maggie’s. This is for you.”
He pulls out an actual canvas this time—about half the size of our table’s surface—upon which is painted an absolutely gorgeous scene of a woman emptying clothes from a dryer.
“What the... ?” Viv stares down at it. “Ohmigod, Dad, is this based onLost Sock?”
“It is,” Dad says. “I felt really inspired.”
Lost Sockis a short film Vivian wrote and directed in the spring last year, a dark, funny story that takes place during one load of laundry. Like everything Vivian does, it’s fantastic.
“Thank you,” Vivian says, her eyes teary.
I look down at my cardboard Billy Beaver and suddenly feel silly. Like, Vivian gets this masterpiece you could easily envision in an art gallery, and I get... a cartoon rodent.
“I actually just submitted it for six more film festivals,” Vivian says. “So, fingers crossed.”
“Man!” Dad says. “You’re so on top of it. I was horrible at that with my own work. Still am. It’s like you got all of my creative artist stuff plus all of Mom’s type-A-get-shit-done stuff. A killer genetic brew. I’m jealous.”
“I dunno about that.” Vivian flicks a hand in the air. “I think more likely I have a powerful combo of both of your unique anxieties.”
Vivian’s so consistently good at downplaying these moments. But the damage is already done. She’s the gorgeously rendered painting; I’m the goofy, bucktoothed cartoon.
“Well, whatever it is,” Dad says, “it’s working!” He turns to me. “Not sure what genetic mixyougot.”
Oof. I know this is Dad’s sense of humor, but I’m not in the mood for it right now. My stomach clenches, and I wildly blink to stop tears.
“I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” Dad says. “You’re incredible too, Mags. You know that.”
“She is, Dad.” Vivian is also very good at coming to my defense. “Did you see those videos from her show? Seriously unreal. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there.”
“Oh god, yes,” Dad agrees. “Of course I saw the videos! Maggie’s a straight-up rock star, I already told her that. Didn’t I already tell you that?”
“You did,” I say. I’m still fuming even though I do appreciate the compliment.
“The catering gig was a mess,” Dad says. “I would have much rather been at your show.”
“You know what you want, hon?” Doreen says, appearing at the table now that Vivian’s arrived.
“Uh, can I see a menu?” my sister asks.
Dad and I give her deadpan stares.
“What? I wanna deviate!”
Doreen trudges to the front and returns with a menu. After fifteen seconds of frantic looking, Vivian says, “Okay, I’ll do the avocado toast, light on the salt.”
“Glad I brought this,” Doreen says, winking as she takes the menu back and walks away.
“I really did think I’d try something else,” Vivian explains. “But then you were all looking at me, and I panicked.”
“We’re not judging you,” Dad says. “We got our usual shit too.”
