“Actually, no. I’m the one who hands you your mail and fields phone calls from collectors. It wasn’t hard to put two and two together. I think what would shock me is hearing how it happened, because I don’t see you running around wearing Cartier and Louis Vuitton.”
I don’t want to tell her. I’m embarrassed. But she’s my sister, and she’s worried. “I donate most of my income to two charities, and before you say anything, I know it’s foolish. I know I need to stop.”
“Oh, Dakota. Are you serious?” Abby’s voice is softened with pity, and I don’t like the sound of it. “What charities?”
“A local women’s shelter and The Aneurysm Foundation.”
Abby sighs. Loudly. “And does it make you feel any better? Going into debt so that you can give to these causes?”
I look out the window at the pavement and say, “No.”
“Does Dad know?”
“Of course not.”
“Why don’t you tell him? I’m sure he’d help you out.”
“I don’t want to need Dad’s help.”
“Whether youwantto or not, you do.”
“I’ve found a way out of it on my own.”
“Right. By marrying someone you don’t love.”
“Marriage wasn’t about love until the mid-nineteenth century, Abby. The Greeks saw lovesickness as a type of insanity and modern-day Tibetan Ma women raise children without active fathers. Also—”
“Stop, stop. I know what you’re doing. And as much as I hate it, I’m really curious about how you know all that.”
“I took a class on it at a community college when I was nineteen.”
“Of course you did. So.” I picture her placing her phone in the stand she keeps in her kitchen and leaning her forearms on the countertop. “You’re going to marry Wow Guy?”
I blink out at the red brick warehouse. “Better than marrying Underwhelming Guy.”
Abby snorts. “I suppose so.”
I look at my watch. Nine fifty-seven. My meeting starts at ten. “I have to get going, Ab.”
“Just tell me you’ll rethink the donations? If you’re unwilling to cancel them, maybe decrease their amount?”
“I will.” I’ll have to, unless I want to find myself in this situation again somewhere down the line.
We say goodbye, and just as I’m reaching for my phone to end the call, Abby says my name softly.
“Yeah?”
“Do you know what you’re doing, Dakota?”
“I’ll be fine, Abby. Promise.”
We hang up and I head toward the front entrance, my mind stuck on Abby’s final question.
Does anybody ever really know what they’re doing? From what I can tell, whether people admit it or not, most everybody is just winging it. Life, love, parenting, careers, happiness… we’re all just doing the best we can.
I push my impending marriage sham out of my mind and pull open the glass front door, offering my winningest smile to the receptionist. She’s older, her chestnut hair streaked through with gray, and she wears dangly feather earrings.
“Hi, I’m Dakota Wright. I have a meeting with Daryl.”
