“Don’t do it as a personal favor to me,” Darcy said, hunching her shoulders to appear larger and more menacing.
Sloane growled again and waved her hand. “Fine! Then I want extra turkey bacon too, extra crispy,” she said.
“Very good choice,” the waiter said, scurrying away from the family tension.
Both Darcy and Teagan looked at Sloane again.
“What,” she said defensively. “Teagan, you’re still eating meat, right? You’re starting to look like shit again. Half that food is for you.”
Darcy stiffened at that statement. Teagan didn’t look great today, but she’d assumed that was just because he washaving trouble sleeping. She’d woken up in the middle of the night to pee, discovered the other half of the bed empty, and found him looking at his phone in the living room.
Darcy was starting to worry that she was fucking this up somehow.
Teagan waved off Sloane’s inquiry into his nutritional habits, though as Darcy examined him more closely, she thought he’d lost most of the weight he’d put on in Montana.
“You know, I wouldn’t say anything if you wanted to eat meat, dairy, whatever,” Darcy said to Teagan. Not everyone was capable of eating a peanut butter-based diet like she was. Obligate carnivores and Teagan, she’d give them a pass. Everyone else could eat more bean dip.
Teagan put a cautioning hand on Darcy’s knee under the table, but Sloane leaped on the conversational thread.
“Yeah, Tiggie, you’re a big guy. You can’t live on the food’s food,” Sloane said.
“Plenty of big people are vegan,” Teagan said. “Anyway, Sloane, the idea was that you’d go do something productive every day.”
“The job sucks, so I quit. Why would I spend this one life I have to live passing out museum maps for stupid tourists?” Sloane asked dramatically.
“Because you’re majoring in art history? Where else did you think you’d work after school?”
“Momwas an art history major, and she didn’t have to work at the museum. She helped fundraise for it. I could do that.”
Teagan gritted his teeth, and Darcy sensed that this was an old argument.
“I don’t think you understand what fundraising is really like. It’s not a fun job,” he said.
“You don’t want to work with me,” Sloane accused him.
“That’s not it. I could find you a job at one of the after-school programs,” Teagan said, fatigue now dripping into his voice, “if you don’t like the museum. I just don’t think you should be bumming around the city with nothing to do—”
“I am notbuiltfor labor, and kids stress me out. Why can’t I work at the foundation?”
“It’s not a great time,” he said slowly. “The board isn’t happy about spending. They’re not happy with me. I don’t want to put you in the middle of that situation. We can’t even afford to pay you.”
“So you need more money. Fine. I’m fantastic at asking for money. I can call all of mom’s stupid rich friends and kiss their asses, isn’t that basically the job?”
“It’s more complicated than that,” Teagan replied.
“It really doesn’t seem like it is,” Sloane said, unconvinced. “I’d probably be better at it than you.”
Darcy thought Sloane might be right about that, since she’d personally observed Teagan put both hands against his desk and stare into the void for at least five minutes before and after each fundraising call.
Teagan rubbed at the back of his neck. “If you’ll come into the office to do it,” he reluctantly offered. “I’ll give you some of my call list.”
Sloane dramatically rolled her eyes. “Fine,” she agreed.
Despite his hesitation, Teagan looked faintly relieved, and he took out his phone to begin forwarding messages and calendar entries to his sister.
Darcy settled back in the uncomfortable iron patio seat as the two of them began to bicker about Sloane’s work hours. She instinctively took her own phone out, but she caughtherself before she could turn on one of her podcasts. Teagan and Sloane arguing wasn’t stressful to listen to. Unlike in her own family, the stakes didn’t feel zero-sum. They wanted good things for each other. Darcy had a pang of envy for Sloane, growing up secure in the knowledge that Teagan wouldn’t let her destroy her life too badly. Nobody had said a thing before Darcy had made any of her terrible life decisions.
Darcy drained her glass of room-temperature tap water served in an artisan glass cup and clicked to her email. Other than bills, she rarely had anything of interest. Today, though, she had a new message with an all caps subject: OFFER LETTER ATTACHED.
