Victoria spent the next few days hiding out. She ignored the texts from her mother, lied about why she couldn’t go to her critique group and stopped eating. She found a guy in Riverside who taught people in wheelchairs how to play basketball and paid for an all-day private lesson. The unfamiliar activity had wrecked her back and shoulders. Unfortunately the physical pain wasn’t enough of a distraction from the emotional hurt.
She stayed up late binge-watching the trio of movies she’d shot in New Zealand, torturing herself with the memories of her disastrous relationship with Prescott, but even that didn’t compete with the gnawing ache in her heart. But on the morning of the fourth day, she woke up and told herself she had to snap out of it. Yes, there had been new, hurtful revelations, but the overriding concept wasn’t a huge surprise. She’d always been the backup kid, and that wasn’t going to change. The name thing was shitty, but there was nothing to be done about it. Technically she supposed she could legally make a change, but the only thing that appealed was whatever name would most piss off her mother, and that was hardly a reason to go to all the trouble.
She forced herself to do her morning workout routine—despite the fact that she could barely raise her arms above her head—then she did her semibathing and washed her hair. Allthat activity reminded her that she needed to start eating again, so she went to her local coffee place and got a latte and an egg sandwich. Once she was back home, she ordered groceries, then opened her laptop to do her Morning Pages.
Her mind instantly went blank, which had happened more and more lately. She did her best thinking after being physical—as if running or jumping or sword fighting allowed her to clear her mind. With her movement so restricted by her injuries, she was having a hard time engaging her brain.
She stared at the computer, then remembered some writing workshop guy talking about listing things to be grateful for as a way to get things flowing.
“Stupid, but whatever,” she muttered and rested her hands on the keyboard. What was she grateful for?
“Nothing at all. Zero. Zip. Nada.”
Okay, there had to be something. One tiny thing. She began to type.
I’m grateful to be breathing.
I’m grateful my leg doesn’t hurt anymore, and it’s itching less.
I fucking can’t believe they couldn’t be bothered to give me a different name.
She stared at the last sentence, then closed her computer. She didn’t want to spend any mental energy on what she’d discovered, didn’t want to feel the pain or think about it or anything. Basically, since she and her mom had run into Cindy, everything had gone wrong in her life. Admitting that made her want to get out and do something active, although her injury made that more difficult.
She thought briefly about texting Shannon, but remembered the other woman had said something about spending the day checking on yard signs and making sure their listings had plenty of flyers. Her phone chimed with yet another text from her mother. She deleted it without opening it, then scrolled through her contacts, stopping when she saw the one for Cindy.
If Ava could have lunch with Shannon, then Victoria could set up something with Cindy. Tit for tat, and all that kind of thing.
She started to text, then reminded herself that Cindy was close to her mother’s age and people of that generation preferred a phone call. Seconds later she heard a soft “Hello?”
“Hi. It’s Victoria.” She paused. “Ava’s daughter.”
Cindy laughed. “Of course. Hi. How nice to hear from you.”
“I’m glad you said that. I was wondering if you wanted to get coffee or something. I thought it would be fun for us to get to know each other.”
She realized the ridiculousness of the words as she said them, but it was too late to change her mind now. She half expected Cindy to blow her off, but instead she said, “I’d like that. Do you want to come by the office? We have a very fancy coffee machine right here, and it would be quieter than meeting somewhere.”
“Sounds fun. When’s a good time for you?”
“How about now? I’ll text you the address. Oh, wait. Can you drive?”
“I was street racing just last night.”
Cindy laughed. “I hope that’s not true. I’ll see you in a bit.”
“You will.”
Victoria went into her bedroom where she quickly dressed in something nicer than the yoga pants and T-shirt that were her staple these days. On the drive over, she alternated between feeling foolish and enjoying a rush of defiance. She was twenty-four. At some point she was going to have to stop living her life simply to piss off her mother, but that day wasn’t today.
She arrived at the large real estate office and pulled into the parking lot. As she hop-stepped inside, she wondered if she would run into Javiar, but when she entered the airy, open reception area, she only saw Cindy, who rushed to her, smiling.
“You made it,” Cindy said happily. “I’m glad.”
“You tempted me with the promise of fancy coffee.”
“And I’ll deliver. Let’s go into my office. We won’t be disturbed there.”
They passed several small conference rooms where Victoria assumed deals were made and paperwork signed. Beyond those were smaller offices and an open area where a couple of people were working. Cindy’s space was in the corner. Two walls of windows let in plenty of light. A computer with two screens sat on one desk while folders were stacked on another. Cindy led her to the round table by one of the windows.
