“Dad, what?”
“Last night…” He wades out of his haze. “I think I pissed her off.”
“How?” I ask with trepidation.
“Hard to say, buddy. Hasn’t all come back to me yet.” He laughs this off, like getting so tanked that you have little recollection of the night before is hysterical.
“You might want to give her a call,” I suggest, thinking of Piper’s message. There’s not a lot of nuance in texts, but she didn’t seem amused by mywicked hangoverobservation.
“I’ll do that.” Dad double-dips himself another scoop of peanut butter, then parks himself on a stool. He’s still got bags under his eyes, and despite his shower, I swear to god I can smell booze leaching from his pores.
“I’m gonna go out for a while,” I tell him, heading out of the kitchen.
I’ve got nowhere to be, but if I have to look at him slurping peanut butter off a spoon like an anteater for another second, I’ll lose my shit. I feel like telling him how uncool it was, walking into his room midday and seeing him bedraggled and incoherent. He’ll say I have a stick up my ass and everything’s fine. He’ll toss back his Corona and go on about how he knows what he’sdoing, he’s got a handle on it.
He’s Davis Walker, for fuck’s sake.
I could call my mom. Maybe Ishouldcall my mom. But she’ll buy me a one-way ticket back to Spokane, scheduled to depart tonight, using her emergency credit card because this is not a purchase she’s budgeted for. As far as she’s concerned, Davis is a decent man and a good dad, but she won’t let me stay with him if she thinks his drinking’s out of control.
I’m not ready to leave Sugar Bay.
I spend the afternoon cruising the pier, edgy and overwhelmed.
Piper
By the time I get back to the Towers, I’ve dried my tears and formulated a plan. I’ll have to tell Tati about losing my jobeventually, but that’s a worry for Future Piper. For now, I’ll come and go as if I’m still employed, if only to put off a blowout. During the hours I should be at work, I’ll hunt for a new job. Any job. When I secure one, I’ll come clean about what happened at the park.
At home, I change out of my Marine Conservation Park T-shirt for the last time and nearly fall apart all over again. I steel myself, throw on a white tank, and wash my face. Then I give myself a pep talk.Forget about upsetting Turtle. Forget about how heartbroken Mom and Dad would be. Forget about Tati and the shitstorm she’d stir up if she knew. You’ve survived worse. You’ve got this.
I make a pot of rice on the stove, drop in a generous pat of butter, and sprinkle on salt and pepper. Standing in the kitchen, I eat every last grain.
I’m feeling infinitesimally better when my phone buzzes with a text.
Tati
Are you home?
God—did Turtle call her after all?
Tati
I need you to come to my office.
The last thing I feel like doing is visiting my sister in her office, a windowless cavern where goodwill goes to die. She only ever asks me to come down there when she’s got something dire to complain about or when I’ve done something above and beyond what usually aggravates her. Like when I’ve been fired and my boss—myformerboss, a friend of the freaking family—notifies her before I do.
Piper. Please, she texts.
Okay, this feels different. Not like Tati knows I did something wrong, but like something’s wrong with Tati.
I slip on the Adidas I ditched at the door when I came in and head for the elevator.
Tati’s assistant, Brigitte, is a middle-aged woman who tried to mother me when she started at the Towers a few years ago. She knocked it off only when I growled thatno, I didn’t need help with my math homework, andyes, I was eating enough vegetables.Brigitte is usually eager to chitchat, but today—thank god—she waves me toward my sister’s office without any inane questions.
Tati’s behind her desk, signing off on a document. “Close the door,” she mumbles.
I do, catching Brigitte’s curious look just before it clicks shut.
I take a seat in one of the two armchairs meant for new applicants or tenants who’ve come to bitch. This feels a little too similar to being in Turtle’s office an hour ago, and I have to breathe through a swell of anxiety before I say, very casually, “What’s up?”
