In fact, it’s so loud that I almost miss Eliza finally answering my call. “Hey, Mar! Hold on. Hold… Hold… Okay, here I am. Sorry it took me a second; I just finished up a blowout.”
A smile stretches across my face. “Making good money?”
“Not shabby… for a licensed cosmetologist!”
My grin doubles in size just as the street signal goes white in my direction, coaxing this amoeba of New Yorkers to start moving across the street.
“So you got your certificate?!” I yelp.
“I did! I am officially official.” She laughs and I love the sound, mostly because it’s been so rare for these last few years. Meanwhile, tears sting my eyes.
“Well, I am very proud of you. The second Parker sister to make something of themselves and stick it to the man.”
“I’m not sticking it as hard as you.” I hear a clattering in the background, probably Eliza cleaning up her workspace. “You assist one of the richest men in the city on the daily. I just do hair.”
I glance down at the watch on my wrist and pick up my walking pace a bit. “Oh, hush. If there weren’t people like you, my job interview would have gone very poorly. Imagine me walking into Apex with a bird’s nest on my head. They woulda laughed me out of there.”
My sister laughs again. God, I wish I could hear that more. We are two of four Parker kids, and even though I am older than Eliza by seven years, we’ve stayed close. Mostly because our dad sucks and the other two are even younger and I’ve been taking care of them all since I was a kid myself. That’s the default of being a woman, I suppose. Be it all, do it all.
It’s also the only option when your mom leaves you.
“How’s Gianni?” I ask. “Still working at the garage?”
“At the garage, atourgarage. I swear that boy eats, sleeps, and breathes cars.” I can hear the eyeroll in my sister’s response, but I know she’s as proud of our younger brother as I am. At the tender age of seventeen, he’s already found something to be passionate about. Easier said than done when you have no male role model because your dad is a piece of shit.
Did I say that already? I said that already. I’ll say it again, probably. I’ll keep saying it until the heat death of the universe.
“I’m just glad he’s found something he’s good at. Even if it is messy and smelly and stains a lot of clothes. But Bella… I worry about Bella.”
I am fast approaching the restaurant. I know I’m going to get an earful from Electra if I’m not on time, but it’s my weekly check-in call with my sister and I need to know if Bells is doing okay, too.
“Bella is Bella. Good grades, snarky attitude and looks more like twenty-one than fifteen.”
I sigh with a smile. “I saw that coming. The girl is way too pretty for her own good. Hopefully she hasn’t used that to her advantage?”
“If you’re asking if she has a fake ID, I’ve checked. But honestly, Amara, she doesn’t seem to have an interest in drinking. I think The Man has traumatized that out of her.”
My stomach sours a little. My siblings refer to our dad as The Man. Not because they think he’sthe manbut because they’ve officially dissociated too much to call him Dad. Gianni calls him something more colorful half the time, and I can’t even bring myself to scold him for it,
“I’m going to have to cut this short,” I say, making my way up to the restaurant. “But let me know if you guys need anything. I get paid tomorrow and?—”
“Amara, you send more than enough. More than you should.”
“I send the right amount, trust me. I love you. Tell the others I love them, too. Talk to you soon.”
“Love you. Bye.”
I shove my phone in my purse and let out a decompressive breath. If switching hats was an Olympic sport, I swear I’d get the gold medal.
As soon as I walk inside Flower Child, a chic lunch spot offering local produce and grassfed proteins, I spot Electra. She’s sitting at a table in the middle of it all and she’s already got two glasses of wine, one for me and one for her.
I wave but she doesn’t notice me. She’s looking down at her phone with a smirk. I wonder if Bug Boy or his successor is responsible for making her grin.
“Hey, girl!” I say as I pull up a chair.
“One second. Let me just hit this double heart thing and… okay. Swiped right.”
“Let me guess, your date with Alfonzo didn’t go well?” I ask, setting down my purse by my feet and reaching for my glass of wine. It’s one P.M. on a Saturday which means no work. And that means I can drink without worrying I’m going to get sloppy.
