Everything has moved so fast that I haven’t had a second to attend the side circus of the pitch fest. The ‘Ted Talk’ style forums, the meet and greets, the “state of the environment” panels where billionaires discuss climate change as if their tech empires and massive wealth accumulation haven’t impacted the planet.
I usually skip the drama and the peripheral events anyway. Being crammed into rooms full of people with nowhere to be sucks the life straight out of me. The noise, the forced smiles, the performative networking that masquerades as actual connection—it’s draining and unnecessary.
The gala and the pitch are both tomorrow, and I already know they’re going to cost me every ounce of social stamina Ihave. That’s more than enough "peopling" for one weekend. And honestly, Max is enough for me, too.
Max and Lara are out together doing the girly thing—shopping, hair, nails, whatever. I’m just grateful for the silence. Though if anyone asks if I miss her presence in every room, I’ll say no. But I do.
I pace the study, barefoot on warm wood, running the presentation through my head again. Not the slides—the substance. The why. The impact. The way our process reduces waste, restores land, reinvests in the environment instead of extracting from it. The way this money wouldn’t just grow the company, but expand what we’re capable of giving back.
I’m proud. No matter what happens tomorrow.
Proud of the team.
Proud of the work.
Proud that Max stood beside me in this. Not as a consultant, not as an accessory, but as a partner.
My phone buzzes.
I glance down and smile before I fully open it.
A selfie. New hair. Soft waves framing her face, eyes bright, that familiar mischief right under the surface of her glasses.
Lil Mama:New hair, who dis?
I type back.
Me:Still my Lil Mama. That’s who.
I take a breath and decide the house is too quiet. It starts to press in right as I’m about to remind myself that, up until a week ago, I never minded the quiet. But before I can finish blaming the nymphomaniac nuisance for the changes in me, the doorbell rings.
I glance outside and see two vehicles in my driveway.
This is exactly the kind of run-in I’ve been dreading.
Unease settles low in my gut as I head for the door.
Vanessa is already there while Max pulls in behind her with Lara, fresh from their shopping trip. The timing couldn’t be worse if it were planned.
I want to be annoyed but the moment I open the door, that feeling dies.
Vanessa isn’t her usual sharp, composed self. Mascara streaks her face in uneven lines, her breathing shallow and frantic. Her hands are clenched in front of her.
These aren’t performative tears. Vanessa would never intentionally allow herself to look like this.
Max is walking up to the door fast, her body language set for a confrontation. I lift a hand without looking at her, a silent request for her to pause. She does.
Vanessa, Max, and I are all standing there in a jagged circle. While a part of me expects an all-out war to break out, the air between us feels heavy with something else. It feels like the calm before a different kind of storm. One where the weapons are dropped instead of drawn.
“Eli,” Vanessa begins and I brace for whatever is coming next. “I know you think I don’t care and that I’m heartless and—
I cut her off, not caring to recount all the fucked up things she’s done. I have one question and I need an answer immediately.
“Vanessa,” I say cautiously. “What’s happened to my brother?”
Max
The drive to the hospital is quiet, the silence pressing in on my ears. All I hear is the rush of traffic, the vibration of the road, and the occasional click of the turn signal as Eli navigates with rigid focus.
