She does that face that looks exactly like her mum. “That’s not nice Frankie, other people worked hard too. I didn’t get it this time because it wasn’t for me.”
I suck my teeth. “So what are you gonna do now then? I thought only they were casting at the moment.”
She lays back on the couch and kicks her feet up on the wobbly coffee table.
“I don’t even know. I don’t even know how I’m gonna pay rent this month.”
“Babe, I can handle rent. Be serious.”
“Thanks. This is like the third month you covered me, though.”
“Well, it’s your yaad. I could chip in.”
“Still, I should be able to cover my half.”
I lay back with her. “Forget that for now, Zee. What do you need from me right now? A listening ear? An advisor? Or a defender?”
She ponders it. “Listening ear. I have a rant.”
“Then the floor is yours.”
And on she goes, talking it out in fragments, about auditions and callbacks and how exhausting it is to keep being almost enough. I let her without interrupting. The whole time though, there’s this dull, persistent discomfort between my legs annoying the hell out of me.
I tell myself it’s karma.
Punishment for being messy.
For being selfish.
For hiding her brother in my bathroom while she falls apart on my couch.
Eventually, as the sun begins to set, her rant slows down.
“Frankie?”
I look at her. “Hm?”
“Will I ever be good enough?”
My breathing stops. I’m ready to give her an earful, until I see the single tear slide down her cheek as she stares at the ceiling.
“I think,” I say carefully. “You are the moon, and the stars and more. But it doesn’t matter what I think, or if I feel you’re good enough. What doyouthink Za?”
Her breathing evens out. She curls into my side like she’s done a thousand times before.
“I think I want to be good enough…” she sobs lightly.
“Zee,” I try but she didn’t respond. Zaza managed to cry and rant herself to sleep.
I stay still until I’m sure she’s out, thinking of the mess I continue to make of things. If I keep things up with Jabari, I’dhave to tell Za eventually. But, she already feels so down and adding him to the mess feels icky.
I should’ve ended things when I had the chance. Now, I don’t know if I can.
I prop Zaza up with a throw pillow, then carefully, I slip away.
The bedroom door creaks softly as I open it. Jabari is sprawled across my bed again, phone held above his face, thumb scrolling with alarming enthusiasm.
“What are you doing?” I whisper harshly.
