Thankfully, the lights begin to dim so we’re not the main focus in the room. Aaron turns around, back facing me, so that helps ease the tension in my shoulders. The stage brightens, and I try to relax in my chair and concentrate on my father.
He walks onto the stage and mans the glass podium. The ballroom quiets, except for the sound of silverware hitting dishes. He looks rich. How else do you describe a man worth billions? Even in his fifties, any gray hairs are masked by brown dye. He always has a genial smile, the kind that makes him seem approachable, even if he’s usually too busy to greet. I love him for what he’s given me, and I think he’d buy us the world just for the chance to see us smile.
“Friends, family,” he says, “I’m so glad to have you all here today to celebrate this special occasion. I founded Fizzle in 1979 with an extremely ambitious—and somewhat naïve—plan to create the next best soda that could rival the likes of Coke and subsequently Pepsi. With the help of angel investors and some faith, Fizzle became a household name in just three short years.” Everyone claps. I join in, admiring my father for his drive and passion. I can’t imagine coming out of high school or college and starting my own business with such fortitude and strength. I’m not him. Or Rose. Or my mother.
I’m just so very lost.
He holds up a hand to shush us, and the noise settles to silence. “Almost thirty-five years later, Fizzle products are sold in more than two-hundred countries. Just in the United States, we’ve taken away the title of the northern soda of choice from Pepsi. By next year, we plan to steal southern hearts with our brand new soda. We believe the taste and contents of this drink are unlike any Coca-Cola product and we’ll have diehards choosing…Fizz Life.”
He steps back from the podium and a screen behind him shows an animated graphic of a Fizzle commercial, a gold background with dark colored bubbles rising up. A silver can spins in the center with gold writing that reads FIZZ LIFE, white bubbles decaled at the bottom. No black on the can at all.
“Fizz Life is zero calories, aspartame-free. It’s naturally sweetened with a recipe blended by our food scientists.” Servers with gold-plated trays begin to walk around the room with cans of Fizz Life, passing them to the tables. Our waiter sets down a can in front of my plate. Hundreds of people begin popping the tabs, air expelling and carbonation bubbling, the noise so very true to the soda company’s name. “This is not only the healthiest soda on the market, but it’s also the drink of the future.”
The tagline:Fizz Life, Better Lifeflashes across the screen. Underneath sits my father’s exact words:the drink of the future. Maybe it is.
Daisy holds out her drink to me. “Cheers.” I clink her can with mine, and she turns to her date to do the same, but he’s scrolling through his Facebook app. Ryke already has his open, sipping the new soda.
When he notices her date and her chagrin, he says, “He’s a winner.”
The guy doesn’t even realize he’s being talked about.
“First place, pure bred,” Daisy agrees, raising her soda before throwing her head back, taking a very large swig.
I sip mine a little. The flavor tastes different than Diet Fizz and Fizz Lite. Not sweeter or bitter. Just…different. Good different, I think. I could most definitely grow to like this one more than Diet Fizz.
“Wow that tastes really good,” Daisy says. “I totally had my doubts.”
Ryke nods in agreement. “Not bad.”
I glance at Rose to see how she likes it, but her can sits untouched by her uneaten plate of food. Her fingers pinch a full champagne glass. But I just looked over there and it was half full. Which means this is a new one.
Maybe I’m hyperaware of alcohol now, but I feel like she’s drinking more than she normally does. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her drunk or even “composed” drunk—which is what I imagine she would be, the kind where you can barely tell. Sort of like Lo. But not.
Her eyes sear holes into our mother’s back, her table adjacent to ours. This is not good.
My father continues to talk about the soda and the company’s history and each investor individually.
I don’t think I can help Rose. Not because I don’t have the strength to, but I’m almost a hundred-percent positive she would never let me. She does not see me as her equal. I am the damaged, broken sister, the one who needs repair. IfIact as thoughsheneeds help, then she’ll freak out. I have to find someone that she’ll actually listen to without becoming incredibly defensive.
I make a sudden decision, silently hoping it’s the right one, and pull out my phone from a little pocket in my dress and start texting.
Where are you?
The reply only takes a few seconds. Not surprised.At my house. Everything okay?– Connor
I type quickly.No. I need you to come to the event. Rose isn’t doing so well.
My phone begins to buzz repeatedly in my hand. Connor is calling me. Before I stand from the table, I glance at Aaron. He no longer watches the stage, but his eyes set on me. If I leave the ballroom, will he follow?
I can’t answer the phone at the table. So I have to take the chance. Just as I rise, Aaron begins to push his chair back, about to stand too.
But then Ryke points at him with his knife. “You follow her, and I’ll slit your fucking throat,” he deadpans. That was a little unnecessary, but the warning works because the longer Aaron looks at Ryke to see if it’s a bluff, the longer Ryke digs into his food. I can’t even tell where his head is at. Neither can Aaron. My enemy scoots closer to the table, leaving me alone for now.
And I thankfully weave around the tables and out the grand double doors.
I already missed his first call, but the phone still rings incessantly. I answer. “Hi.”
“What’s wrong?” Connor asks, his voice deep with worry that I’m not used to. He’s always confident and poised and self-assured. “Are you okay?”
