Still addressing Phaedra and Sage, my mother says, “I wash my hands of this. My son is a fool. Better late than never that he learns from his mistakes, so feel free to handle this as you wish. He’s all yours.”
I give her a sardonic look. “All yours?Handing me over to Emerald in service like a Dickensian orphan? What does—”
“Yeah, okay… I’ll take him,” Sage cuts in.
Phaedra laughs. “Not a bad idea. Seeing as Mr. Laskaris is nowunemployed, how’s about a little internship at Emerald? No pay, of course, but”—she smirks—“loaded with opportunity for personal growth.”
I offer a thin courtesy smile. “Not interested.”
“Perfect,” my mother deadpans. “When does he start?”
Sage winks at me. “Welcome to Emerald, honeybee. Looks like I’m your new boss.”
3
PORTLAND, OREGON
SAGE
I know it pains my mom that Julian and I don’t get along. We’re only thirteen months apart; my mom had us practically back-to-back just before turning forty. Maybe it’s us being so close in age, but Jules was my first and fiercest competitor, and that’s made me who I am. My aggressive hates-to-lose personality is probably due to this lifelong dynamic. It’s worked great for racing, so I wouldn’t change it if I could.
Jules is way mellower than I am. And things didn’t sour between us until eleven years ago. But I can’t tell my parents why. I haven’t toldanyone, including Priya. She’s been my best friend since we were toddlers and is the daughter of my dad’s business partner. We grew up together. She’s carried a torch for Julian since puberty, and I won’t hurt her by telling her that Julian once let me almost die.
When I was fifteen, the two of us went hiking one day while our family was visiting Thailand. Jules was annoyed, because he’d wanted to go climbing instead. But because I was feeling under the weather, I insisted on hiking. So, we’d already started out the day grouchy, flipping each other a lot of shit.
My parents stayed at our rented bungalow in Tonsai Beach with friends. I had pain in my side that I figured was premenstrual twingy cramps or something, and it got worse during the hike. On our way back, it was so bad that I mentioned it to Jules, who was complaining about me slowing him down.
He gave me a ton of shit, saying it was just a stitch in my side and I needed to stretch and drink water and “stop whining.” When I sat down to rest for a few minutes, he left me behind in disgust. My appendix ruptured, and I don’t remember what happened before the hospital, but apparently I was lying unconscious just off the trail for hours, basically dying. My dad and brother came back to look for me when it was getting dark and I still hadn’t returned.
I was taken by helicopter to a hospital and came close to not making it through the ordeal. The incision scar is pretty huge, bigger than what’s typical. It was nearly five months before I could go back to karting.
Julian has never apologized.
I have no idea why I didn’t rat him out for abandoning me. My parents were already so upset that I guess it seemed wrong to compound things by pointing fingers. Since they found me off the trail, Julian’s story was that hedidlook for me right away but couldn’t find me and figured I’d taken another route.
It’s obviously bullshit, but I’ve let him get away with it for our parents’ sake. Their marriage has always been rocky, so I try not to make the family even less stable. It’s easier to keep my feelings to myself—something I’m already practiced at. Another by-product of growing up in a competitive sport. You can’t let people in, because anyone could use your vulnerabilities to their advantage. Your image is your identity, as far as everyone is concerned, and… yeah, it makes you guarded.
It’s been a great visit home becauseJulian isn’t here. I can relax and have my mom all to myself. My “trustafarian” jerk of a brother is off climbing in Puerto Rico. Tomorrow, Priya and I are flying out to rejoin Emerald, so Mom’s been in the kitchen all day, whipping up the family favorites. Priya and I are hanging out with her, sneaking bites of things and getting tipsy off White Russians while quotingThe Big Lebowski.
When my mom cuts into an eggplant, I remind her that it’s Julian who likes it, not me.
“Julian is going to be here in ten minutes or so,” Mom says, focused on her knife flying across the cutting board.
My gut tenses. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Priya sets her cocktail down and touches her hair as if trying to remember how it looks. It’s in two messy braids, and she’s wearing cutoff sweats and a faded T-shirt. “Oh my God,” she mutters. “Um… I need to… uh… I’ll be back.”
She dashes from the room—presumably to put on makeup, fix her hair, and change into something adorable-yet-effortless-looking. My mother and I exchange a knowing smirk.
Mom slices the eggplant with precision. “Those two,” she says with an indulgent chuckle. “I wonder if they’ll ever give it a shot? She’s so sweet on him, and Julian couldn’t hope for a more lovely girl.”
“Why would you inflict that on Pri? I thought you liked her.”
“Be nice.”
“But I’m not ‘nice.’” I reach for Priya’s abandoned drink and pour it into my own before taking a gulp. “Pri’s too stable for Jules—he always goes for the squirrely ones. Remember the fire dancer who put a snake in his bed when she thought he was cheating? Or that artist he brought to your anniversary party, who wore the bustier made of condom wrappers and lectured everyone on Marxism?”
Mom winces, then dumps the eggplant into a bowl of olive oil and herbs. “Exactly. Priya would be good for him.”
