ELLIOT
Elliot hadn’t heardback from Birdie by the time he and Mona were settling in for the night. Mona was entertaining vegetarianism for reasons he didn’t ask about because she was cooking, and it wasn’t often that he had a home-cooked meal. This made him think of Ian, which made him think of Birdie, which was actually hilarious because he never stopped thinking of Birdie. She was the only thing his brain was processing, like a storm siren blaringBirdie Birdie Birdieuntil he evacuated.
He’d checked his phone four times at the dinner table before Mona finally chided him.
“She told you that she didn’t want to do this anymore. You called her, she didn’t answer. You have to let it go. You don’t always get what you want, which, I know, is sort of new for you.”
“But I’m heading to Vegas tomorrow. And it would be much better for the story if she joined.”
“It’s always about the story with you,” she said, and forked at her tofu, looking a little sad. Elliot wasn’t sure if it was the tofu or the situation with Birdie or just, like, the situation in general.“Anyway, aren’t journalists supposed to be able to adapt, react in real time? Just react in real time.”
“She’s honestly the most infuriating person I’ve ever met,” he answered, which did not address her question at all. He pushed his own tofu around, then settled on a green bean with crispy onions, a dish their mom used to make, which made him wistful.
Mona raised her eyebrows. “Hmm.” She chewed slowly, like she was exaggerating her point, but it could have been her cooking.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Elliot set his fork down.
Mona moved her plate away. “She only gets under your skin because you let her.”
“And what’sthatsupposed to mean?” Elliot said more loudly than he’d intended. He’d been meticulous over the decades, keeping his feelings about Birdie from Mona.
“Don’t you find it odd,” she asked, “that you’ve been with, um, your fair share of women—is that a respectful way to say it?—and I don’t think I’ve ever seen you get worked up, tied in knots, over anyone like you do with Birdie. It’s been, what? Three days? And you want to strangle her.”
“Exactly. She’s infuriating.”
Mona rose and took her plate with her, and it clattered in the sink. Elliot, who considered himself to be nearly always prepared for his job, was not prepared for this. Did Mona know about their night together? Did Mona know about the extent of his feelings? He felt like the room was tilting, like everything was coming undone beneath him. She returned to the table with a slice of apple pie from the grocery store and a tub of vanilla ice cream, which she slid over to his place mat.
“I’m only irritated with her,” Elliot said carefully, “because sheand I agreed to do this together. I take my work seriously. Even if she doesn’t.”
Mona nodded, then picked off a piece of the piecrust and savored it.
“Everyone knows how seriously you take your work, Elliot. Try a different answer.”
“Oh, I see, so because youdon’ttake work seriously—” he started.
She waved her hand in a flash. “Do. Not. Demean. Me. With. Your. Brand. Of. Bullshit.”
“I’m not—”
Mona’s eyes flared, and he stuttered, then stopped.
“I happen to love running the bar, Elliot. I happen to love taking out the RV with my friends, looking for alien life. I happen to love living here, even though you think I should have aimed higher. You aimed higher, and so what? What has that gotten you?” She paused. “No, seriously, El, what do you have in your life besides work?”
Elliot slunk lower in his seat, pushed the ice cream tub a few inches away from him. He didn’t want to fight with Mona, and it wasn’t like she was wrong. He offered up a small nod, an acknowledgment that he’d stepped in it.
“I’m trying,” he said, but he wasn’t really. He’d filled his life up with ambition and work and meaningless sex because everyone needed a contact high every now and then. He used to have things he loved—the cut of the water when he was flying in a fifty free, the camaraderie of a newsroom when everyone got slaphappy, the way that he’d land in a foreign country for an assignment and the air was electric, not just because of the career opportunities but because he’d spend downtime exploring bazaars or footballmatches or hole-in-the-wall local cafés. Now he worked for the work, for the accolades. The exploration—in just about every aspect of his life other than breaking a headline—had dimmed. Maybe, he realized, he was tired. Maybe, he considered, he was lonely. He thought of Birdie in carpool, of Birdie in the RV, getting all the lyrics wrong, singing loudly anyway. Maybe—his heart lurched—it was time to do something about it.
His twin sighed, pulled back a chair, sat back down right beside him. She rested a palm on his arm.
“Remember when we first moved here? And we met her out front?”
Elliot had absolutely no idea where she was going with this. “Of course.”
“And then how we started school, and you were immediately beloved because, well, you’re you. And Birdie and I just... I mean, we’re not you.”
Elliot swallowed. If he and Mona were really going to discuss this, get into it, maybe it would go better than he thought. Maybe he really could tell her about their night together, and that he’d tried to do the right thing—walked away—when Mona called him the next morning, but that it wasn’t the right thing at all.
“Anyway,” Mona continued. “For a long time, she and I were all each other had. I mean, yeah, some of her theater friends or whatever, but let’s be honest, they weren’t great company since they tended to break into song with no notice, and that was tiresome from the get-go. Like, hello, our lives are not actuallyGlee.”
