“He acted funny when I invited him, but his circle and Liv’s would probably account for the most photoworthy attendees. I need them both there.”
I don’t know what’s more horrifying—the thought of Liv’s world converging with my real life, or the prospect of Zola classifying Ro ashot and singleat her dating mixer. I open my mouth to argue, but Zo silences me with a raised hand.
“Now if you’ll excuse me,” she says, chin lifted as she pridefully waddle-limps toward the stairs. “If I don’t get this kid off my sciatic nerve, I’m gonna tear it out.”
When she hears her words out loud, Zola turns back to face our horrified expressions. “Tear the nerve out,” she clarifies. “Not the baby.”
Her abrupt exit leaves us with a weighty silence and our marching orders. I text Liv first, who commits the entire band and their entourage without pausing to check their schedules. But I know she’s good for it. Liv’s as impossible to deny as Zola.
As much as I don’t love the thought of Ro at a beach mixer with a bunch of bikinied women, I’m glad to have a script and a purpose for the first text I’m sending him in days. Once I do, though, I worry he might be offended that this is how I’mpopping back up after the way we left things. I wouldn’t blame him.
But when my phone pings in my hand, a smile finally breaks free as I read the text that’s just so impossiblyRo.
Ro:Now why am I in it?
26
Ro and I have beentexting semi-regularly again since he agreed to come to Zola’s launch with a plus one, but by the night of the bonfire, we’re still a million miles from where we’d been. Our conversations used to flow, languid and easy. Now they’re clunky. Staccato. We trip into each other, stumbling and fumbling for the proper cadence until the conversation fizzles. Again, and again, and again. But if I’m being honest, it’s more than just his easy conversation that I miss.
In the quiet stillness of my room each night, my thoughts drift back to the pillowy touch of Ro’s lips on mine, the warm length of his tongue, claiming a path that could only ever be his to follow. His kisses lapping up my screams, until he owned every sound his body drew from mine. I feel the weight of him, pinning me down as we moved together. I see my pink fingernails digging into the dark flesh at his back. And every night when I think of him, my own hand wanders the curves of my body when what it really wants is to reach out for his.
But mostly it’s the conversation.I lie to myself, as I spend an inordinately long time setting the lone curl Ro loves to tug.
“Oh, you look pretty!” Mom says.
The sound of her voice is an ice bath on my daydreams. I whip around to face her like a twelve-year-old boy hiding porn behind his back.
“Mom,” I whine, sounding equally prepubescent. “Can you knock?”
“Why? You got a guy up here?” She pretends to look around before laughing at her own joke and joining me at the mirror.
I study her reflection. The signs are all there—fresh cut, fresh color, fresh fit. Her eyes are clearer, and her face is brighter than it’s been in months. Just once, though, I wish the light I saw shining was her own.
She picks her hair out with her fingers, as she speaks. “Zola ran up to the beach to supervise the bar staff. I told her we’d be two minutes behind. I’ll be glad when this thing is over. She’s pushing too hard. It’s not good for the baby.”
“It’s not good forher.”
Mom nods her agreement. “I was the same way before I had Zo.”
“Manic?”
Mom laughs, but she doesn’t deny it. “And terrified. When you get this close to becoming a mom, it feels like there’s a clock ticking over your head. Like everything is either now or never. Nobody warns you about that part.” She sucks her teeth. “Nobody warns you about a lot of it, but I remember that one being really scary. You’re counting down to baby, but you’re also counting down to a free fall into the unknown. To losing yourself without knowing if it’ll be weeks or months or ever before you get you back.”
“How long did it take you to get back to yourself?” I ask, certain Zola can beat it.
But Mom’s smile is small. “I’ll let you know when I do.”
I finish tying up the sides of my crochet cover-up dress, notwanting to leave Zola waiting any longer. “We should go. You know how Zo is. She’s probably already unloading everything on her own.”
Mom’s side-eye is vicious. “Like you’re any better. Both of you always try to do everything on your own.” She points to the laptop, closed on the desk behind us. “Summer’s almost over and I still don’t know what’s going on with you over there. But I know you won’t let me help.”
“Is this you trying to kick me out?” I ask, half joking and fully deflecting.
Mom laughs. “I’d keep you here forever if I could. I just worry about my girls.” Then she sits on the bed. “And I know you worry about me too,” she continues. “But I wouldn’t want that to be the reason you stay if you’d rather leave. Lately, I’ve been wondering if I might’ve been the reason you came back in the first place.”
“Did you think I was gonna stay in Kansas? Permanently?”
“I wouldn’t have blamed you.” The smile Mom wears is so fake, it might as well be painted on. “There are a lot of things I wish I would’ve done differently when you girls were young. So, once you got out…”
