Her tear-stained face rises, splotches of red mixed with black streaks from her mascara running down it.
She groans, shaking her head from left to right. I carefully step around the broken glass, finding a bare spot next to her to kneel.
I grab her hand, gently squeezing. "Mal, what’s going on?"
"I lost the job." She sniffs into her free hand. "The store I met with chose another vendor."
"Okay?"
"I know this seems like an overreaction… it’s just that I try so hard to balance it all. Sales are in the trash, and apparently my dreams are too." Mal pulls her hand from my grip and wipes her face. "They said that they needed to bet on someone whose sole focus was their business… they didn’t choose me because I’m ‘stretched too thin’… because I’m a mom."
I push back to standing. This is unlike my sister. She never backs down from a fight, never cowers. But if there’s anything I understand, it’s fighting for what you want, what you deserve.
"Wow, okay. So Mallory Hayes is a quitter. Good to know, because Mallory Wells would never give up and trash her workspace because some hipster jerkoff underestimated her." I should probably be more understanding, as it wasn’t long ago that I was the one having a meltdown, but this is bullshit, and sometimes tough love is exactly what we need.
"Fuck off, Sade." My sister joins me and stands. "You have no idea what it’s like juggling all of this."
A laugh bubbles out of me, and it’s as half-hearted as her excuse. "Yep. You’re right, no clue what it takes to give up everything to chase my dreams just to have it all ripped away. Those eighty-hour weeks worked themselves," I spit back sarcastically.
"That’s not the same!"
"Isn’t it? I have a career that’s my whole life, and I love it. You have kids to care for, a husband who loves you, your family, and your business. Just because one leg of that four-legged stool cracked doesn’t mean it’s falling over." I begin picking up broken glass and laying it on her worktable. "What would you tell the girls if this were happening to them? Hell, what did you tell me just a few days ago?"
Mal grabs a broom from the corner of the room, sweeping chunks of glass into a dustpan. I scooch behind her, grabbing the wax remover to wipe the counters. We work in silence, gatheringthe mess and disposing of it as if nothing ever happened. It's funny, really. A part of me wishes that cleaning up all of life's messes was this simple—that I could toss a book I don't need in the trash and it would stay there, or that I could explain to Levi, wipe my eyes, and move forward.
When twenty minutes have passed and the just-trashed space is sparkling clean, Mal dips down to grab two waters from her mini fridge. She slips onto a stool and pushes one of the cold, clear bottles toward me with a nod. Following her lead, I slip onto the round chair beside her and crack the drink open.
"I guess you’re right. I’m sorry you had to see this. Sorry that you had to help me clean up." She takes a long pull of her water, clearing her throat after downing the cold liquid. "The weight of carrying it all… it’s crushing me. And I think I’m about two days away from my luteal phase. I just needed to smash something, cry a little, and maybe buy some chocolate chip cookies."
I get where she’s coming from. I’ve felt that way too. Like, no matter what steps you take, you’re stuck in quicksand with no way forward. It’s paralyzing, and in those moments, the ones where the walls are closing in and oxygen feels scarce—we panic.
"Mal, I’m always going to be here. I want to help you. I know—"
"What it feels like? I’m worried about you, Sade." She stops peeling the wrapper on the bottle she's holding and grabs both of my hands. "Like you said, my stool has four legs, but yours only has one."
Damn. I didn’t expect her to reverse that on me, but she’s right. Maybe they're all right. Maybe I need to find some other legs for my stool. Maybe learning to have fun again would be a start.
"Ugh, fine!" I throw my hands in the air. "I’m doing the stupid puzzle book. And I-sorta-asked-Max-to-help-me-do-it," I rush out.
Mal laughs, bouncing up and down in glee. I swear to God, her emotions give me whiplash sometimes. "Shut up! You did not!"
I nod. "I did, and do you know what he said?" My eyes drift to my shoes as thoughts of Max make my heart flutter. "He said he’d only help me if I agreed to do one fun thing with him for every clue we solve."
"Stop, that’s so cute." Mal returns to sweeping, getting the last of the broken pieces from the floor. "You’re doing it right? Letting loose and having some fun with the prince of Mage Hollow?"
"I am now. I hope I don’t regret it."
fourteen
Max
Tossing Salads
The day has come—my favorite one of the entire year, aside from my birthday—Mage Hollow’s Annual Lobster Festival. It’s really more of a weekend-long thing, but Saturday is the main event, and I fully intend to stuff myself with every type of seafood available as soon as I’m done helping my mother.
Mabel always has a booth. I guess years of being namedQueen of the Clawhave earned her all of Mage’s respect—that and the secret sauce she makes for her lobster rolls. While my mom is famous in the fall for her pumpkin tortellini, nothing tops what she’s serving today.
"Max, watch where you’re going." Mabel crosses her arms and taps her foot as I maneuver the booth with a fifty-pound tub of what I call lobster salad. It’s really just the meat, celery, and scallions, but the way we toss it in the sauce right before servingis what I imagine they do with my leafy greens at Union Tavern before dishing it out—a perfect coating on each piece.
