“Have you gotten any sleep in the last twenty-four hours?” Libby asked, struck by the lack of manic energy.
“I’m fine.” Jean was already on the move. Libby followed her up the stairs, feeling like the big dopey sidekick who didn’t get it.
“Tutu told the story about Malaekahana tonight,” she said to Jean’s back. When in doubt, pretend everything’s normal.
“Where the dude tries to murder his kids?”
“She made it an allegory about women in the workplace. So Hildy could get in a little dig at her uncle about taking over the family business.” Libby waited for Jean to give her a gold star for promoting their cause, but all she got was a grunt as Jean stepped into her temporary bedroom.
“That’s good, right?” Libby pressed, shutting the door behind her. “And I think everyone had fun—”
“Especially you and Ranger Dick?” Jean interrupted. “Did you show him a good time?”
“Jean, nothing happened.” Nothing explicit, anyway. You couldn’t put someone on trial for heated looks. “I was really good.”
“As in, you spent the whole evening with Hildy, hashing out the details of your new job?”
“It was a party! Not a business meeting.” An unpleasant memory surfaced. “Speaking of paperwork, Mr. L’s lawyer apparently left some documents he wants me to go over.” As a person more familiar with waiting tables than signing contracts, Libby’s first thought had been that her pretend husband was signaling for the check, until the true meaning of his urgent hallway pantomime landed.
Jean rifled through her gym bag, sniffing a bra before dropping it on the floor. “Well? What do they say?”
“I don’t know.”
“Because you were too busy playing Dirty Heidi in the backyard with Vanilla Ice?”
There was too much to unpack in that Mad Libs of a sentence, so Libby avoided the whole thing. “We could look at it now?”
“I have to go to work, Libby.”
“Right. I know. I just feel more confident when you’re here.”
Jean’s cheeks puffed as she exhaled. “Listen.”
Uh-oh.
“I can’t always be there to hold your hand. At some point you’re going to have to deal with things on your own.”
Libby blinked against the sting in her eyes. “Oh. I’m sorry.”
“It’s not—” Jean broke off, pressing her lips together. “I’m trying to be an adult. I have to put on my own oxygen mask first. Especially if this plane is going down.”
“Is that what you think is happening?”
Jean shrugged. “Hopefully not. But it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve crapped out before the finish line.”
“Me?” Libby was aware that she hadn’t exactly girl-bossed her way through life, but since when was that her fault?
“One day you’re going to have to ask yourself,What do I, Libby Lane, really want? More than anything else.” Jean underlined the last part with a swipe of the hand. “And then go for it. All the way. Let the chips fall where they may.”
In typical Jean fashion, she didn’t wait for a comeback. Libby caught up with her halfway to the stairs.
“I am doing that,” she started to say, only to fall silent at the sound of a door opening at the end of the hall. Libby cringed at the scuffing footsteps, even before Mr. L’s voice hailed her.
“Libblibet,” he said, holding up a file folder.
“Lillibet,” she corrected under her breath.
“I have the papers for you to sign.”
