“That’s just Finn,” I say. “Finn Hughes? He was in my year at school? He’s helping me with some… wedding stuff,” I say again, not wanting to verbalize even to my sister that the bride has gone AWOL. Our chances of finding Sybil and getting her back before Jamie realizes something is up are starting to feel slim. Finn and I need to get back on the road ASAP.
“Oh right,” Liz says, as I make my way back toward the front of the store. “He was that kid from your debate team who always wore thatCalvin and HobbesT-shirt. Wow, someone outgrew his dorkiness.”
No frickin’ kidding, I think to myself as I spot Finn waiting in line to pay for his silly alien googly-eyed headband. My heart clenches, remembering his lankier teenage self wearing that oldCalvin and HobbesT-shirt, and I find I’m glad that even though Finn is now, yes, tall, dark, and handsome, he can still be a little bit goofy.
“Oh, wait!” Liz shouts in my ear. “I know where I know him from.” She giggles. “My friend Callie from San Francisco totally hooked up with him a few months ago. She showed me his Bumble profile. She was obsessed. But he kind of ghosted her. Apparently he wasn’t looking for anything serious. Are you on Bumble, by the way? You should be. Didn’t you say it’s been a while since you had a good—”
“Uh-huh,” I interrupt before Liz can finish that sentence. I don’t need reminding of how long it’s been since I’ve had agood…anything. Irritation is suddenly prickling at my temples. Here I’ve been, basically waltzing around the store playing girlfriend and having erotic massage dreams about Finn, once again allowing myself to forget his true nature. How does this keep happening? “Liz, I really gotta go.”
“Okay, wait. The real reason I called is I don’t have anything to wear to the networking event,” she says. “Nothing I have is businessy enough.”
“What about those wide-leg black pants, and that blue top you wore to Mom’s birthday?” I say, not bothering to mention that at this point, Liz is probably going to miss the event altogether if she’s still stuck in a wardrobe crisis and not currently on the Q train uptown.
Liz was supposed to be interning in the city this summer in the hopes of lining up a full-time job for when she graduates next May. When I agreed to let her stay with me for two months, I assumed she actually had an internship lined up, but apparently she never turned in the requisite paperwork for her school program. I’ve been sending her posting after posting, helping her revise her résumé (okay, basically drafting the whole thing myself), and coaching her on interview prep. I didn’t realize I was going to have to lay out her clothes and physically escort her to the interviews too.
I take a deep breath. There’s no use getting frustrated with Liz. This is just who she is. A little scattered, but with a good heart. She just needs someone to keep her on track.
Someone had to keep the family on track.
Finn’s voice echoes in my ears, but this time I sense a hint of judgment that I didn’t notice before. Like he thinks I’ve been bending over backward to keep my family afloat, whenthat’s not the case at all. I just lend a helping hand when I need to. The irritation prickling along my scalp intensifies. Who is Finn to tell me how to deal with my family? Not exactly my boyfriend. And despite all that’s happened between us over the years, he never was.
“Liz, go to my closet and grab my black blazer and a pencil skirt. If you need to steam them, the steamer is on the top shelf of the closet.”
“Okay,” she says. Then there’s a longer pause. “Also, my debit card is running low… do you think you could—”
“I’ll put some money in your account. Now go—you’re going to be late.”
“Thanks, Em. You always save my ass.”
Yes, yes I do.
Liz and I say our goodbyes, and I use the ladies’ room before heading past a pile of alien pods to find Finn.
“Ready to head out?” I pull up my bank app, making sure that I angle it away from Finn. My account balance doesn’t look especially healthy, either, but I send Liz a couple hundred dollars anyway.
“I haven’t finished my alien poop.”
I look up from my phone. “Your what?”
Finn holds up a cup filled with tiny balls of ice cream.
“That looks a lot like Dippin’ Dots.”
“It was labeled as Alien Poop, and I, for one, don’t believe that the people who claim to have footage of Neil Armstrong playing badminton with an alien on the moon would lie to me. Do you want some?”
“Can you finish that in the car? I’ll drive. Let’s go.”
“Good one,” Finn says, like I’ve made a hilarious joke.“You are not driving. Not unless you win our bet.” But he must see how serious I am about leaving, because he just tosses what’s left of his ice cream in a trash can, and we get back to the car.
“Everything okay?” he asks once we’ve pulled back onto Route 15.
“We should have just flown to Vegas from San Diego. We would’ve gotten there in two hours instead of nearly six.” I press my hands down onto my knees in an effort to stop the nervous bouncing of my legs. “I guess it doesn’t matter. We couldn’t leave the car behind.”
“I could have driven it back to LA while you went on to Vegas.”
He’s right, of course. That would have been a logical solution. But the thought never would have occurred to me. Somehow along the way this has become a two-man mission, and even now, with the irritation and the stress, I can’t imagine it any other way.
“I mean, you did save my life on the beach this morning, so I figure it’s useful to keep you around,” I say. Maybe I’m just trying to justify it to myself. Why some clearly sadistic part of me didn’t mind… okay maybe evenwanted… to be stuck for a little longer in a car with Finn.
