“We’re up,” I call back.
“Oh good. I’m making waffles.”
We shuffle down to the kitchen, where my mom is standing in a palm-tree-print caftan shoving whole oranges down her $3,000 juicer.
“I covet this kitchen,” Dezzie says as she hobbles to a barstool.
“You can come over and cook with me anytime,” Mom says. “Someonehere will only make the same boring salad.”
Dezzie and Alyssa both burst out laughing.
My mom slides us a pitcher of orange juice. It’s perfect. Florida does two things better than California: white-sand beaches and citrus.
“So how was you girls’ Christmas?” Mom asks, pouring batter into the waffle iron.
“Chaotic,” Alyssa says. “Eight cousins careening around my dad’s house. The tree fell over twice. I thought my stepmom was going to take the whole gang outside and start performing executions.”
“I bet they love spending time with the grandkids,” my Mom says, looking at me pointedly. “Some of us may never know.”
All three of them have been doing this all week. Making veiled references to their mutual belief I should go after Seth.
I haven’t told them my plan to fly to Chicago when I leave here.
How I’m going to have my script printed and bound. How I’m going to show up on Seth’s door on January 1, his least favorite day of the year, with this piece of my heart in my hand, and ask him to read it.
Iwantto tell them. I’m in agony, wondering how he will receive me when I show up, and all I want to do is pepper them with questions about what they think will happen.
But if I add anyone else’s hopes and fears to my own, I might lose my nerve.
I have to do this alone.
I shrug at my mother. “Maybe you and Bruce should adopt some preschoolers.”
The two of them got engaged on Christmas Eve, surrounded by me and Bruce’s kids. I’m so happy for her. For them. It’s amazing to see my mom as half of this head-over-heels, heart-eyed couple. Bruce captains her speedboat, and she buys all his sun-protective sportswear, and they walk back and forth between their two mansions all day in their flip-flops. They’re adorable.
“Did you have an okay holiday, sweetie?” Mom asks Dezzie gently.
Dez smiles. “You know what? Surprisingly, it was really fun. I thoughtit would be hard to get through Christmas without Rob, but honestly, after Covid it was so nice for us to all be together that it was okay.”
My mom takes Dezzie’s hand from across the kitchen island and squeezes it. “Good riddance.” She lowers her voice. “And how’s the divorce going?”
“Mom!” I protest. “She doesn’t want to talk about that!”
“No, it’s fine,” Dezzie says. “So far so good. I have a fierce-ass bitch attorney, and as soon as I’m divorced I’m going to marryherbecause I love her so much.”
The email alert on my iPad dings and I reach for it.
“No phone thingies at breakfast,” Mom says, snatching my tablet. She’s on a mindfulness kick and keeps hiding all my devices.
I snatch the iPad back.
“I need it for work.”
“It’s New Year’s Eve!” she protests.
“No rest for the wicked.”
In truth, I have no work. I’m waiting on tenterhooks for Becky to send back a clean copy of my screenplay so I can get it printed out for Seth this afternoon. My flight to Chicago is first thing in the morning, and I want to have it professionally bound before I leave.
