Alan pinches the bridge of his nose. “It’s summer in California. Everyone is sweating.” He gestures at the cameraman, still holding his heavy equipment in the air. “Danny sweated all the way through his T-shirt.”
Farrah ignores him, looking at me instead.
“How’s my hair?”
“It’s good.”
“Is this camera angle working, or--”
Alan throws the ink pen in his hand. It flies about ten feet before flopping to the sand unceremoniously.
“I decide the camera angles! Alice, I need you out of my shot right now.”
It would be unusual for Farrah not to piss off the director of whatever she’s filming. But I hate being dragged into it.
I duck my head and walk back to my spot behind Danny. This time, I go farther, so I can take out my phone to check and see if my mom has texted me back.
Mom: He wasn’t up for his therapy today. He didn’t sleep well last night.
I hate that I can’t be there. If Dad didn’t sleep well last night, neither did Mom. She carries a lot of weight on her shoulders as his caregiver, and she never complains. My brother and I both wish she would, though. I worry she’ll just implode one day, too exhausted and overwhelmed to keep doing what she does.
Alice: Did he miss speech therapy? That one is really important to help with his chewing.
Mom: I know. But he refused to go. We are okay, honey. Are you enjoying California?
I sigh softly. My mom is aglass-all-the-way-fullperson. She sees things from an overly positive perspective, and I know it’s partially a protective mechanism for her because the truth can be heavy and scary when you’re the long-term caregiver of a disabled person.
Alice: It’s very sunny here. I’ll FaceTime you guys this evening.
Mom: We’d love that! Thanks for the picture of the beautiful sunrise! Your dad smiled when I showed it to him.
I send a smile emoji and put my phone back in my bag, wishing I could talk to my brother Will. But he’s in his first year of surgical residency in Chicago, and he doesn’t get much downtime. We have a call scheduled for this weekend, so I’ll have to wait until then.
Alan films Farrah and Josh for about ten more minutes. As soon as he’s done, Farrah walks over to me.
“That guy’s a bore,” she says under her breath.
“Who, Alan?”
She laughs lightly. “Well, yeah. But I meant Josh.”
I change the subject because Josh isn’t that far away, and it feels rude to be talking about him when he could overhear. “Are you on a break?”
“Yep. I think I’ll have scrambled egg whites for lunch.”
That’s a relief. I’d love to get out of the sun and get a respite from this hot hat.
“Sure. Anything else?”
“Mmm, I’ll also take half a cucumber, sliced. And extra water.”
“I’ll have to go to the grocery store for the cucumber, which is fine because I also need to pick up some more collagen.”
She furrows her brow. “I only like that one brand. The one you order online.”
“Well, it’s back-ordered. I can’t get it right now.”
She huffs out a sigh. “Why do businesses make it so hard to support them?”
