“Thanks, Brad. Really,” I said. And I meant it. At this point in my life, ten grand had the power to change everything.
“I’m happy it’ll help,” he said.
I gave him my mailing address and rested my forehead on the cool laminate of the countertop when we hung up.
“Ten thousand dollars,” I repeated.
It would go a lot farther here in Culpepper than Philadelphia or Baltimore or Charleston. I chewed on my lip and just for fun let myself imagine what it would be like if I decided to stay here. If I made Culpepper home again.
Would the district give me the job permanently? Was that something I’d want? Gym teacher and soccer coach. Those were not the titles I’d envisioned for myself. I’d always wanted something that started with “vice president of” or “director of.” Something that meant importance. Well-compensated importance. I wanted an office and an assistant. And weird benefits like in-office acupuncture or Sushi Tuesdays.
Didn’t I?
Jake was here. Jake was a benefit that no other job or city could match. But we weren’t serious. He wasn’t serious. He’d told me he loved me in the throes of sex and never said it again. If he meant it, he would have repeated it. It was best to stick with the plan. If I fell for the man and he moved on again…it would be the worst loss I’d ever faced. I couldn’t survive that. Could I?
My parents tumbled through the door that led to the garage, laughing and carting shopping bags. Their faces lit up when they saw me, and I remembered how happy they’d been to have me home.
Would they understand when I moved on?
Would I miss them more this time?
“Guess who’s coming for Thanksgiving,” Mom said, setting down her bags and wrapping me in a hug. “Zinnia and her whole family are coming. I get both my girls here for the holiday!”
“This is going to be the best Thanksgiving ever,” Dad chirped.
“Let’s have takeout pizza and wine for dinner tonight to celebrate,” Mom said. “Call Jake and have him bring Homer.”
I swallowed hard and nodded. “Sounds good.” And it did. A lazy night in with my parents and my boyfriend? It sounded great. But so did a corner office and my name on a business card.
I needed a sign. A big, bright neon sign telling me what to do.
73
Marley
Zinnia arrived in a cloud of Chanel No. 5, a smart pencil skirt, and a black cashmere turtleneck carting matching luggage. Her luxury SUV ate up my parents’ entire driveway. And her three kids bolted from it as if it were on fire. They were still in their school uniforms. Even her youngest, Rose, who was four, went to a fancy private day care that taught its charges how to count in Spanish, French, and German.
At eight, Edith was the oldest. She was the violin maestro. Maestra? Chandler was the middle child and only boy. From what I could gather, he was much more interested in being a normal kid with video games and junk food than a future Ivy Leaguer.
My parents charged forward, wrapping their grandchildren in too-tight hugs, planting too many kisses on their faces.
I bypassed the fray and hugged Zinnia, who was unloading the kids’ Louis Vuitton from the hatch.
“Where’s Ralph?” I asked, peering in the SUV expecting to see Zinnia’s husband on a conference call in the passenger seat. He spent a lot of time excusing himself from our family to take important calls.
Zinnia dropped a child-size backpack on the ground. “He couldn’t get away,” she said, busying herself by arranging the kids’ fancy, healthy snacks in the insulated picnic basket she carted everywhere.
Have hummus, will travel.
She paused and gave me the once-over. I knew it was stupid and childish. But I’d made an extra effort with my appearance tonight. I didn’t want to feel like a wallflower next to my gorgeous, exotic, educated sister. I didn’t want to just fade into the background.
I’d styled my hair in loose waves around my face and watched four YouTube makeup tutorials before I attempted my first smoky eye. I didn’t want her to know that I was trying. So I’d gone with nicely fitted jeans and a boatneck evergreen sweater.
“You look great,” she said finally.
I squealed internally at the compliment. It didn’t sound like it came from a place of pity.
“Thanks. Will he be here for Thanksgiving?” I asked, hefting two kid-sized suitcases.
She reached up and pressed the button to close the hatch. “I’m