the way that real meditation doesn’t. I’m not great at it (clearly; I’ve made a few pillowcases, not my own wardrobe), but it’s fun. It’s been so long since I did something purely because it was enjoyable.
It actually does make me feel better to know that your life hasn’t been a straight line toward success. It’s easy to look at someone like you and think, “Well, Everett St. James has always known what he wanted to do and nothing has ever thrown him off course.” I bet you’re so glad you stayed home to see your sister grow up. She’s probably a wonderful young woman now, having you as an example/big brother.
At your request, I’ve included my Shaquille O’Neal portrait. Don’t laugh. I know I can’t see you through the computer screen, but I’ll be able to feel it if you do.
Wearing thimbles on my fingers,
Theodora
Theodora might have told him not to laugh, but Everett hadn’t signed a contract. As soon as he opened the attachment, his tiny chuckle turned into a full-blown laugh attack. Shaq, if you could call him that, stared back at him with uneven eyes and a grimace that was surely meant to be a smile. He looked absolutely nothing like the famous basketball player.
“Oh, my God, I love this woman,” he muttered, wiping a tear off his face. Then, even though he was in his apartment alone, he corrected himself. “I mean, I don’t know her. The ‘love’ was hyperbolic. I think she’s wonderful and hilarious.”
He wondered, not for the first time, what Theodora looked like. With such an old-fashioned name, he imagined her with big curly hair and sunglasses that took up half her face, like a seventies singer-songwriter. But when he really tried to imagine her face, he couldn’t see anything. She was a blank, a blinking cursor in his mind. He spent so much time wondering about her, and he didn’t even know what color her eyes were.
Before he could stop himself, Everett typed out a quick email.
Theodora,
I’m going to print out this portrait of Shaq and hang it on my studio wall. I love him.
Should we meet?
Hopefully,
Everett St. James
Then he looked at the time—shit. He was supposed to be at his parents’ place ten minutes ago, and it was pasta night. Gretel was going to be pissed if the gnocchi got cold on his account.
* * *
—
GRETEL OPENED THE door before Everett had gotten all the way up the stairs; clearly she’d been watching out the window.
“The start time of the meal is the time we’re supposed to eat. It isn’t a suggestion,” she said, closing the door after he walked in.
“Gretel.” Everett’s mom walked into the foyer and swatted her with a dish towel. “Give Everett a break. He’s working hard.”
“So are you and Dad. So am I. And yet we manage to make it to the table on time,” Gretel said, then walked toward the kitchen.
“She’s really something else,” Everett’s mom said, holding out her cheek for a kiss.
Everett leaned in and kissed her, then gave her a hug. “She’s right, though. I shouldn’t be late. I’m sorry.”
“You’re fine,” his mother said, pulling away and looking up at him. “You gave your father a chance to have a Manhattan and tell Gretel more stories from his childhood.”
“Oh, her favorite topic,” Everett said with a smile.
“She might roll her eyes, but I think she secretly loves it.”
He walked into the kitchen and his dad, as always, roared, “Everett!” as if Everett were returning from war, not coming over at least once a week like he always did.
“Hi, Dad,” Everett said, sitting down at his usual seat. “Sorry I’m late.”
“Not a problem,” his dad said, waving him off. “It gave me more time to talk to my favorite daughter.”
Gretel turned to Everett. “Did you know that Dad once met Keith Richards at a gas station? Or at least a man who looked like Keith Richards?”
Everett arranged his facial features into an expression of shock. “No! I had no idea! He certainly hasn’t told us about this one billion times!”
“Okay, okay.” Their dad groaned. “Let an old man remember the good times.”
“Like when you saw a random dude in a leather jacket buying a six-pack at a gas station. Golden memories,” Everett said, accepting the bowl his mom passed to him.
“Oh, your mother helped out with dinner tonight!” their dad said, then gave them a stern look that clearly communicated so be nice about it, even if it’s inedible.
“Garlic knots!” Everett’s mother