Shouting was beneath Wren’s dignity. She lowered her voice to infuriatingly reasonable. “I already fell in love with your potential. Ten years ago. You’re not proving to be a safe bet.”
Jo flung her arms out. “There’s no such thing. Gambling is inherently risky. I’ve seen Guys and Dolls one million times, thanks to Autumn, so I should know!”
Wren looked perplexed. “Why are you shouting about musicals right now?”
“Because you hurt my feelings, and I’m waiting for an apology!”
“I’m sorry, Johanna.” Wren blew out an exasperated breath. “This just isn’t going to work. Not the way I think you want it to.”
“Wanted,” Jo bit off. “I’m twenty-six years old, Wren. I’m too old to chase people who don’t want me back.”
“I don’t want to be chased,” Wren said. She met Jo’s eyes. “I should go.”
Jo agreed.
Making for the door, Wren looked back over her shoulder. She had never looked back at Jo before. Jo wondered what kind of last look she cut, glitter stained and flushed from the fight.
“We don’t have to go back to not knowing each other,” Wren said crisply.
Jo opened her mouth—to say: not now or maybe later—but everything felt like too much of a promise, another open end, so instead she said the stupidest thing she could think of:
“Byezers, Wren.”
Wren left without question.
Jo cleaned up the glitter mess in a daze. Rolling the tarp to trap the glitter inside, she wasn’t quite sure she should cry. Wasn’t sure she could. This sadness was ten years old, the regrets well trod. Jo and Wren had never found a way to say a fulfilling goodbye. Not in an email. Not in person.
The real pain was in realizing that Wren was an old favorite song she couldn’t feel as deeply as she used to. Expecting the same notes to play a new tune made her feel foolish.
She carried her lighting equipment downstairs, scanning the shop for Bianca. She could use someone to cuff her on the chin and tell her Wren wasn’t shit.
“She’ll be back to set the alarm,” said the very pretty tattoo artist who was showing off pictures of her baby to a client. “But she had to run to the store.”
“Sounds like Bee,” Jo said, surprised at how disappointed she was. “Always running.”
She drove home with the windows down, letting the noise of the ocean shush her thoughts.
When she pulled up in front of her parents’ house, she nearly took off again, just to forestall the questions and the reopening of a fresh wound. But the lure of unglittered clothing was too strong and her bladder too weak. She trudged up the driveway. The door swung open before she could put her key in the lock.
Any other day, it would have been odd to see Autumn waiting for her inside her parents’ house. Today, it was magic.
“Thank God you’re here,” Jo said. “Today fucking sucked. Careful, I’m covered in glitter.”
“I could use some sparkle,” Autumn said, throwing her arms around Jo’s shoulders and squeezing tight. “Bee canceled family dinner this week. Your parents kindly took me in so I wouldn’t have to sit in front of her house like a creep while I waited for you to come home. I don’t have a car right now.”
“Wren told me that I’m too much of a loser to date,” Jo said.
“What a jerk,” Autumn said. “If you’re a loser, I’m a loser.”
“Is that from The Notebook?”
“Sort of.”
Jo stayed in the hug. Like a too-hot bath, hugs with Autumn were nice once you adjusted to the pressure. “Autumn, she’s not wrong. I failed at everything I tried to do.”
“That’s not even sort of true,” Autumn said. “You got laid off from one job.”
“And I didn’t get the orchestra job.”
“Fuck Seattle. It’s too far away anyway.”
Two throats cleared. Phil and Deb were hovering in the open door. Jo wasn’t sure if they had subconsciously dressed in matching Patagonia sweatshirts, but they certainly were wearing them at the same time.
“Everything okay, you two?” Deb asked, eyes full of gentle blue concern. “You stood like this when they killed all your favorite doctors on Grey’s Anatomy.”
Rag-doll floppy, Jo frowned at her parents. “Rough day.”
“Very Monday-like for a Sunday,” Autumn agreed. Her eyebrows went up in surprise when she whacked Jo in the shoulder and released a spray of silver glitter in the air. “Do you want to hit Days’ happy hour?”
“As you can see, I’m in sore need of de-glittering. Never let me try to do something that whimsical again, you hear me?” Jo shook out the end of her ponytail. Despite her best efforts, it was shimmering. “If you’re down to wait half an hour, we can go to Days. I had totchos for breakfast, but mozz sticks and milk shakes could be dinner.”
“Why don’t you guys eat here?” Phil said. “Eden’s off with her friends, so we don’t even have to worry about remembering to call Autumn Miss Kelly.”
“Hotcha!” Deb clapped her hands together. “We can have a game night, like when you two were little. Before Eden came along.”
Eden’s birth being referred to as an eventuality now was particularly funny when Jo thought about how blindsided the family had been at the time. Eden came along and got right in the way of the plan to turn 180 Boardwalk Avenue into a beer taproom. Deb hadn’t been able to do tastings to pick a menu, so the store sold consigned clothes for another few years.
“You aren’t going to trick me into learning Bunco,” Jo said, tracking glitter into the house.
“No, not Bunco. We can play penny poker. Autumn, do you remember the rules to Texas Hold’em?”
Autumn closed the door behind her with a flourish. “Is the Chief a ginger?”
“Like his father before him,” Deb cheered.
“Okay!” Jo laughed. “But Dad is dealing. Don’t think that I’ve forgotten Mom’s light fingers.”
Her mother gasped. “Johanna Jordan! I have never cheated a day in my life.”
“Tell that to my piggy bank,” Autumn said. “You know how many erasers I didn’t buy at the Scholastic Book Fair because of you?”
“Are we playing no limit?” Deb asked.
Jo’s dad thrust a finger at her. “In this house we live without limits.”
“That is from Westworld.” Jo groaned. “Ugh, I hate that I know that.”
“It said fight right there on the list. No matter how much glitter you put on it, a fight is a fight,” Deb said, tossing a handful of pennies into the pot. After many years of being grifted at penny-poker night, Jo had learned to sit to the left of her mom so she could see her raises before not after. “You should have brought someone you wanted to fight with. Your sister would have been a great candidate. Dad, maybe. But not someone as serious as Ms. Wren Vos.”
“I really don’t want to talk about the glitter fight. Or Wren,” Jo said as best as she could with a lollipop tucked into her cheek.
“She’s just trying to psych you out, Jo,” Autumn warned. “Because she’s got nothing in her hands.”
Deb tossed another lollipop at Autumn. “You wish, Pippi Longstocking. I’m coming for your pennies.”
Poker night had a minimum buy-in of two cents, and everyone got a Dum Dum so that Jo had a shot at a poker face. When she was little, her nervous laughing had been a real expensive problem on penny-poker nights.
“Come on, Jojo bean,” her dad said from behind his cards. “How bad could it have been?”
Setting her cards facedown—and making sure her mother wasn’t peeking at them—Jo fished out her camera. She displayed the abysmal glitter shots. A picture of her taking a spray of silver to the face was the unanimous favorite.
“That is the one!” Deb cackled. “That is the face of someone who realized some things aren’t as fun as they look.”
“God, it did seem like it was going to be fun,” Jo said. “In the moment, I was so much more scared of getting something in my eye.”
“Sounds like sleeping with an ex to me,” Deb said.
“Mom!”
“What? Eden’s not here. Am I supposed to pretend like you don’t have sex? You were named after a romance novelist, Johanna. Now bet, because Miss Kelly and I are gearing up for a showdown.”
“You’re on, old woman!” Autumn said, with a loud suck on her lollipop. “I’ve got more credit card debt to pay off than you’ve got pennies.”
“Weird flex, friend,” Jo said.
“I am keeping everyone on their toes with radical honesty!” Autumn said.
Phil tapped the side of his nose. “It’s better than the night she decided to play in character as Oliver Twist. You almost lost your open invite to this house after that accent.”
Autumn gasped. “One, I was the Artful Dodger, and two, yes, that accent was a crime against England.”
“England? Our ears were right here!” Phil said, punching the table with a laugh.
“Wasn’t Mrs. Markey the musical director when you were in Oliver!?” Jo asked Autumn.
“Oh my God! She was!” Autumn squealed. “Could she really still hate me over a bad performance from freshman year?”
“Pat Markey only says the nicest things about you at Bunco!” Deb said. “But I remember that accent, Autumn, and it was worth holding a grudge over.”
The table fell out laughing for so long that Phil accidentally spilled his seltzer and flashed his cards.
It took a while of searching inside herself before Jo realized that what she was feeling was contentment. She wasn’t clawing at the walls, searching for an escape, or scrawling lists of how to get away. In this moment, she felt a total absence of dread.
But her life was supposed to be about more than fitting in with her family.
Wasn’t it?
COMPLETED ITEMS
TP Bianca’s house
Perform onstage
Get belly button pierced
Redo the yearbook prank
Eat the giant sundae at Frosty’s
Host a dinner party
Pose like a pinup girl
Get a pet
Learn an entire dance routine
Get stoned
Eat breakfast at midnight
Try everything on the menu at Days
Have a glitter fight
TO BE COMPLETED
Surf the Point
Do a keg stand
Play hide-and-seek in public
Break something with a sledgehammer
Climb the giant anchor on the boardwalk (and survive)
Get a high score at the boardwalk arcade
Have a bonfire
Dig up the time capsule
FLORENCIO: The keg has been ordered. You guys better show up to drink it. Sunday @ 8.
BIRDY: I can’t wait! I can’t wait to leave the house and see the sky!!!!
JO: You feeling okay, bud?
BIRDY: I will be. On Sunday. When I see the SKY.
FLORENCIO: You can’t drink on your pain meds, dude.
AUTUMN: The sky is pretty!!
After a long morning of Birdy playing a cartoon farming game for Lita’s amusement, the TV in the dining room now broadcast one of Lita’s many soaps.
Birdy was deep in his phone, his Zelda-green cast propped up on an airport neck pillow and a dining room chair. From her position among the displaced furniture in the living room, Bee could only assume he was continuing the game he had just stopped playing on the television.
“Oh, it’s them,” Lita said, with a dismissive puff at the opening credits. “We can talk during this one.”
“Did I ever show you a picture of my long hair, Lita?” Birdy asked. “All through high school, I had beautiful Kurt Russell hair.”
Lita leaned over to him. “Why did you cut it, mano?”
“Long hair AND an orthodontist? That screams pervert. I’ve got to pay the bills here!”
“Not right now you don’t,” Bee called from behind her laptop. A relic from her college—as evidenced by its forever crooked Go Beavs sticker—it wasn’t good for much these days. It could run Excel, so Bianca had booted it up to review their budget.
A two-thousand-dollar calculator, Bianca could hear Tito saying. It was a blessing that she never had to explain to him how much cell phones cost now.
With Birdy’s office closed for a month so that he could be off his broken leg, all the bills were weighing on Bee more than usual. They had enough in savings to not fall to pieces immediately—but what if all of Birdy’s redirected clients fell in love with the orthodontist in Rockaway Beach? Right before he moved to a bigger and more expensive space?
The Salty Dog’s mortgage was too high for the amount of business they took in through the majority of the year. They would make more money if they charged rent on the artists’ stations instead of commission on their tattoos.
But that wasn’t the way Borias ran a shop. Borias put artists first and money second. Even if they starved.
“We’ll be fine,” Birdy said.
“I know we’ll be fine. I’m doing the math to make sure we’ll be fine,” Bee said sharply. “It would be easier to be fine if we could go without some subscriptions. Why do we have three music-streaming services?”
“Because music is everything good in the world,” Lita said, swatting at Birdy as she waited for him to back her up. “Oh, I want to hear this part. Shush, shush.”
“If thirty dollars is going to make or break us, honeybee,” Birdy said in his peacemaker tone. “Aren’t there some clothes with tags on them in the closet you could return?”
“I will get right on that for you, Birdy. What was I thinking owning multiple dresses? I don’t have anywhere to go.” Bianca slammed her laptop closed and got to her feet. The only good thing about Birdy’s broken leg—and there were zero other upsides—was that it gave her exclusive use of the second floor. The stairs were too narrow for Birdy to maneuver with crutches. She had been getting in a lot of good private cries this week. “While I’m at the shop today, please remember to call and tell the Sand Bar that you are not coming in to play your set this month.”
“What?” Birdy twisted around, watching her escape toward the stairs.
“This is too much talking during the show,” Lita complained.
“Read the closed captions, Lita. That’s why we turned them on,” Bee said, careful to keep her voice from being too snappish. “Birdy, there is no way I am driving you to and from the Sand Bar’s happy hour so you can play Dave Matthews covers for an hour. That doesn’t make sense. What if a patient saw you out? Your Yelp review would tank. Then how would you pay for the new office? If you can’t work, you can’t play.”
His mouth pursed into reluctant acceptance. “Does that mean you’re rescinding my invite to the keg party at Flo’s?”
Bianca marched back into the dining room. “There is no way we’re going to that.”
“Why not?” Birdy asked. “I RSVP’d in the group chat!”
“So what? You’re injured. I’m tired.”
“You have days to rest up!” Birdy protested.
“Flo is right. You shouldn’t drink on your painkillers. It’s stupid dangerous.”
“Then I won’t take them! Or I won’t drink.” He grinned, reaching out to brush his thumb over Bee’s wrist. “Whichever helps here.”
She hugged her laptop to her chest defensively. “The last time I went out partying, you got hurt.”
“I’ll be with you!”
“Increasing the likelihood of you getting hurt again.”
“You’re a gorgeous fatalist woman, Bee. Please let me go to the fancy party. Give me a reason to be clean.”
“Go to the party!” Lita shouted. “Just shut up about it! You’ve talked through my whole show!”
Freed from lunch duty by Birdy’s ability to heat pizza bagels, Bianca went into the shop early to catch her mother and ask her to watch Lita the night of Florencio’s kegger.
Bonnie was al
ready wrapping up her special appointment, one of many local surfers who hadn’t grown out his side-parted corporate crop. The Salty Dog got a lot of business from surfers who had recently been labeled kooks by the cool kids. Surely spending four sessions on a lost at sea fake Sailor Jerry back piece would convince people he was no newbie.
Counting ATM-stiff twenties, Bonnie met Bee at the counter as the door banged not-quite-closed behind the kook. Her hair was loosely tied back with a piece of leather that upon closer inspection turned out to be a necklace.
“Geez, Mom,” Bee said, hopping onto the chair next to the register and popping open the drawer for Bonnie’s deposit. “All that hair and you can’t remember a hair tie?”
“Ha ha,” Bonnie said, focused on the bills as she split them, sixty–forty. “Unlike you, Miss Thick Crust Pizza, I would never tear out my hair for vanity. The leather is gentler than those rubber bands you use.”
“Gentler for you, maybe. I’m sure the cow who used to wear that skin would disagree.”
The diamond of Bonnie’s engagement ring winked at Bee from its position twisted into the space between her mother’s fingers.
“Do you want me to get you a spacer for that ring? It’s too big.”
“Pick, pick, pick,” Bonnie said, swatting at the air like Bianca was a fly buzzing in her ear. “Let me live, Bianca. Fuck. I know you’re the boss, but you’re not my boss, muñeca.”
Yes, I am, Bianca thought but did not say. She moved out of the way of Bonnie shoving twenties into the register.
Mo shuffled in, head dwarfed by noise-canceling headphones. The door caught a breeze and swung back, hinges screeching, into the framed shop rules.
“Door’s broken,” Mo called back without turning. Bobbing along to whatever was blasting in their headphones, they danced into their station.
Bee ran around the counter and wrenched the door until it latched.
Winded, she turned back and found her mother digging keys out of a hideous purse that had been intended for people a fraction of her age. Bianca considered dying of embarrassment as she imagined her mother toting a bag that clearly said Netflix & Chill on it around town. Fishing her wallet out of it. Intentionally carrying it incoherent-saying-side out.
The Throwback List Page 24
