Page 120 of Turnabout Is Fair Cosplay
“No. I’m in love with a fictional man written by a dead woman. Keep up, Dad.”
“So you feel betrayed. You feel like the foundation of your attraction and regard was built under false pretenses. You thought Mike was the author of all these insights, and then you learned it was Grandma. And that changes everything.”
“Exactly. He’s not the man I thought he was. He’s not as deep as I thought he was. I thought he was a generational talent, but when he’s onstage, he’s just pulling from all of Grandma’s insights. Her little puppet.”
“I know enough about theater to know I know nothing about theater. So I’m tabling all arguments as relate to his craft and being a generational talent.”
“But, Dad—”
Dad wags a finger. “‘He’s not the man I thought he was. He’s not as deep as I thought he was.’Maybe, but I’m going to play devil’s advocate here. So what if he didn’t write the notes? He read them. He kept them. I don’t have to originate an idea to value it or understand it. You see my point.”
“I concede.”
“I love this edible glitter. Where do I get some? I’m going to start adding it to my Saturday waffles.”
I giggle.
“Bea, honey, if you like this boy, the books don’t matter.”
“Maybe, but my connection to them was so strong. It felt different. It felt like it mattered. For a hot second, I was sure we were soulmates.”
“Soulmates. I hear that phrase, and all I can think about are worn-out shoes. Who on earth would aspire to that status?”
“Cute, Dad.”
“Well, I better be going. I have to pick up your mom. But she’ll be delighted to hear that you lost your keys and ended up at Mike’s house. I wouldn’t have put it past her to have orchestrated this entire event. Persuaded some mermaid to do her bidding when she came across her and started chatting about Mercury in retrograde.”
Dad rises to give me a kiss and leaves a large stack of dollar bills on the table. “Love you, Bea. Give it some time, and don’t slam any doors. Not just yet. Are we going to see you at the house for Thanksgiving next week?”
“I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”
Chapter 36
I’ve given up trying to understand my life or my family. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving, and I was all set to spend the day at my parents’ house. I was maybe even looking forward to it—arriving early, hanging out with my nephew, making one magnetic block tower after another, avoiding the kitchen, and having a command of the front drive for when Adam and his girlfriend show up—but Mom has other plans.
“I need you to persuade Mrs. Miller to join us,” Mom says on speaker.
“Who?” I’m just back from my afternoon walks.
“Sarah’s mother. She just got a new kitten and is refusing to leave him. You’re the pet whisperer. Go now. Tell her you’ll stay tomorrow and take videos and make sure the cat is fine so that she can come.”
Where do I even begin? “Mom, have you considered there may be other reasons Mrs. Miller may not want to crash your Thanksgiving table?” I kick off my sneakers.
Mom sighs. “Yes, and if that is the case, I need to know what they are. Go find out.”
I drop my bag on the sofa, but it falls to the floor, and everything spills out. “Not again.”
“What again?” Mom demands.
“Nothing. I dropped my tote bag.” I reach for my lip balm that’s rolled under the couch. Instead, I pull out Mike’s set of spare keys. My cheeks flush. I’ve been carefully avoiding Mike since the morning I learned the books—and annotations—were his grandmother’s.
“I keep telling you, buy a proper bag with a zipper. Who knows what’s already spilled out of your ridiculous totes?”
I toss the keys and the rest of my personal effects back into my bag. “Why me?”
“You must have inherited your father’s fashion sense.”
“No, why sendmeto Mrs. Miller? Don’t you want to see me at your Thanksgiving table?”
