Page 118 of Turnabout Is Fair Cosplay
“Mr. McKinney is with a client at the moment. May I take a message?”
“It’s fine.”
“Beatrice?”
“Yeah.”
“I thought that was you. You should have led with that. Hold a moment, dear.”
I start crying when I hear my dad’s voice. “Hey, Bea. Everything okay?”
“No. I lost my phone and my keys. I’m locked out of my apartment, and I can’t get ahold of Mom.”
“Okay,” Dad says. “Okay. These things happen. And truth be told, you come by the lost keys honestly. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve lost my own. Remember when I drove around Del Mar all day with you guys, looking for my keys?”
“And they were in your back pocket the whole time.” I laugh, my tears subsiding. “Yeah.”
“So do we need to form a search party?”
“No, they’re at the bottom of the Pacific.”
“I’ve done that one, too, but in Hawaii with my wallet, shoes, and pants. One time in law school, I put my passport and walleton top of my car, along with my briefcase. Drove off with them still on my car. Never saw them again.”
“Why have I never heard these stories?”
“I was hoping to spare you from the burdens of your family legacy.”
“That’s ironic, considering how I’ve been nothing but burdened by my family legacy.”
There’s silence on the other end of the line, and then I hear my dad’s honking laughter. “True, true. Can you hold tight for forty-five? Give your old man enough time to finish this deposition and get down to La Jolla, and then we can get you to an Apple Store, a locksmith, and whatever else you need.”
“Let me check with my client and get the details to Nadeen.”
“Deal,” Dad says.
“I didn’t see it,” Dad says. “But you did. Of course your mother needs to finish law school. Of course your development was stunted in my firm. Of course whiffs of nepotism would attach themselves to all your hard work and achievements. But, sweetie, you don’t throw any of that foundation out in an emotional tirade and start from scratch. There’s good bones there.”
“Dad.” I hand him a ginger ale from my fridge.
After we got my new phone and account set up at the mall, I saw the text from Mike.On the off chance you’ve sorted your phone, your new key is under the cactus pot, and the spare is again safe and sound in the safe-deposit box.
“I was both drowning and suffocating. I hate corporate law. I hate the hours. I hate the futility of one enormous conglomerate suing a second enormous conglomerate to settle in or out ofcourt just to do the whole song and dance again. Nothing changes. Nothing matters.”
“That’s the fun part. It’s like a game of chess. The stakes aren’t personal, and even if you lose, you can still bruise your opponent and know you can play again.”
“It’s a game to you, but it was personal to me.” I search my junk drawer for my spare car keys. “I want what I do to matter.”
“I hear that.” Dad takes a sip of his ginger ale. “This studio apartment is insane. How did you find it?”
“Adam,” I say.
Dad smiles and then does his tell of biting down on his lips.
“I know that look,” I say. “Tell me.”
“I’m not going to part with this valuable intel for nothing.”
I laugh. “You want to make a deal. Let’s hear it.”
