Page 45 of Turnabout Is Fair Cosplay
“You just came from yoga class. You tell me.”
I groan. I did not just come from yoga. In fact, I made a point of changing into a sundress after yoga, after my morning walks, and after Mike’s comment, but I’m not going to explain my interlude at the library. “I’m never going to yoga again. My hamstrings feel like they are one forward fold away fromsnapping.” Obviously, neglecting regular exercise in pursuit of billable hours has had more repercussions than I expected.
Mom touches the tip of her napkin to the corners of her mouth. “How’s the neighbor? The construction driving you insane?”
“No, but his soliloquies are.” I find myself straining to catch lines of them between the construction. Can I just say that straining to hear and then being bombarded by loud construction noise is not a good mix? I’ve probably lost ten percent of my hearing in the last week.
Mom doesn’t look up from her pad kee mao. “Oh?”
If Mike were a lawyer, would she show more interest?
“He practices lines while he’s doing all the hammering and sawing. It’s…distracting.” Not in a knock-it-off way. More like a stop-whatever-I’m-doing-to-catch-every-word way.
“I think I won.” She points to her noodles with her fork. “These are delicious. You want to try some?”
No, I want to talk more about Mike. “I’m good.”
“He must be practicing for a play.Macbeth, wasn’t it?”
I shrug and shovel food into my mouth, hoping it’ll make my features inscrutable. Yes,Macbeth. I know this because I bought a ticket to the opening show and have the evidence in my inbox as we speak.
“It could be worse.” Mom sips her water. “I had a girl on the floor of my dorm freshman year who was an opera major. To this day, when I hear Puccini, I think I’m late for class.”
“I’m not sure.” It’s not just lines from plays. I hear sonnets and look them up in the borrowed volume I now keep under my pillow. I hear the monologues and think about sneaking into Mike’s house and swiping more of his books. Just for fun. Just for the thrill. Just to feel the weight of his intellect against my own.
“You should go.”
“What?”
“To Mike’s play. You should go see if he’s any good.”
I snort, and Mom glares at me.
“I’m busy, and I hear enough of him rehearsing lines when I’m home anyway. I had to read all your articles at the library just for a little peace and quiet.” And even so, I still ran into him.
“Well, you can always move back home. Your father and I miss your Saturday waffles.” Mom sips her water. “He’s texted you a dozen times for the recipe. The least you could do is send him a link.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t get his texts.”
Mom presses her lips into a thin smile. She knows I’ve blocked Dad on my phone. I have the texts to prove it.
How can he apologize if you’ve blocked him?
“Anytime you want to invite us over to your place, let us know. La Jolla has a gorgeous golf course.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“Right, dogs don’t walk themselves.”
I don’t take the bait. Instead, I scroll on my phone. “How’s Eaton and Co.?”
“Why don’t you drive up for family dinner this Sunday and find out?”
“I’m busy.” I toss my phone into my tote. “Maybe next weekend.”
Mom brightens. “Oh? Plans to review all the new legal articles I’ll send you? Which did you enjoy best? I’ll find more of the same.”
I wave down the server and ask if I can get my curry boxed up to go. “Apart from reviewing precedent for the legal liability of dog walkers, nothing quite caught my fancy.”
