Page 238 of Irreversible

Some just need a little time to crumble and a little hope to tear them down.

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“…and then Ariel, halfway through her set, grabbed a rookie’s phone, took a selfie with it, and sent it to his mom with the caption, ‘Having a great time, thanks for the birthday money, Janet!’”

I snort coffee through my nose. “Oh, my God. I feel so out of the loop.”

Mom laughs beside me, shaking her head at Queenie’s ongoing strip-club tales.

“That’s why you’ve got me, Angel Baby. I’ll always bring the tea, whether you’re on my payroll or not.” Queenie leans back in the patio chair and slings back a midday mimosa. “But I can’t say we don’t miss you fiercely. Len has been sulking for weeks.”

“I miss Len,” I muse. “I miss everyone.”

“No need to be a stranger. We’re only an hour away from your new place.”

My mother pulls the tomatoes off her BLT like some kind of monster. “Everly, maybe you can throw a housewarming party once you’re settled. Say the word and I’ll make the drive up here again. You know I have a few plants that need rehoming.”

I do know; she sent me a panorama photograph of her living room that doubles as a greenhouse. Then my nose wrinkles at the thought of hosting a housewarming party.

The guest list flashes through my mind: me, Isaac, a Los Angeles police detective, my traumatized best friend, a handful of strippers, and my mother with her small army of ferns.

“I’ll bring over the snake plant, the jade, and definitely that monstera,” Mom continues. “It’ll really brighten up your space.”

“I appreciate that, but we’re still in the renovation stage.” Just what I need,plants that could probably survive an apocalypse while I’m still trying to remember if I watered myself today. I stir my iced coffee with a plastic straw and watch the ice cubes clink. “We haven’t even picked out paint colors yet.”

“Do you need furniture? Décor, wall art, kitchenware?”

“I think we’re all set.”

“What does Isaac like?”

I refrain from saying,my vagina. “We’re both kind of minimalistic. Less is more.”

Queenie hums with appreciation. “You scored yourself a good one. My second husband was a hoarder.”

“Andre, right?” Mom inquires, her eyes flashing with old memories. “He had that commemorative ketchup packet shrine.”

“Man couldn’t throw away a single packet from 1987 to 2003.” Barking a laugh, Queenie swallows the rest of her mimosa. “Still leagues above Darrell and his emotional support mannequin.”

They both cackle, shouting in unison, “Margaret!”

As the two women play catch-up, I check the time on my phone. Isaac dropped me off at the café an hour ago while he left to go run errands in the city.

Errands.

The word sounds way too domesticated. Realistically, he’s probably lurking around a 7-Eleven, giving the store clerk the kind of stare that makes people confess to crimes they didn’t commit.

I nibble on my croissant, watching pedestrians drift past the San Francisco café as the sun pours down like a golden spotlight. A smile tugs at my lips, and I close my eyes, soaking in the warmth. There was a time I missed the sun more than anything. Then came the time I resented it—the glow made everything feel too bright, too perfect, like a happiness that couldn’t hold.

Now, I let it wash over me without expectation, taking what it offers. The world keeps moving, and I’ve learned to move with it, even when the light fades.

“What are you doing for work now, honey?” Queenie asks me, dabbing her lips with a napkin and leaving a ruby kiss behind.

Tugging on my ponytail, I straighten in the chair and stretch my smile. “I got a part-time job at a native wildlife sanctuary.”

“Spiders?” Mom wonders, her eyes wary.

“One. A giant, hairy tarantula, much bigger than Festus.” I grin when she winces, then glance down at the table. “Also…I just enrolled in a forensic science program at the community college.”

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