Page 7 of The Love Simulation

“Bri, I cannot with you today. You know I’m only trying to help you out.”

“Help me out by agreeing with my archnemesis?”

“Stop being dramatic, I’m not agreeing with him,” she says, her voice ratcheting up an octave.

“That’s literally what you just did!” My tone matches hers, and if we were teens living at home, this is the exact moment Mom would yell at us from wherever she was in the house to not start somethingshe’dhave to finish. If we ignored Mom’s warning, she’d make us do chores until our anger at her brought us back into each other’s good graces.

With Camille being a mom now she must have unlocked the power to stop sibling squabbles before they go off the rails, because she takes in a deep breath while switching Zara to the other side. “Look. I’m just saying, you’ve been complaining about your principal all year. And when you’re not complaining about him, you’re mooning over his son. It’s not healthy, Bri.”

“I do not moon over Roman!” Even though she’s my sister and would never judge me—or if she did judge, she’d still be obligated to love me—I never told Camille I have feelings toward Roman. I’m trying to get like her. Admitting to a childish crush doesn’t exactly scream “career woman making big strides to a fulfilling career.”

“Riiiight. And Lance wants to solve the overpopulation of wild hogs by taking up hunting.” She smirks aftermentioning her husband’s fear of the animal. “You’re always telling me how Roman consistently has the best teacher evals or how a hundred percent of his class showed up for lab day or how you want to get your hands all over his ass.”

“You know I’ve never mentioned his nice ass to you!”

Wait, have I? Shoot, I’ve thought about it often enough, I might have slipped up around Camille.

“Uh-huh. See, I only said ‘ass.’ You’re the one adding unnecessary adjectives. I bet at school you talk to everyone nice and normal, but when Roman comes around, your voice gets all soft and you start rambling.”

“Camille, I swear if you don’t knock it off…” I try staring her down, but the effect is ruined by another involuntary double breath.

She laughs as she begins to burp Zara. “Fine. I’m done. In all seriousness though, what is even keeping you there?”

“How about the kids? I can’t just leave them to fend for themselves with an administration that doesn’t care if they have access to books and reliable technology.”

“Yes, books are important, but what about the thousands of other kids around the state losing access to libraries and banned books within their own schools? You can’t help everyone. You may as well find a job where you’ll be appreciated and able to make a difference. So again, that school of arts doesn’t sound so bad. The only reason I can think of younotwanting to at least interview for it is—”

“Do not say it’s because of Roman,” I warn. She’s got precious cargo in her hands, but I’ve got good enough aim to ball up some tissues and hit her in the forehead.

“Calm down, I wasn’t going to say Roman. I was going to say because you don’t like the principal telling you what to do. Or anyone, for that matter.”

“Don’t try to make it sound like I’m difficult. Of course I don’t like anyone trying to tell me what to do. I’m not a kid,” I say, sounding suspiciously like the student Monique. But unlike her, I am indeed a grown woman and have cause to be indignant when people try bossing me around. “Besides,no onelikes being told what to do.”

“Sure, but you were the only one of us who, when we were kids and Momma said put on stockings to wear to church if it was too cold for bare legs, would pick the brightest-colored ones you could find. They never matched your dresses, and everyone knew you only picked them because you were mad Momma told you to do something.”

I try not to cringe, thinking of pictures my parents still have up that serve as prime evidence. Pink-and-purple-striped stockings paired with a white dress with sunflowers. “Wow, I was a brat, huh?”

Camille snorts. “Was?”

Zara finally lets out a burp that seems physically impossible given the size of her body, but it must be all good since Camille switches from patting Zara’s back to rubbing it and cooing, “Good job, sweetie. Get it all out.” After a while, Camille gets up and stands in front of me. “Here, take her. Or is that too bossy?”

I roll my eyes. “Give me my favorite person in the world.”

Camille places Zara in my outstretched arms, and I tuck her in close to my body, breathing in deeply. Vanilla, sun rays on my skin, the first sip of warm tea. That hit of baby serotonin is everything that is right in this world. I don’t know if I’ll ever have kids of my own, but holding Zara makes a good argument for why I should.

“I’m not trying to pick on you or anything,” Camille says. She sits on her cushion with her feet up and legscrossed, eyes closed and head resting on the back. I don’t know how she does it. My superwoman sister went back to work as an obstetrician six weeks after having Zara. She works full-time, plus some, since babies don’t arrive on a schedule, then comes home to take care of Zara, is in the process of opening up another practice to care for the underserved women in our community, and still makes time for her little sis. “I just want you to be happy,” she continues. “We can do this for another year.” She sweeps her hand to the wastebasket, obviously meaning I can keep coming here to complain about Principal Major. “Or you can find something that suits you better.”

“Don’t you think that at a certain point I need to find something and stick with it? Teaching wasn’t enough for me. Neither was being a guidance counselor. I can’t keep hopping from position to position. You and Vincent have grown up and gotten your lives together while I’m out here like the token wild child, unable to settle down. I need to get it together.”

“Hey, you’ll find your way. Life isn’t a race to see who can get it together first. And believe me, I don’t have it figured out nearly as much as it may seem.”

She rubs her face. For a moment I see exhaustion pull at her eyes, weariness turn the corners of her mouth down. Then she looks at Zara in my arms, and love wipes out all other expressions. Camille has never been as emotional as me. When we were kids, she was always the strong one, keeping what she felt close to her chest. But when she looks at her daughter, it’s like she remembers who her strength is for, and that cape of hers just keeps rippling in the wind.

“Why don’t you take the summer to think about what it is you really want to do,” Camille says. “If it’s staying asvice principal with your current school, fine. If it’s moving on, I promise you that will be fine too.”

If Camille says it, it must be true. And frankly, I’m too tired to argue anymore. I’m still not ready to concede defeat and walk away like Principal Major wants me to, but for now, he’s taken the fight out of me.

Chapter Four

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