Page 3 of Books and Hookups

My mother beamed as I weaved between the tables, her graying strawberry-blond hair glinting in the spotlights from the nearby dais. She usually wore more muted colors, but her dress was the color of one of those heart-shaped candy boxes.

“Lucie! You made it!” Her eyes crinkled, obscuring a few of her freckles.

“Sorry I’m late,” I muttered as I kissed her cheek. “Traffic.”

I winced as soon as I said it and glanced at Dad, hoping he hadn’t heard. My hope died when he turned toward me, jaw set.

“That old story?” he murmured. Louder, he said, “Cal, you remember my daughter, Lucie? She won an award for a seven-part series on human trafficking. How many years ago was that, Lucie?”

My cheeks burned as I shook the older white man’s hand. “Fifteen or so.”

“She was a brand-new reporter. No idea how she got the assignment, but she made the most of it,” Dad said.

I already knew the question was coming before Cal opened his mouth. “And what have you been working on lately?”

“Moldering in the newsroom at the city paper.” My father spat out the last two words like he’d saidgarbage dump.

At the same time, I stood to my full height of five foot four and said, “Actually, I’m working on a book. I just signed the deal.”

I’d signed it two weeks ago, but I’d wanted to look Dad in the eye when I told him.

His white eyebrow twitched upward.

“Oh, Lucie, we’re so proud.” Mom squeezed my shoulders.

Cal asked, “What’s the book about?”

“It’s about legacy. What we intend to leave behind and what we hope we’re remembered for.”

Cal chuckled. “You going to interview your dad, I assume?”

“It’s a book about women’s legacies,” I said.

“Women’s legacies?” Cal asked. “Like motherhood?”

We all glanced at my mother in her red dress and tight smile.

“Women can be more than mothers,” I blurted. “I have some interviews lined up. A tech founder, a Hollywood stylist.” I left out the facts that they were my best friends, and I hadn’t asked them yet. “And?—”

“I’ll connect you with Dr. Watts,” my father said. “The university’s first Black female president should have a place in your book.”

Cal scratched his gray beard. “Marvin, didn’t you speak on a panel recently with Senator Gu? He’s got a wife who has…causes, I think.”

“That’s right,” Dad said. “Eleanor. Everyone says their son is on the road to the White House. I’m sure she’ll do me a favor and talk to you.”

Suddenly, dinner leftovers didn’t seem so appetizing.

“I’ve got it, Dad,” I growled.

“All right.” He shrugged like he didn’t care (he did), then the lights flickered. “Ah. That’s my cue.” Without another word, he strode to the dais and took his seat next to the university president.

Cal had already disappeared, so I turned to my mother. “Did you save me a seat?”

“You can borrow your father’s. He won’t need it.” She pointed at a chair, then sat in the one next to it. The efficient servers had removed everything edible from the table. I turned the coffee cup over, hoping someone would come to fill it, and I could beg for a leftover dessert.

As the lights dimmed, Mom leaned over to whisper in my ear, “A book deal? We’re both so proud of you.”

It was a lie. Not an intentional one; my mother was proud of me, and she thought Dad was too. But the only way my father would be proud of me was if I was sitting up on that stage, getting an award for scholarly achievement. He’d been furious the day I’d told him I’d declined my grad school acceptance to go to work for the paper. He’d told me I was throwing my future away. But I’d wanted a different future from his.

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