Page 27 of Can We Skip to the Good Part?
“I just finished the crossword puzzle in today’sTimes.”
She smiled. “Did you use ink this time?” It was practically rhetorical.
“Yes. I’m calling because you never got back to me about the networking group I mentioned. Jeanette swears that her son saw his business triple once he joined.”
“Mom. My practice is doing great, remember? Better than okay.” In fact, she had to refer several potential clients to a colleague when her schedule didn’t allow her to handle thempersonally. She was considering hiring two additional attorneys in the coming months and expanding her practice. Her mother knew all of this, but had some block when it came to acknowledging that Max had done anything favorable.
“Can it hurt to improve?” She plowed forward without pause. “There was a feature on him inThe Journal. Did you see it?”
“I didn’t see it. No.” The implication was that there had not been a feature on Max or her practice.
“A feature is a big deal, Maxine. We could send something like that to Lola. She’d love it. I’ll send the link to your email. Then maybe consider joining the group.”
“Maybe.” She had no such intention.
“I’ll tell Jeanette you’ll be at their next cocktail hour, and her boy can be on the lookout.”
“Oh, let’s not leap too far ahead.”
The line went quiet. “Okay. You make whatever decisions work for you. I won’t ever mention it again.”
Mom guilt had arrived front and center. This woman was a pro. “Mom. I’ll look into it, okay?”
“Thank you, my sweet girl. Come by for dinner on Thursday. I’m making chicken tinola.” It sounded like an offer, but it wasn’t. If Max didn’t at least swing by and eat a couple of bites of that food while her mom tried to influence her life, and her dad checked out of the conversation via a football game, she’d hear about it for months.
“Yes, Thursday. See you then,” she said quietly and clicked off line two. She sat back in her chair and shook her head. “Just another day in the life of Max Wyler,” she said to no one.
“Told you not to take the call,” Sonya said from out front. “Maybe listen to me once in a great while.” The stress ball came flying back through the door just in time for Max to catch it at the last second. It was a metaphor. Her life lately had been anything but predictable. She picked up her book and went backto highlighting, planning to arrive prepared for the next meeting of the Weepers. Because Ella Baker certainly would.
BeLeaf Foods,two blocks from Rachel’s place, was perhaps the swankiest grocery store Ella had ever set foot in. Had she realized how fancy it would be, she might have selected a store a little more … in line with her financial position. She strolled the aisles slowly, taking in towers of exotic vegetables without a single blemish. Prices advertised on wood-framed chalkboards. Warm lighting that made everything glow as if sanctioned by heaven itself. Yep, she was a little out of her food league right now. And what was one supposed to do when their bank account was slowly dwindling to nothing, but they still had to eat? Shop with a phone calculator in hand, that’s what. Ella typed in the price of each item as she added it to her basket. She also winced as the number on the readout grew and grew, edging up to the maximum amount she’d allotted for the month. Ella stared at the price tag on the carton of grapes in her hands and balked. Nearly seven dollars? No, thank you. She sadly placed the package right back on the refrigerated shelf.
“Not the season for grapes?”
She turned to see Max leaning over the handle of her own cart. She wore a forest-green belted coat more suited for a runway than a grocery store and slid a strand of hair that had escaped her perfectly tousled ponytail behind her ear. Ella was now wildly aware of the rip in her jeans that had seemed casual and unaffected until this very moment. “The rip is intentional,” she said, pointing to the exact spot on her knee.
Max glanced down, and the edge of her mouth pulled a touch, but she didn’t give in to the smile. “Non sequitur.”
Ella lifted a helpless and embarrassed shoulder. “How I roll.”
“Is that a calculator? Very thorough shopping.”
“I’m unemployed. I have to be.” Her tone was flat, matching her afternoon.
Realization must have crept in. Max flicked a glance at the grapes and back to Ella. “What is it you do again?”
“I’m a graphic designer. Sometimes people forget to fire me.”
“Not sure I follow,” Max said, squinting.
Ella nodded. “And that is for the best.” Why was she saying so much?
“Let me guess.” Max placed an index finger on her cheek. “You design covers for romance novels.”
Ella paused. “Very funny. No. I’ve done everything from corporate logos to print ads to social media campaigns, and most recently, app interfaces, which I can attest, are not the most inspiring.”
“Well, that’s a shame.”
“But do you really think so?”
