Page 6 of Just a Plot Twist
“Flake? I’ve never once flaked out on anything! It’s a defining trait.”
I’ve been walking beside her to the elevator and now she eyes me as she pushes the down button. “You never flake on anything, except promises to yourself.”
Ouch.
She’s not going to bring up the delinquent gym memberships is she? She wouldn’t dare!
I’ve been paying for a membership for the last five years. It’s not as nice as the one inside the Tate resort near Longdale Lake, but it gets the job done.
Well, itwouldget the job done if I made it a priority to go, but that’s neither here nor there.
Moment of truth? I don’t even remember the last time I went hiking. Which is bad, especially when one considers that I’m now obsessed with this trailways project. It only makes sense that I’d be obsessed with hiking now, too, right? I might even start buying clothes from L.L.Bean.
“I’ll see you a little before six, okay?” Inez gives me a quick hug. “And happy birthday to your mom!”
Her belly bumps against me and for the thousandth time, I feel a twinge of something lacking. It’s not sorrow, exactly. I’m too busy to be sad.
But sometimes I want what she has. A husband. Babies. A family of my own.
I wave to her as she leaves, and then my glance flits to a photo of my mom, sister, and me on my desk. Inez never knew my mom. I barely knew her. She passed away from a brain tumor when I was five, so I don’t really remember her. It’s more of a feeling, nothing concrete. Like a wisp of smoke in the distance.
My sister, Sophie, was nine when mom died, so she remembers more.
Our grandparents raised us after that. We had a good childhood, all things considered. To say I miss my mom isn’t exactly the truth because it’s the broken promise of what I could have had with her that hurts. I do feel the absence of a relationship I’ll never get to have.
I’ve been chasing her absence my whole life. But that chasing fuels me. Like, if she were to see me now, would she be proud? She left us in the care of her parents, so I owe it to her and them to make good—to make something of my life.
Isometimes imagine that my grandparents and my mom have a conversation about me. It goes something like:
Grandparents:Marie, you should be proud of Claire.
Marie:I was proud of her before I left. I’ve always had such high hopes for her.
Grandparents:You know, she’s smart as a tack. She’ll be mayor of Longdale or maybe even Boulder one day. Or even governor. She majored in political science, just like you did. Before you met that lowlife ex of yours.
Marie:Now, now. That was a long time ago. No need to bring him up.
Grandparents:Regardless, Claire’s going places. Sophie’s got her head in the clouds as usual, with her books and her adorable baby and all. But, Claire’s going to continue on in the political legacy that we never got to have.
Marie:Yeah. Sorry about that.
Grandparents:Well, it wasn’t your fault you died.And anyway, Claire’s going to change the world. She just has to focus.
Marie:I have no doubt she will. And how’s my Sophie doing?
Grandparents:Her choice of husband is still suspect to us. We don’t get it, but they like each other fine. And our great-granddaughter is a vision. We’re sad to report that Sophie’s still pushing our buttons.
And then I giggle about that last bit.
I pride myself in not being a button pusher.
Also? Is it weird that I imagine these fake conversations?
Itisweird, but it somehow fuels me—pushes me to do better and work harder.
I won’t admit this to Inez, but I don’t manage to make it out the door of the city administration building until nearly an hour later.
It’s fine. It’s not uncommon for me to be the last person out of the building. A blip of pride hits me becauseI outlasted Rich McClain. He’s already gone. He’s the water systems director and is, without question, my biggest rival for the city manager position.
