Page 54 of Turnabout Is Fair Cosplay
Mike chuckles. “Grandma Evie raised me. Picked me up from school, helped me with homework, ran lines with me when I got the lead in the sixth-grade play. She had dreams…”
He’s fading into silence again, and I can’t handle it. “Was your mom an only child?”
“I had an uncle. He didn’t want anything to do with the property after my grandma passed away. He died a couple years ago.”
We’re almost home, but Mike has side-stepped my most pressing question. “And you’re fixing it up now because?”
“Because it’s what Mom and Grandma would have wanted.”
I pull into my space. The ocean is so dark at night, like a black hole that sucks the light from every source on shore. The darkness amplifies the sound of the waves and highlights our silence as Mike and I sit in my car.
“They’d be proud of you.” I don’t know what I’m saying. I don’t know why I’m saying it. Mike is insufferable. Handsome, absurdly talented. And insufferable.
He shrugs as his fingers trace the leather stitching of my Porsche. “I buy them tickets for every one of my shows. Two seats together in the back row. Just in case. It’s…” He inhales sharply. “It’s the kind of crazy that I’m sure you’ll roast me about when I’m at my most vulnerable, but what’s the point of faith if you can’t use it to connect to the people you love in the moments when…”
I’m smiling.
“You’re laughing at me.”
“I’m not.” I’m seeing the side of Mike who writes in the margins of literature—and falling harder. And I can’t do that.“I’m just trying to square your spirituality with your cosplay of a psychotic clown. Do you buy your mom and grandma tickets to Adam’s escape room?”
It was the wrong thing to say.
The hurt on Mike’s face makes that clear instantly.
I was trying to be funny. I was trying to be playful. Instead, I sounded mean-spirited, bratty, rude, belittling. “I didn’t mean—”
“What happened to you? What trauma did you sustain in your privileged little Del Mar past to make you such a prickly little shrew?”
My indignation flashes hot. “How dare you?”
“I’m just trying to understand,” Mike says, exiting the car.
“Is that what we’re calling insults now? Understanding? Sorry, I’m having a hard time sifting through all your arrogant, self-important, nauseatingly insipid drivel, so I’m a step behind. Why don’t you mansplain it to me while we stare out at the ocean from your inherited place of privilege?”
“Thanks for the ride,” Mike says before slamming the car door.
“Any-freaking-time!” I yell.
Chapter 19
I’ve heard it can take years to build a clientèle on FroggoDoggo, but my business is humming along. One of the nicest parts of walking these pooches is that I am getting a really good feel for this smart, surprising little town. A walk with Johnny the terrier is how I discovered the contemporary art museum. I don’t know how there is a museum right on the beach in La Jolla. I’m no art lover, but I love a good view of the ocean.
I came in after Johnny’s owner canceled last week and returned a few days later to ascertain if there were any comfortable reading chairs. There are; I picked out a favorite, and today, my day off, I intend to enjoy.
“Admission for one.” At the ticket counter, I hand over my debit card.
The docent looks at me with raised eyebrows but takes my card. “Ninety-six dollars even.”
“Excuse me? I thought admission was twenty for residents.”
“Which you’ve paid twice in the last week. I know a regular when I see one. Buy the membership now, dear. Save us all some trouble.” She winks at me.
“But I’m not into the art. I’m here for the view. And…” And the company. It’s nice to enjoy a book with the hushed voices of other patrons in the background.
“And now you can come for the view year-round. No food or drink in the museum, dear. We close at four.”
“Thank you.” I shove my coffee cup into a bin before entering the galleries.
