Page 121 of Seven Days in June

EVA:Since I’ve spent the last twenty-four hours as a go-between, I’ve decided to start a thread with all three of us. Talk amongst yourselves.

AUDRE:Mr. Hall!

SHANE:Ms. Mercy-Moore! What’s good? How’s Dadifornia?

AUDRE:It’s fun, but this year is different. I’m noticing things in a more…anthropological way. The differences between people, depending on where they’re from. There’s a North Cali accent! And people dress differently than Brooklyn kids. Like, they wear Fila instead of Adidas. You know, the older I get, the more my awareness of what is cool is heightened.

SHANE:I like that. There’s a difference between being cool and being cool-aware.

AUDRE:Mr. Hall, you get me. Do you like our place?

SHANE:I do! But I miss you guys. It’s hard being around your stuff, and not getting to chill with you two.

AUDRE:Are you lonely?

SHANE:A little. So. Your mom doesn’t want me to ask you for therapy advice, butttt.….

EVA:SHANE.

SHANE:…I lost someone I was close to, and it’s hard. Therapy doesn’t work for me. (No offense.) Any suggestions?

AUDRE:Mr. Hall, you should really go to therapy. Black men don’t go, and it’s an epidemic.

The next day…

“Hi. My name is Shane, and I’m an alcoholic—and a drug addict sometimes. I don’t want to be here, but a little girl told me I needed to talk about my problems, and honestly, she’s only twelve but she’s really fucking…astute. So. I guess I’m here now. Or whatever. Yeah, so th-thanks for having me.” He paused. “You’re a great-looking crowd.”

In unison, the Greenwood Baptist Church chapter of Park Slope Alcoholics Anonymous said, “Hello, Shane.”

“He writes a lot better than he talks,” whispered a bleary-eyed redhead in the back.

The following Monday…

The day he’d moved in, Eva had sent Shane five huge dracaena plants from IKEA.

“For your protection,” the note said.

Shane had no idea what this meant, but he watered those plants religiously. He even faced them toward the sun, to optimize the photosynthesis. But one by one, like clockwork, they died. Shane didn’t have the heart to throw them out, though. They were from her.

He did notice a funny thing, though. He was surrounded by deceased flora—but he felt better than ever.

Very late that night…

Eva had written all day, and now her eyes were crossing. She curled up in Aunt Da’s guest bed to take a break. She scrolled through her contacts until she reached Shane. After a beat, she called.

“Is this…you?”

“Hi,” she said softly. “I just wanted to hear your voice. I wrote three chapters today, in Grandma Clo’s house. In my mom’s childhood bedroom.”

“What was it like?”

“Surreal,” she said. “I never had one bedroom, you know? There were so many, it’s a blur.” She grabbed the pillow under her head and held it to her chest, curling herself around it. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“Nothing, just wanted to say it.”

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