The Do-Over(45)
Author: Suzanne Park
I dozed off instantly and when I awoke, Mia was paying a toll booth worker. “Hey, Sleeping Beauty. You were out like a light the entire trip. And you missed a drive-through stop. Your loss.”
My eyes focused on the dashboard clock. We were entering Manhattan with a decent amount of time to spare. She must’ve driven fifteen to twenty miles over the speed limit the whole way.
I sat up. “Thanks for giving me time to get ready. Are we headed to your place?” My voice croaked out those words. I must’ve been sleeping with my mouth open. Wonderful.
She pointed to a bag on the floor. “I bought you a Happy Meal. I didn’t know how hungry you’d be.”
Mia loved her fast food. Her consumption mantra was “organic = worms enclosed,” and honestly, she was kind of right. As roommates, anytime we went on a health food kick and bought organic veggies or fruit from the store or farmers’ markets, we almost always found creepy-crawly things lurking in the leaves. I’d gotten used to washing and de-verminizing my food, but Mia enthusiastically took the opposite approach by deliberately seeking out GMOs and conventionally farmed produce, and finding joy in drive-throughs.
The sun had just descended behind the tallest Midtown skyscrapers ahead of us, giving the city skyline a literal glow-up. A yellow taxi behind us honked as Mia tried to pull into a spot that a black Lincoln Town Car had just left open. She pulled in with expert-level parallel parking, and the taxi driver rolled his window down and screamed profanities at us as he sped away, using phrases that didn’t necessarily make sense strung together, like “punk bitch ass son of a bitch.”
Mia shifted the gear into park and relaxed her shoulders. “Home sweet home.”
“Thanks so much for driving. I’m sorry I didn’t even switch off with you and do my share.”
She popped open the trunk. “No worries. You can drive back home.”
My notifications alerted me that the event was in two hours. With our roller bags in hand, we ascended the staircase to the top floor of the five-story walkup. It had been a while since I’d made the trek to her apartment, and I had to pause a few times to catch my breath.
“College has made you too soft,” Mia teased as she sprinted up the last flight with her Samsonite roller bag in tow. By the time I made it through her front door, she had already pulled two cans of beer from her fridge.
I shook my head. “No thanks, I don’t like to drink before events. Dulls my brain and the fizz makes me burp.”
The IPA hissed as she pushed in the tab. “These are actually both for me. You can get your own. I’m not your butler.” We both burst into a fit of giggles. It was nice to be back, but it felt a little weird now, having fun without Beth in the mix.
I drank the last remaining sips from my water bottle, then headed to the bathroom to change. The lighting was soft and muted, which made it hard to apply my makeup. A more harshly lit environment meant there were no surprises, and nothing was hidden. In this mirror, I looked too well rested, energized, and even kind of pretty, in a photo airbrush filter sort of way, so I relocated to Mia’s high-wattage bedroom to get a dose of reality. Turning on her overhead lights, the floor lamp, and the ring light on her desk would let the true Lily emerge so I could conceal, pat, and paint on the image of a successful career woman.
After trying on three different outfits, I settled on a sheath dress with a chevron pattern and a fitted black blazer. I found Mia lounging in the living room and spun in a circle so she could give appropriate feedback. “What do you think?” I asked.
“You look like a smart, sexy newscaster. It’s a good look. Do you still have your black librarian glasses?”
I fished them out of my purse and perched them on my nose.
“Yes,” she agreed. “That’s perfect. You are smart, sexy, and a little intimidating. You’d hardly guess you were but a mere college student taking an exam earlier today!” Mia raised the two beers in her hands. “Cheers!”
I grabbed my bag and the spare set of keys, then headed to the event at Gramercy Bookstore, eight blocks away. It was my choice for venue, and I’d picked it because it was woman-owned and near Mia’s apartment. A crowd had already formed outside when I arrived. If I had to guess, it was mostly friends of the O’Haras. Lots of pearl necklaces, Hermès ties, and Chanel purses. An opening in the doorway allowed me to slip through to the event area to find a bookstore employee or publicity manager hosting the event.
“You’re here!” To my surprise, Mary O’Hara ran up to me and offered a handshake. “I’m so glad you made it. Thanks for doing this event with us. I’m a huge fan, as you already know.”
As she energetically pumped my hand up and down, I studied her face to see if she was being genuine. She wore an earnest grin across her face, which made me believe her. Maybe Mary actually wanted me to be there, and that’s why she’d pushed the publicity team for this launch event. It seemed much more plausible than Cameron being the thought leader when it came to finding an in-conversation partner who didn’t look like himself.
Cameron emerged from the employee back room, as if my inner thoughts conjured evil spirits. He whispered to his sister, “I can’t believe they didn’t offer us craft services. We have to eat and drink out here with the regular people.” He waved toward the patrons of the bookstore, and I could not help but notice that I, too, was included in the area within his dismissive hand swing.
“Cam, Lily’s here, our conversation partner today.”
I reached out my hand, only to have him mutter, “Good to see you again,” as he offered a quick handshake, then beelined past me to a couple who had just claimed seats in the audience. I knew who they were. The Van Sant power couple, angel investors who were on MSNBC, Bloomberg, and CNN Business around the clock.
I offered Mary a tight smile. “Well, I’m sure they’re more interesting than me. Did you get the questions I sent a few days ago? Wanted to give you the opportunity to prepare, and depending on your answers, I might add a few off-the-cuff questions into the mix, to keep the conversation flowing organically.”
“Thanks for sending those early. And your plan sounds great.”
The event drew a predominantly white crowd, but among the more diverse attendees was a healthy representation of Asian American women, many of whom had my book in their hands, on their laps, or sticking out of their tote bags. My heart burst into confetti and mini streamers as the events manager from the bookstore introduced us.
While smiling for forty-five minutes straight, I asked the O’Haras all of my prepared questions, alternating between them. What was it like to write a book together, Cam? How long did it take you to write it, Mary? Cam, did you outline first? Last one, Mary . . . did you write together or divide and conquer?