“Hey, guys.” He walks over. Sara quickly glances down at her phone.
“I didn’t know you worked here,” I say.
“Assistant manager.” He taps his badge. “And let me tell you, it has been a day.”
“Yeah. What’s the deal?” I say as a woman grazes me with her cart. “It’s like the migration of the wildebeests.”
“It’s the Summer Trifecta,” Kevin says. “Fourth of July sales plus swim clearance and then an early-bird back-to-school special. It’ll be a zoo until August.” He looks at Sara and blushes a little. “So, you’re leaving soon, right? UGA?”
“Yes.” Sara smiles politely.
“I hope they recruit me next year,” he says. “Their basketball game is pretty strong.”
“It is.” Sara brightens, the awkwardness magically vanishing. “You should definitely take a tour and see if you like it.”
“Nah, as long as their scholarship game is strong, I’m there.”
Sara launches into a speech about the glory that is the University of Georgia and the wonder that is Athens. I suppress a laugh. I mean, don’t get me wrong, UGA has a great veterinary medicine program, so I’m all in if I get accepted there one day—but Sara’s love for that school is next level. I’m glazing over when I get a text message.
Mom: Where are you?
Maya: At Target helping Sara with some errands.
Mom: When will you be done?
Maya: We’re almost wrapping up.
Mom: Pick up some red and blue plates and napkins for the iftar while you’re there so we have extra. And come home soon. We need to have a family meeting.
I shove the phone back in my purse. I don’t want to have another meeting about this. I want to pretend it isn’t happening at all.
We say goodbye to Kevin, and I grab the plates and napkins my mother requested.
“That wasn’t so bad,” Sara says, glancing back at Kevin’s retreating figure.
“Good,” I say, slightly relieved. “Also, please tell me you’re free tomorrow. I could use some company at the campaign iftar. The food’s going to be really good.”
“Babysitting,” she says. “Sorry.”
I’m about to suggest we head to Perimeter Mall before dinner this evening, when her phone buzzes. Glancing down at it, her expression falls.
“Jenna change her mind on the color scheme?” I ask her.
“It’s Lucas.” She winces. “He fractured his wrist. He needs me to cover his shift at Skeeter’s tonight.”
“What?” My voice goes two octaves too high. “Can’t they find someone else?”
“It’s my turn to cover. I’m so sorry, Maya, I really wanted to catch up.” She glances at her phone. “I think I’m off Friday evening. I can check with Hen’s mom to see if she needs me to sit or not and let you know?”
I shrug. I’m not going to be a big baby about the fact that my best friend has to try and pencil me in like a dentist appointment. It’s not like she’s leaving soon and I won’t see her again except for holidays. Yeah.
I do not want to talk about this.
If you asked me to choose between sitting on this ottoman across from my parents or sticking my hand in a bee’s nest, I’m not saying I’d go for the bee’s nest, but I would definitely need to think about it.
My parents are pretty cool people, and normally I like hanging out with them. And sitting across from each other in the family room isn’t unusual, especially during Ramadan, when we’re trying to kill the last few hours before it’s time to open fast by playing a game of Spot It! or Uno or Pandemic (my dad is a major nerd).
But there are no board games out right now. We aren’t hanging out.
This is a family meeting to sort out the details about how we are not going to be a family anymore. I’m still reeling from the announcement. When they told me Dad was moving out. That it was for the best. That they wished it didn’t have to be this way. They normally ask for my feedback on the type of flowers to plant around the mailbox in the spring, or what color to paint the dining room—but breaking up our family unit as we know it was something they didn’t bother to run by me.
It shouldn’t have come as a complete shock. I’d heard the arguments since the middle of junior year. I saw the unmade guest bed the last few months. I just thought they’d get over it, whatever it was. We’re a family. Families fight. Families make up and move on. It didn’t hit me until now that moving on could mean something else entirely.
“Maya?”
They watch me expectantly.
“The movers are coming tomorrow,” my mother says. “In the afternoon.”
“The leasing office is still trying to find the spare key,” my father says. “I’ll get it to you as soon as I have it.”
“Do you have any questions for us?” my mother says.
“About?” I glance at them.
“This . . .” My mother gestures to the half-packed moving boxes around us. “Anything on your mind?”
“It’s a little too late for that, isn’t it?”
“We just want to make sure you’re okay,” my father says. “Whatever you want to say, we’re here.”
“Did you figure out the time frame yet?” I clear my throat. “For the trial separation?”
Trial separation. The words themselves sound heavy—I think of courtrooms and unsmiling judges with wooden gavels.
“We still don’t know. We’re going to have to take it as it comes,” my mother says.
“But what does that mean?”
“The apartment lease is month to month,” my father says.
“I still don’t get why you had to do this now. During Ramadan.”
“I know. But Ramadan felt like the right time,” my mother says. “We’re supposed to be reflecting on ourselves anyhow. Hopefully time apart can help us recharge and focus on what to do next.”
“So, end of Ramadan then.” Twelve days to go. That isn’t so bad.
“We’re not sure,” my father says gently. “Maybe that’s all the time we’ll need, but it might be longer.”
My cat, Willow, walks past me just then—she rubs her body against my leg before heading toward the kitchen. My phone buzzes.
Sara: Whoops sorry, Jessie’s grandma is going to cover their sitting needs. I’ll keep you in the loop if anyone else reaches out.
“Could you put the phone down?” my mother asks. “We know this is a big change.”
“Thanks for the alert.”
“Maya.” My mother sighs.
“Do you have any ideas on how to fill up your extra time this summer?” my father says. “I found a couple of day camps with open spots. There’s a really interesting robotics one at Mercer. And a dance camp by your mom’s work still has two openings.”
Dance camp? Robotics? I stare at him.
“I called the humane society,” I say. “They’re good on volunteers for now but said to check back next month. Sara might be able to get me a sitting gig in the mornings.” I look at my mother. “That way you’ll have the car back in time for work.”