What do you want?

To be a successful stand-up comedian and travel the world performing.

To write and perform the perfect set.

Duck Waterfall to score an audition for a weekly spot at QCZ

To not live in my father’s house.

To never become my father.

What’s preventing you from getting there?

My inability to deliver a perfect set.

How can we work on moving past this block in your path?

… If I knew I wouldn’t be fucking coming, would I?

I fold the paper in half and push it back toward Grams. “Locked and loaded. Don’t read it.”

With a satisfied grin, Grams plucks the paper from the table and drops it in the purse sitting on the floor next to her feet. “Great! I’ll get it sorted. I think I can get you in to get your hair fixed this afternoon as well?” she proposes.

I roll out my neck. “Can we hold off on that one?” Forever, preferably.

She nods, picking up her still steaming cup of tea. “I’ll see what I can do, but your father wants it done soon. I’m proud of you, granddaughter.”

I force a laugh. “Proud of my failure to launch?”

I take a swig of my pre-poured orange juice waiting for her to take the bait and change the subject.

Grams shakes her head, grinning. “Don’t get me started on that movie.”

I smirk. “Hey, that’s some of McConaughey’s best work.”

Grams sticks a piece of watermelon with a fork and points it in my direction. “No, Jamie, I’m proud of you as a human. You’re trying, you’re getting there, you’ll relaunch.”

4. A Girl Is Off to Colorado, Apparently

JAMIE

August 27, Thursday Afternoon

California

A pleasant, gentle knock sounds behind me. I turn to find Dawn leaning against the doorjamb in hot pink jeans, light pink crop top, and matching pink leather jacket.

“You texted?” she greets sarcastically.

I watch from my closet as she flops sideways onto my girly peach-pink canopy bed.

“Hey hey hey! Lady Torres,” I yell from among the clothes.

She throws on a brief English accent. “Well met, Lady Federov, what doth I ask is up?”

We did a scene together in terrible old English accents last month, and we’ve been slipping random nonsense into our everyday exchanges ever since.

“I shalst haveth some news. My dad-slash-Grams thinks I should go to this off the grid Rediscover Yourself yoga bullshit retreat.”

“A yoga bullshit retreat.” Dawn laughs from the bed. Her head’s hanging upside down off the edge now. Her shiny dark hair dances in the light. “Why?”

Ah, why? Dawn doesn’t know about the therapy clause in Dad’s contract. I’ve shared selectively.