Dawn is a comedic genius. She has a more understated style, but her instincts are impeccable. I need her input ASAP! I need all opinions on deck to make this the best it can be. I need to tape myself. Why have I never taped myself performing? Why haven’t I been doing this the entire time?

I text Zarar.

Me: I’m a dumb.

Zarar: You’re the smartest dumb though.

Me: K

Zarar: Our text conversations are so thought provoking. You are a true master of the English language.

Me: coo thx

Zarar: I’m very honored to be the first person you know to have heard your complete set. You’ll rock it tonight. You can always sit down on stage if that feels safer in the moment.

Me: IT’S CALLED STAND-UP, ZARAR.

Zarar: You could be the sit-down stand-up.

Me: you are the most unfunny

Zarar: =D

I glance up at the current stop. I have a handful more before I get off. It’s 3:07 p.m., if I get on the phone with Dawn now, I can do my set and be discussing it by the time I jump in an Uber and ride to the grocery store. I cross myself like I’ve seen religious people do when they pray and dial Dawn’s number.

It rings! It’s been going straight to voicemail, but it’s ringing!

“Hello?”

Elation surges through me. “Dawn?!”

“Jamie, is everything okay?” It’s not Dawn. That’s Siri’s voice.

“What the hell are you doing on Dawn’s phone?”

“We’re on the way to the barbecue. Is everything okay?”

“Can I talk to her, please?”

“Um.” There’s some mumbling. “She’s driving. Maybe try her later?”

I sigh. “Fine, quick question, you remember those brie-and-apple macaroni-and-cheese sandwiches Mom used to make us?”

“Ew, I’ve seen Mom make that every once in a blue moon for herself. Why would you put macaroni on a sandwich. We used to eat those?”

“They were only my favorite.”

“Weird.”

I hang up.

60. Angst and a Barbecue

SIRI

September 5, Saturday Afternoon

California

Grams comes out of the woodwork, wishing me luck as I frantically whoosh out of the house with a Rubbermaid full of eggs and a fork.

It’s a relief to step out the door. It’s so bright! The palm trees sway in the light breeze as I make my way down the driveway to Dawn’s waiting mint-green Prius.

There’s a giant painted DUCK WATERFALL poster crammed in the back seat. I pull open the passenger door and slide in carefully, settling the food on my lap.

“Wow, did you make that?” I ask her, gesturing to the art project. It looks really good. And really her. It’s all pastels.

She giggles. “Yep, stayed up most of the night doing it.”

“Did you sleep?” I ask anxiously.