It wasn’t like he would ever see her at any of the events he was turning down. And his sister had done a bang-up job convincing the world that he was lying low in Korea, posting year-old photos of a business trip.

The only event he wanted to attend was a Filipino heritage celebration at the embassy in DC. He knew they would be celebrating his continuation of his mother’s humanitarian work. He wanted to be there to make his mother proud somehow. His middle-class mother had faced so many snobs who thought his father was slumming. His mother would be ashamed of the way he had treated Liza and the Bennett family.

Dorsey skimmed over images of his mother with messy fingers, eating barbecue and dancing traditional dances with villagers. She was equal parts elegant, untouchable, down-to-earth, and motherly. Liza’s proclamation about communal dancing popped into his mind. There are two types of people in the world. He suddenly understood it so perfectly now. Those that give themselves over to a moment, and those who are too inside their own heads to really experience anything. He had been the latter for far too long.

OUTSIDE THE TENT

Liza was stalling.

“So tell me what else are you planning when the summer comes?”

“Well . . .” The caller searched for more to say. Liza’s eyes darted from the door to the phone. “I suppose I could buy some new sandals.”

“Oh, I love sandals! Do you like the strappy ones?”

“I guess.” The caller had clearly run out of steam. “Am I caller number nine or not?” she asked.

“Oh, we found caller number nine ages ago—” Liza heard the soft silence of dead air. “Guess we lost her; let’s try to get her back.” But a woman in a pantsuit pushed through the door, and Liza quickly threw it to a cued-up song, dread growing in her stomach.

“Ms. Bennett, you are popular today.”

“Every day,” Liza corrected. “This is the third-highest-rated show in the region.”

“Yes, well, about that. It seems like the radio station is going in a different direction.”

“So I’ve heard.” Liza scratched at the table graffiti.

“We plan to start our station rebranding in the next few months, and your brand is just a little outside our tent of offerings,” Pantsuit said.

“What exactly are your offerings? Christmas music in October? Top 40 adult contemporary?”

“Now, Liza, I understand your frustration—”

“Frustration! Why am I always the only person who gives a damn, and nobody gives a damn about me?”

“I know this is hard news, but everyone is feeling the crunch. You’re internalizing a simple business transaction that’s not personal at all.”

“I’m curious if these lines really work for you. When you say ‘don’t take it personally’ and ‘it’s just business,’ do people really just dry their eyes and perk up?” Liza was shaking.

“Well—”