Zanne felt a sharp pain, like she’d been stabbed in the eye. The promotion. Her phone call to Caitlyn. Ted’s voice this morning. You’re very good at this work. You make it look seamless. Zanne had thought he was complimenting her intelligence or her competence, something you could bullet-point on your résumé and be proud of. Happy to help! she heard herself say, when he’d brought her into his office and asked her to make the call. It was what she always said.

“Of course, they dangle money over me. You think it’s changing me? It is! I don’t lie awake anymore worrying how I’ll support myself.” Zanne wasn’t yelling, but she was sharp enough for some of the valets to turn their heads toward them.

“Now you lie awake wondering how you let yourself get this compromised. At least, I hope you do,” Gaby said.

“Not all of us have daddies who paid for college and mommies who feed us when we’re sad. Some of us have to do things we don’t want to do. You know what it feels like when everything is down to you? See how free you feel to fuck off when there’s no one to ask for help. Try boring everyone with your problems then. ‘Oh, no, I’m so confused, I can’t decide which opportunity is better—the one my daddy wants or the one my girlfriend’s handing me on a silver platter. I guess I’ll just stay in bed and watch this garbage on TV until my eyes bleed.’ You’re welcome, by the way, for the interview.”

Gaby blushed, a rash superblooming across the desert of her face. Tears overcame her and fell down her cheeks. She pulled up the collar of her shirt and hid her face.

Zanne couldn’t move. What had she done? She was a foot away from Gaby, but she might as well have been in outer space. She didn’t mean to hurt her. But why couldn’t she comfort her? Why couldn’t she go to her?

“I’m sorry,” Zanne said, knowing the words weren’t enough.

Gaby blotted her face with the shirt and lowered it back into place. The whites of her eyes were pink around the edges, and her lower lids were puffy.

Another car pulled up alongside them and idled there, too close for comfort. Zanne was about to tell whoever it was to fuck off, but she recognized that face. Mrs. Paxton rolled down the driver’s-side window.

“Gabriela?” she asked, her face a mosaic of confusion, worry, and aggression.

“Here,” Gaby said, holding out the keys again. It was happening. Zanne was losing her. Gaby shook her fist until Zanne took the keys. Then she walked around to the other side of the car. She looked at Zanne over the hood, opened the door, and got in.

26

Holly