“That’s…healthy.” It’s clear that Olive thinks something else, but she’s trying not to push buttons, maybe?
I try to step in. “You need to advocate, too, Zoey.”
“If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s advocating,” she says, laughing. Her neck cranes as she searches the crowd.
“You looking for someone?” Benny asks, leaning against me enough that I feel his warmth.
“Peter maybe,” I say, then regret it.
Zoey scowls.
“Give it up for the Half-Pennies!” Peter says, before a band comes on the stage and starts playing an indie rock song.
We sip our drinks and enjoy the music until Peter finds us, throwing an arm over Zoey’s shoulder. “How have I been? And don’t hold back. I can take the professional criticism.”
She shrugs his arm off. “The bands are excellent. Emcee could use some work.”
He grins. “So she’s listening. We call that progress, people.”
“Let it go, Pete.” Benny shakes his head.
“A man does not have his dream woman fall in his lap and thendo nothing.”
“He does when she’s engaged,” Olive quips.
I shake my head, but I’m laughing. “Anyway, should we?—”
“Thereyou are!”
The voice is so familiar, my veins run cold. I know it. I know who’s standing directly behind me. I look directly at Zoey, and she has such a guilty expression on her face that I want to scream. Did she tell my mom where to find me?
I spin to face the interloper, and I’m right. Mom is flanked by Lucy, my makeup and hair artist, Andrew, her favorite PR guru, and a handful of what are very obviously bodyguards.
They might as well be carrying around a big sign withflashing lights and a bright arrow pointing at us.Look here! Look here!
“Mom,” I say. “What are you doing here?”
“You wouldn’t answer my calls.” She looks perfect, not a highlighted hair out of place despite the bay breeze ruffling everyone else. She’s in a white powersuit and flawless makeup. Kris Jenner has nothing on Nancy Belacourt. “I was worried.”
That’s a fair sentiment. I’m wholly unprepared for this conversation. Benny’s hand comes to rest on my back in a silent show of support, and I siphon all the strength from him I can.
“This isn’t really a good place to talk.”
“We can go somewhere quiet,” she says, waiting. I’ve seen this tactic in boardrooms and arguments against my dad, and she always gets her way. She’s firm and immovable. She waits long enough and always gets what she sets out to. I can see why, too. It’s easier to have the conversation than try to argue or reason my way out of it.
“Fine. This way.” I turn away from her and start walking back toward the bathrooms, then pivot away from anywhere we might have a crowd. By the time I reach the outskirts of the festival, there are only a handful of people around, and I turn back to face my mom, anxiety running through my body.
The whole group didn’t follow us, which I’m grateful for, but Benny’s at my side, and some of the security team she brought is with us. The others must have stayed with my sisters.
“Why did you bring my stylist?”
“So she could help you look ready to perform.”
“I’m not performing. I’m watching today.”
Mom doesn’t say anything. She looks at Benny. “How are you, Ben? It’s been a long time.”
“I’ve been well, thank you.”