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Like father, like daughter. Visibly tensing, she turns a cup of water around in her hands. “Two years, but as of yesterday, I’m a free agent again.”
John’s attention is caught, and he turns it on Lark. “What does that mean?”
“I quit yesterday, so I’ll be looking for another job next week. I’m just taking a breather for a few days first.”
Her dad’s brows pinch together, and he shifts in his seat. “How are you going to pay rent? It’s coming up quick.”
“I have enough saved to cover the next month.” She glances at me in her discomfort of the spotlight. I reach over and offer a hand, though she knows where I stand on the matter of where she lives. She takes my hand.
“And after that? You’re dipping into your savings.”
Lark’s posture remains unchanged with no defensive pretenses.That’s my girl.“Don’t worry, Dad,” she says, “I’ll find another job.”
My mom says, “If you’d like me to ask around—”
“I appreciate that, but it’s not necessary.” Her cheeks are flushed. Embarrassed is my least favorite hue on her. Post-orgasm is a different matter altogether.
Occasionally, I’ve caught my mom sneaking peeks at Lark. I can tell my mom approves of her. From Lark’s welcoming way of speaking to everyone as if they’re the most important person in the room to her intelligence, drive, and ambition to her kindness, she’s easy to love.
I’ve been bucking against the system for so long that it feels good to finally have peace in my life, my parents’ approval, and our family getting close again.
“Why did you quit?” my attorney father asks, but his voice is calm, even sympathetic. I don’t love that he asked, but I don’t think Lark needs me to save her, either.
I squeeze Lark’s hand, and when she looks at me, she says, “I was working a brunch at the country club yesterday.”
“The Ladies Who Lunch?” my mom asks. “I was supposed to be there, but I was in Manhattan with a school event for Marina. Now I’m sorry I missed it.”
“It was ugly,” Lark says and then sighs. “I’m glad you weren’t there.”
“Tell them why, Lark,” I say, keeping my voice low, though the others can hear me. “The details are important.”
I’m shot a devil’s glare. My dad asked the question, but somehow,I’m the villain?
Looking between her dad and my mom, she replies, “I spilled tea on one of their expensive purses.”
“One of them was a bitch to Lark.”
“Harbor,” my dad says. His tone isn’t irritated but more indifferent. “You shouldn’t talk about people like that.”
“She shouldn’t have been a bitch.”
John chuckles when he says, “I never much cared for pretenses. Although I do give people the benefit of the doubt—they’re having a bad day or wrecked their car, which is something I see a lot of in my shop—kindness matters. When someone is rude to service workers, acting like they’re above it all, they’re not good people.”
Wise words.
He’s gruff, like Lark said, but he’s honest, and you get what you get with him. I like that.
“It’s not only how she acted,” I start, trying to coax her into revealing the details. Tapping the toe of my shoe against the side of hers, I say, “Tell them what she said to you.”
I can only imagine that she’s hesitant to say bad things about anyone in my parents’ social group, but I don’t mind being the bad guy. “The lady told Lark that her turquoise bag was worth more than Lark’s life.”
“What?” My mom gasps. “That’s horrible.”
“That’s whatIthink,” Lark says. “Who would say that to another person? To another human, much less someone serving you. It was an expensive bag, but do I mean so little to her that she values that more than a life?”
Leaning forward, John’s eyes are wide. “No offense to our guests, but The Pointe is full of assholes.”
Dad taps his can against John’s drink. “Well said, John.”
