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“Livvy,” I say to everyone gathered. “The name is Livvy.”
They nod politely.
How my love life could be interesting enough to discuss in front of a bunch of strangers is beyond me, but she’s done such a great job getting everyone’s attention that there are now twenty pairs of eyes staring at me, waiting for my response.
Her voice oozes with false concern, but I know how to fight fire with fire. I’ve had a lot of practice.
I smile pleasantly to cut through any sisterly tension. “Absolutely, Krista, having a great time. After all, I’m not bored or desperate enough yet to settle.”
I pick up my fork and stab the last green bean on my plate. “Mmmm,” I murmur, “these are so good.”
Polite titters flow around the table and I wish there were a scoreboard so I could give myself one point, and my sister, a big fat zero.
The evening progresses and the wheezer and giggler aren’t so bad if you keep your expectations low enough. They each ask for my number when the other isn’t listening, and I assure them that I’ll share ‘my digits’ after dinner to keep things discreet.
Yes, I’m lying. So what?
Just as I start to think I may be leaving the Kritters dinner party wearing no further wounds from insults hurled my way, I realize there’s no such luck. Because, why would there be? My brother-in-law Carter, who wears his douchey-ness like a teenage boy wears Axe Body Spray, dive bombs me.
“How’s the boutique pet business, Livvy? Selling the hell out of those artisanal hamster wheels?”
He chuckles with a practicedhar-har-har, and in spite of myself and all the things going my way, a part of me crumbles. I know I shouldn’t let him get to me, but in a room of tech moguls and venture capitalists, I stand out like a sore thumb. I have no place here. My sister invites me as a show of some sort of humanity, like trotting out a rescue dog to show the world you have a soft side.
My previous jauntiness is now pretty much deflated and the chocolate mousse dessert before me just looks disgusting.
I’ve always been the odd one out. I’m used to that.
It’s the same with the EastSide guys and me. I have no place messing around with them. As soon as this developer drama is put to rest, they’ll be back to their Manhattan glamazons, and I’ll be expressing canine anal glands next door in my Birkenstocks and dirty smock.
32
LIVVY
I stareout the window of my Uber all the way home. Carter insisted he call me one on his account to show off his largesse. Typical, look how I take care of my little sister-in-lawcrap. Had it been just the two of us, he would have said good luck getting home and shut the door in my face.
But hey, I’m not too proud to save fifty dollars to get home, especially not after a night like tonight.
Why did I think this evening might be different? Every time I go to the Kritters, it ends the same way. I swear I’ll never go back and yet I always do.
What is wrong with me?
The second I’m home I kick my shoes off and open theNew York Timescrossword on my phone. I can really only manage the easy puzzles days, Mondays and Tuesdays, so I go back through the archive to look for an old one that won’t make me feel like a total dunce.
That’s when my phone pings with an email notification, a proposal from the developer. I scroll through the legalese and find the fuckers answered every ‘loophole’ as they call them, that the guys and I found.
Historic building? Nope.
Culturally important? Nope.
Safety violations? Disappeared.
What in the fucking fuck?
It’s too much. Just too much. A shitty night at my sister’s and then news like this? In what world does the universe just keep dumping on someone who’s already down on their luck?
Sucks. Just fucking sucks.
I’m way too annoyed now to continue with my crossword and when I pull out BOB from my nightstand, I twist it on for a little solo action. But don’t you know before the thing is even freaking warmed up, the battery dies.
