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“That’s not a bad thing, Zhaohui. You always make it out like I’m attacking you.”
“Uh, you kind of are.” How else was she supposed to interpret her mom telling her to her face that she was, always had been, and always would be difficult?
“You were not easy, because you actually wanted to be princess astronaut veterinarian ballerina!”
“Who wouldn’t?” That sounded awesome.
“You have your head in the clouds. Someone has to help keep you here. On earth where you belong.” Fire burned in her mother’s gaze.
And okay, Zoe knew her mom loved her and that she’d fight off an invading horde for her. But she occasionally forgot that the overbearing stuff was love, too.
Annoying, frustrating, occasionally infuriating love.
“You don’t have to,” she insisted.
“I do.” Her mother reached across the table, and for the first time in what seemed like a long, long while, it felt like she was looking at Zoe. Not past her. No snide remarks, no judgment. She held out her hand. “I know it, because that’s what your father did for me.”
Zoe’s eyes flew wide. Her mom almost never talked about her dad. “Wait—”
Her mother shook her head, her whole expression softening. “So like me, sometimes, my Zhaohui. I don’t want you to learn lessons the hard way like I did.” She extended her hand an inch farther, and Zoe slipped her fingers into her palm. “You have to be practical. You have to survive.”
And Zoe would probably never fully understand her mother, but for one moment, she wondered if maybe she was right. If maybe they did have more in common than had ever been keeping them apart.
Her mother gave her hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “Look. I make you a deal.”
“Okay…”
“You ever find job opening for princess astronaut veterinarian ballerinawithpension and health insurance? I promise I stop riding you so hard.”
Zoe laughed, and she swabbed at her eyes. This was making her way too emotional—especially considering her mom had basically just promised to never, ever give her a break.
She had about a bazillion other questions, but before she could figure out a way to give voice to them, the actual, honest-to-goodness phone on the wall started ringing.
Her mother patted Zoe’s hand before letting go to stand and answer it.
“Hello—” She barely got through the word. A muffled voice came over the line.
Then all the color drained from her face.
“For crying out loud, James.” Bryce looked up from the same set of joists he’d been supposedly assembling for the last hour now. “Your mommy calling you or something?”
“Mind your own business.” Devin ignored his phone buzzing in his pocket again. This was the third time, and no, it wasn’t his mommy. Dead women didn’t call.
He was starting to get a little worried, though.
He drove the last nail home in his set and looked up, meeting Terrell’s gaze. “You got this for a second?”
“Sure, man.”
“You heard him,” Bryce said, dropping his nail gun. “That’s five, everybody.”
“You already had your break, and you don’t have time to take another.” Devin gestured at the work still to be done.
Bryce pantomimed a yapping mouth, and Devin gritted his teeth.
The guy had been giving Devin a hard time since high school. Ever since Bryce had come on at Meyer Construction, it had been the same—like Bryce resented that a guy as powerful as the mayor’s son had to stoop so low as to be working alongside schlubs like Devin. Devin’s promotion had been salt in the wound. The backtalk had gotten worse and worse, and Devin had tried to turn a blind eye to it. He’d focused on the job and the work and let the personal stuff slide.
Goodness knew there was enough to focus on work-wise. Ever since the disaster the other week when Bryce had let half a wall collapse, the higher-ups had taken a personal interest in Devin’s crew. Devin had shown Joe all the documentation he’d been gathering about Bryce’s sloppy work, and Joe had been clear that Devin had his support. He just needed to keep collecting evidence to build a case that could hold up against whatever scrutiny they might get if and when the time came to finally give the boot to the mayor’s son.
