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Almost there.
“Fine, but it feels like you’re running away again.”
“What do you mean, again?” I ask, wiping sweat from my upper lip.
“I know losing your dad was pretty sudden, but you just dropped your entire life to come here. And I get it. I’m sure I’d want to do the same thing. But you don’t even really talk about it.”
“Is this about going to therapy again? Because I’m good. Don’t I seem good?”
She lets out an exasperated breath. “I just want to make sure you’re being honest with yourself.”
“Well, honestly, I came here to do comedy. A dream that was suffocating in Texas. And I’m not running away. I’m running toward my future success. And Imani”—I grunt, pulling the tiny zipper with all my might—“you’re my best friend in the world. I really don’t want to fight with you about this, especially when I’m leaving for two weeks.” With one last heave-ho, the suitcase shuts and the momentum thunks me on my ass. I tumble back like a roly-poly, catching myself before my head hits the floor. “Ouch!”
“See, this is already a disaster.”
My hair clings to my sweaty brow so I mop it away and rebalance my glasses. “No, it’s not. I’m gonna be on The Late Night Show. You’ll see.” I get that she’s trying to look out for me and as annoying as it is, I really do appreciate it. But she’s wrong. My dad was wrong. And I’ll be damned if I don’t come back to this city as a winner.
“Lots of stand-ups audition for late-night TV. What are you gonna do if you don’t get it the first time?”
I grab on to my bedsheets and pull myself up. “Why can’t you just be my penguin and support me?”
“I am supporting you. I’m the voice of reason, protecting you from yourself.”
I fill my lungs to capacity knowing I might need to put what little money I have where my mouth is. “I’ll tell you what. If I don’t land this audition, then the moment I get back to New York, I’ll call the headhunter. Or anyone you want. And I’ll get back on the Jim Gaffigan plan.” There. That oughta pacify her.
“See! Now you’re using your head.” She taps her temple.
“But it’s not nearly as fun as using my heart. Or my sense of humor.” My nightstand clock signals me to go (as far away from this conversation as possible). So I slide the overstuffed suitcase off the bed and it slams down to the ground like an anchor on the sea floor. I hope Nick has a big trunk.
Boom, boom!
“Hey! Keep it down!” our downstairs neighbor yells, poking the ceiling, presumably with a broom handle. Okay... maybe I went a little overboard on the packing.
Imani winces. “You just had to go and wake the bear. Now I’m gonna have to tiptoe the rest of the day.” I wish she were exaggerating but she’s not.
“Sorry,” I say, swinging my backpack over my shoulder and tucking my pillow beneath my arm. “I have to go.”
“Okay.” She throws her hands up. “If this is really what you want to do, I won’t stand in your way.”
“Is that why you’re blocking the doorway?”
She shoots me a look and moves aside, making space for my luggage and me to pass by. I grab a clean garbage bag from under the sink and stick my pillow inside.
“Don’t get too comfortable carrying your stuff in trash bags.”
“Watch me make this the next hot trend,” I say, piling it on top of my suitcase.
Imani rolls her eyes, then closes in on me with her arms open. “Just please keep your GPS locator on and text me when you get to D.C.”
As much as she’s been a pain in the ass, she’s my penguin... in the ass. No, that doesn’t really work, but you get it. I hold on to her tightly, feeling like this is goodbye. But it’s not, it’s just the beginning. “Don’t get hit by a bus, okay?”
“I won’t if you won’t.”
