Page 10 of Penalty Shot

Is the lead character losing her mind or pretending to?Bothis the resounding conclusion.

What’s the line between biting commentary and pedantic parody?Eh, fuck if anyone knows.

I don’t talk much while frantically jotting notes. Most of what they say is positive. I’ll be reading my notebook for an extra morale boost before I attach the manuscript to the email and press send.

“It’s an amazing play, Elise. This is going to be the highlight of the summer,” Sienna says generously.

“About time they did something with Shakespeare that doesn’t require codpieces,” Hailee says, referring to the 1600s equivalent of the jockstrap. “Although the history of codpieces is a fascinating commentary on the intersection of masculinity and—”

“OK, that’s our sign to wrap up,” Lily interrupts. “Intersection of masculinity with anything is always a sign to wrap up.”

“I second that,” Sienna says with a grin.

“Hey!” Hailee complains but she’s laughing, too.

“Did I hear wrap up?” Ma calls from the kitchen.

“We’re coming!” I call to her.

I’m a twenty-nine-year-old single woman who lives with my mother. When my father died over nine years ago, I wasliving in New York, faltering through my half-ass pursuit of a comparative literature degree. I finished. Barely, but I finished.

Yet every visit back to Ohio made it clear that we needed each other. My mother’s social network of friends and neighbors was no match for the grief she endured at the loss of her husband. He was the love of her life and the best dad in the world. I, on the other hand, was too worried about her to be of any use to myself or my shitty job as a props assistant off Broadway.

So, I moved back to Columbus, redecorated my old bedroom, and took the job at the local community college theater department as an adjunct. The pay is shit, the grading load crushing, and the student body’s disinterest often demoralizing. But I get most of my evenings free to take jobs with local theater companies and, occasionally, the students blow my mind with their talent and insight.

“Geraldine, this is too much!” Hailee says to my mother, who has outdone herself once again. We’re greeted with the aroma of sizzling garlic and ginger, instantly transporting me to my childhood.

“Are those your famous dumplings?” Woody asks, knowing they are.

“They’re not famous.” She brushes off the compliment. “You liked my lo mein so much last time, so I made it again.”

“And it’s Sienna’s favorite,” I add.

“That it is,” Sienna agrees, giving Ma a wink.

We take our seats and grab chopsticks. “Everything looks so colorful and delicious,” Lily states.

“Thank you for having us,” Hailee says.

“Thank you for coming over. I made some mapo tofu and steamed fish with ginger and scallions.”

“Mapo tofu! Mapo tofu!” Lily and I say together in a singsong chant with chopsticks over our head like antennae. It’s a stupid ritual we adopted since we were kids.

She’s my oldest friend. Lily never left my side during the darkest times and has always been a second daughter in this house. My ride or die, this girl with the sass of a diva and a heart of gold.

The table is adorned with an array of dishes, fragrant steam rises from the pots, and all is good in the world on this fine Sunday evening. That is, until Lily begins her usual disturbance. It’s like she’s allergic to a normal gathering without some kind of conflict. Drama queen to the core.

“Geraldine, did Elise tell you about the hot hockey player she met last Saturday?”

I’d kick her under the table but that’s only ever resulted inmyunfair punishment.

“No, she did not. What’s this about?” Ma asks with a lilt in her voice. She’s intrigued, just as Lily planned.

I don’t explicitly share my social life with my mother, but it’s not a big deal either. She’s easy to talk to and the coolest fifty-seven-year-old woman in the city. Might be because she looks like she’s in her forties but takes care of everyone as the unofficial neighborhood mom. Who doesn’t adore Geraldine Chen? Most of my friends would move in with her, if I let them.

I slurp noodles noisily. “Huh?” I play dumb.

What is there to say about Randall, after all? We had sex, exchanged numbers, and flirt-texted through the week. Nothing serious. He said he’d call as soon as he got back from their team trip or whatever. I’m not holding my breath although wouldn’t say no to a booty call, either.