Page 182 of Rock Bottom Girl

I choked and gasped and passed it back. It had been a long time since my Mountain Dew and cigarette days.

“Look at me and tell me what you see,” she said.

I did as I was told. “My beautiful, insanely smart genius of a sister, who has the perfect husband, a great family, and an important job.”

She laughed without humor. “That’s what everyone sees. You know what I see when I look in the mirror?”

“What?”

She took another drag and blew out a slow stream of smoke. “An exhausted woman whose husband stopped being interested in sex six months ago. Whose children don’t have any fun at all except the one time of year they’re at Grandma and Grandpa’s. My job—I work seven days a week. Because if I miss something, if I take a day off and turn off my phone, some baby somewhere could die because I didn’t connect them to the right resources. People die when I don’t do my job.”

“Zin, why didn’t you say anything?”

“What am I supposed to say? Complain about my perfect life and my perfect family. Whine about how hard it is to make a difference?”

“Yes! How else am I supposed to know that your life isn’t perfect? Zin, I would have showed up on your doorstep. I would have helped.”

“No one can help me,” she said, and I heard the familiar stone wall in her voice. Zinnia was harder headed than any one of those basketball donkeys. “No one can do everything that needs to be done the way I want it done.”

I was reeling. The woman I wanted to be was sitting next to me on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

“Where is Ralph?” I asked her.

She gave another bitter laugh. “Probably sitting with his feet up on the coffee table in his underwear enjoying the peace and quiet. ‘Heart surgeons need downtime,’” she parroted in a baritone. “He’s so busy saving lives he has zero time for family. For me. He blanked on our anniversary. He can’t remember Rose’s name half the time. We go days without seeing each other.”

“But you two always seem so good,” I pressed.

“Good?” She sniffled. “We’re at a place whereeverythingis more important to us than our relationship, our family. That’s not good, M.”

A single tear rolled gracefully down her cheek.

She took a shuddering breath. “It’s like we’re already separated. Even though we live together. I didn’t even tell him I was coming. He didn’t notice we were gone for two days because he was traveling for a consortium.”

“Zin, I’m so sorry.” I squeezed her shoulder, wishing there was something I could do to take the pain away.

I didn’t want to appropriate Zinnia’s mid-life crisis, but if this is what being important produced, did I really want it?

“What are you going to do?” I asked. The woman who had everything I wanted was as miserable as I was.

“I have no idea. I thought I’d come home and regroup. I don’t know who I am without a job that sucks the life out of me. I don’t know what kind of a mother I am without overscheduling and smothering the creativity and fun out of my kids’ childhood. I micromanage them because I’m afraid if I don’t take care of every tiny detail, they’ll turn into bullies, or get sick, or turn to a life of drugs.” She took another drag on the cigarette. “I’ve always envied you, you know.”

“Me?” I squeaked. “Why?”

“You’re just free to be. If something isn’t the right fit, you move on, and you try something else. I’m stuck. I’ve dug myself into a hole so deep in this job that I can’t leave or people will literally die.”

We heard a noise next door. From our vantage point in the tree, we spotted Amie Jo, in plaid ankle trousers and a glamorous red sweater, slam the sliding patio door shut. She had an open bottle of wine in one hand. She stood staring at the pool cover, her body rigid. And then she screamed.

It wasn’t the cry of a wounded animal. It was a battle cry.

79

Marley

“Everything okay over there?” I called to her.

She jerked around and found us in the tree.

“Want a cigarette?” Zinnia offered, holding up the pack.