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"They need lawyers in New York," she says.
"I need you."
"And New York is three thousand miles from Zack," she says.
"And from you," I say.
"I'll visit," she says. "Mom and Dad and Laurel and Zack too."
"I couldn't follow her."
"Why not?"
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Daphne
Dad stands at the window and stretches his arms as wide as they'll go. Which is pretty wide. He's two inches taller than Damon. But he's still shorter than I am in these wedges. (Just barely).
What can I see? I need the extra height today. I need to feel bigger, to stand taller and prouder.
I don't have it in my heart, so I'm faking it with footwear. That's the great and terrible thing about life as a woman. All these ways to fake it with makeup and clothing and the expectation to keep up appearances.
But I'm not here to write a feminist manifesto. Not directly, anyway. Yes, the study of sex is typically aligned with feminist interests, but not always.
Nature doesn't live and die by ideals.
And then scientists aren't always as objective as they hope—
But now, I'm lost in a thread of logic. And no matter how hard I tug at the thread, I won't forget I walked away from my husband. I won't stop missing him. I won't feel at home.
New York is an amazing, alive city.
And it's three thousand miles from home.
Dad is loving it, though. The trip and the city. Even our tour of midtown apartments.
He looks at home in the small studio, the Empire State Building behind him. But then Dad looks at home everywhere. He projects the energy of a man who's succeeded in multiple careers, made millions of dollars, and charmed every person he's ever met.
Which he has.
But he's also fucked up a lot, been to rehab three times, and almost lost his son, literally and metaphorically.
I haven't hit nearly the highs or lows.
I don't have the confidence of a multi-millionaire.
But I know this is the right choice. If only that made it hurt less.
After three days, I'm used to the city. I love the energy of it. The tall buildings, the bustling streets, the echo of conversation in a dozen languages.
It has this history California doesn't.
But the avocado portions—
The less said about that, the better. (And they're not fresh either).
I push my thoughts of avocados and future ex-husbands aside as I look around the studio. It's nice. Hardwood floors, huge windows, stainless steel appliances.
