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Zoey wrestles another shirt into her suitcase and considers the other carryon bag. Laptop, and one novel. She doesn't really trust baggage handlers with her laptop or phone, and she'll pack the laptop last thing in the morning along with her toothbrush and toiletries. She trots out to the kitchen, only to find Mo at her laptop.
“Two questions,” Mo says. “Who is this? And may I have her number?”
“Her name's Patricia O'Rourke, she's a free-lancer who's supposed to beef up cyber security at Detroit HQ and drive me around while I bring them up to speed on the latest project. And don't you normally go for guys?”
“I do. I just want her as a style consultant. Don't often see a woman who can rock suits like that. Though if she did want to.. lady could probably rock someone like a hurricane. Why are you looking at her Facebook page?”
“Thought I'd see what she was up to. And that's just one of her pages, the one that has been..uh, sanitized. She got laid off from a neighboring company a while ago, and we kinda lost touch. She did work for SCLP for a while too, which is how we met. And that's a ten four on the hurricane.”
“What'd she get fired for.. wait a minute, you date girls too?”
“Why are you in my apartment anyway? And yes. I've dated a few girls, and even if I wasn't bi, Trish could talk a nun out of her panties.”
“You left a note and the door was unlocked. Do nuns wear panties? I thought it was bloomers or petticoats or habits all the way down.”
Zoey decides not to pursue that line of inquiry.
“Oh, right, I was going to ask you to water my plants and pass any messages along. Mom doesn't always remember that cell phones are a thing. Ah, this is going to be amazing! I get a week's vacation from the songs, and I don't even have to pay airfare.”
She throws herself down in a happy flop on her couch for emphasis.
Mo snickers.
“I don't think your little gift is just going to shut off with a change of scene.”
Zoey tosses a throw pillow in Mo's direction.
“I'm just sayin..”
“Shut up and let me enjoy this. Anyway, Trish doesn't have any problems. Aside from the whole dresscode issue, the periodic run-ins with police, Amsterdam, and she's never figured out that electrical grids aren't toys.”
“What went down in Amsterdam?”
Zoey shrugs.
“All I remember is that there was a party in a hotel room, someone broke out some D and D dice, and after the third pass of the bottle of absinthe, things went off the rails. I woke up in a hotel laundry cart in the lobby, one guy broke his ankle jumping off a balcony, four or five people had to be fished out of the canals, and some guy was found taped to the ceiling of his room.”
“Damn, you techies are dark horses.”
Zoey laughs. “Wait till you hear about the legend of the Roomba fighting ring.”
“The what-now? Hey, who's PB Sothern?”
“Oh, that's also her. The 'Patricia O' Rourke' account is for family and work, basically.”
Mo blinks. “What's the difference?”
“Oh, the other account has pictures of like, date nights. You know, concerts, trips, and bars she goes to with her girlfriends.”
“So she's not out to her folks?”
Zoey shrugs. “Her mom knows, but that's it. We've never really uh, discussed it.”
“Huh,” Mo says. “Anyway, have a good time. And make sure you ask her where she shops, yeah? Otherwise these plants are gonna need to learn to fly.”
00
Trish O' Rourke is idly eyeing the oven, chatting on the phone. She can't quite fight the feeling that the universe is about to throw a big damn fucking rake in her path.
In the last month her life has changed at a dizzying pace and in ways that surprised even her. Who knew social workers had a sense of humor? And then there's that one particular rake..yeah, that one with the buzzcut and the tattoos.
“..Just worried that you're overextending yourself.”
“C'mon, Beth, you're the queen of overextension, so you do not get to yell at me about that. Anyway, it'll be fine. They just want me to drive some out of town muckity-muck around, and beef up the security systems. Which I could do in my damn sleep. We still on for lunch? Ta then, I gotta get these muffins out before they burn.”
She gets the muffins out and manages to pipe in the egg filling before Evvie, her foster kid, wanders in, yawning. Her haircut makes her look like a disheveled rooster and Trish mentally reminds herself to bug Ruby about haircare products. The horse shampoo she uses clearly ain't cutting it.
Evvie pours herself a cup of coffee, and Trish pops a muffin onto a plate, taking one for herself to set a good example. Trish would be the first to admit she has zero maternal instinct, but goddamn, she's getting fond of this kid.
“Give it a minute for the filling to cook,” she instructs.
“What is it?” Evvie asks.
“An attempt at something I read about in a book. It's kind of like an egg McMuffin.”
Evvie pokes it. “Whatcha want? Or is this more stress cooking.”
A week or so back, Trish misread a recipe. Ok, so thirty or so rice balls was a lot, but Evvie's just not letting it go. Her boss isn't either, though he did take the rice balls she'd given him, though not without a tart rejoinder about how they'd better be tastier than they looked. (So she'd been a little short that week, and unlike him, she lives in a barter economy.)
“Actually, I do need a favor,” Trish chirps. “Can I borrow your car?”
Evvie slices off a bit of the muffin and chews it thoughtfully. Her Rocinante is more than a car; she spent hours working on it with her brother.
“What about yours?”
“You know that I'm fixing it up, and I can't drive someone around on my bike. I got stuck driving an out-of-towner from her hotel to SCLP HQ.”
“I can't believe you didn't go for that nice little Civic.”
“That's not a car, it's an insult.”
“I get a bike lesson this week?” Evvie asks, perking up a little.
“Sure,” Trish concedes. “As long as you don't gun it too much. And be careful, ok?”
“All right, then, you can take the Roci. As long as you're careful.That's a one of a kind automobile, you know.”
“I know. Never be a free-lancer, kiddo, they get stuck with all the shitwork.”
She lists in her head all the various projects today and sighs.
“At least it means you can wear what you like. And I gotta say, I'm kinda digging the Beetlejuice look,” Evvie says.
Trish grins. “Wait, have you actually seen the movie?”
“If I say no, are you gonna make me watch it?”
“Oh, absolutely,” Trish says cheerfully. “It's a classic.”
“Neeerd.”
“Hey, smile when you say that, belta-lowda.”
Evvie often sprinkles her talk with snippets of Belter, a made-up language from a show she likes, and which honestly is pretty good. While Trish is damn proud of her emu chick, that doesn't mean she's not going to tease the kid about it. (Although all hell will probably break loose if Evvie ever finds out she's fluent in Klingon.)
“I'm not stranding you, am I?” she asks, quickly.
“Nah, I can get a ride from Rom, and you can pick me up from the practice space from there.”
“Sounds like a plan. Anything you want to eat tonight?”
“Anything but pierogies.”
“I'll convert you one day.”
“Dream big, Momma Emu.”
00
Zoey heads out of the hotel, and then grins at her 'taxi.' Trish looks stylish as always in a pin-striped black and white suit and strappy gold shoes with a kitten heel.
Mo is definitely going to kill all Zoey's plants if Zoey doesn't ask where Trish gets her outfits from.She's growing her hair out, a stubby little ponytail is tied back with a ribbon. She's still got that line of studs in her ear.
Something's changed, though and Zoey doesn't know what. Behind her is a silver car. It's sleek and shiny, and Zoey's never seen anything like it before.
“Oh my god, is that your car?” Zoey says.
“Actually, no, it's the baby's.”
Zoey blinks. She tries to remember the last time they saw each other- was Trish pregnant? How? Granted, sperm donation is a thing, but it's expensive and Trish is almost phobic about babies.
“Uh, congratulations. How old is the baby?”
“She's sixteen. And a half.”
“So..not yours?” Zoey manages, hears herself and turns a furious red. Even though they parted on good terms, Zoey prides herself on keeping her cool in front of exes.
“Foster kid, so mine until she decides she can't stand me. You gotta meet her, she's just the cutest little emu chick.”
“Wow, just..I never pictured you as a mom, that's all.”
Trish chuckles. “Tell me about it. Her name is Evvie. I dunno if I mentioned it, but I was taking classes out in Cali to get my foster care license.”
She turns on the car and it responds by blasting out something. Zoey grimaces.
“I barely get to sleep, before I'm drug out of bed for another meet and greet..”
“Sorry,” Trish yells, turning it down. “You don't like music, I remember.”
“If you did, I might have spaced it,” Zoey admits. “I know you do a lot of work with kids. And yeah, still not a huge fan.”
“Right. So I got a license, passed all the courses, but I never got to use it because I didn't have enough space. You know what San Francisco and San Diego are like these days- you pay out the ass for home sweet shoebox.”
“I know, right? And if you want a house you need to like be born in it or head out past Redding. At least you had that loft.”
“Well, remember, I wasn't the only one who paid the rent on that. And it was never intended to be like, an actual living space,” Trish points out.
“The kid?” Zoey reminds her.
“Oh, right. So even though my license didn't transfer, I've done advocacy work at the local courthouse since I graduated from college. My whole life's pretty much on file, and Evvie's case worker is supervised by my case worker, so, now I have a teenager.”
“Oh, she knew you were trustworthy.”
“No, she saw a chance at some payback. I was the worst as a teen. Always pushing buttons, got arrested a couple times, thrown out of two foster homes- and they actually lost track of me for a couple of months."
Zoey blinks. “Well, can't you complain? Or something?”
“Honestly, Evvie's a trip and a half, so I don't mind. And she doesn't really have anybody else right now."
Zoey seizes on one little detail. “Why did you have a case worker?”
“I went into foster care at fourteen when my parents died. Ty, Nikki, Stevie and the rest aren't my bio siblings, in case you're wondering. Did you meet a brain eating slug somewhere, 'cause this is really new.”
“Don't you have family here?” Zoey asks, confused. “And no, this is me, I'm trying to take more of an interest in people. I kinda guessed Nikki was adopted, I didn't know all of you were.”
To be fair, Nikki's obviously part-Asian. She'd wondered about Tyler; from the photos she'd seen, he didn't look a thing like Trish, and he was eleven months younger. Trish's cousin Caity looked more like her then any of Trish's siblings. To the point where they'd actively switched place with each other as kids and young teens. They kinda do look alike, even now, but to Zoey they look distinct enough that she can't imagine not being able to tell them apart.
“Yeah, my aunt, uncle, three cousins- Ellie's on the road right now- and my grandparents. But Blue took me on while things were being sorted out, and I kinda wanted to stay with her. Plus I figured it'd hurt less if I got kicked out.”
“Oh, shoot, you're still..”
Trish chuckles ruefully.
“As of a month ago, no. Caity decided she'd had enough of me showing up with fake boyfriends and tried to beat the truth out of me. After the dust settled, I came out to everyone and sent Ellie a letter.”
“Oh my god.”
Trish makes a 'no big deal' wave.
“Eh, Caity and I used to beat the tar out of each other every few months as kids. My family was mostly mad that I'd thought they couldn't deal.”
Honestly, Zoey's a little mad at herself. She'd taken an orphan to meet her family, never considering that Trish might not like being reminded of what she'd lost.
'My name is Luka, I live on the second floor-' drifts out from the radio. Trish growls and mashes the off button.
“Wow, why didn't you tell me this when..”
“When we dated? Honestly, I liked that you didn't ask. And that you weren't all that interested in anything serious. The older I get, the more that damn joke about the moving truck seems to be true.”
“Wait, what joke about a moving truck?” Zoey asks.
She knows that Trish is changing the subject, but playing along. Right now she needs a change of topic.
“You've lived in San Francisco all your life and you've never heard that joke? Oh my god. Ok, what do you call two lesbians in a moving truck?”
Zoey thinks for a second and shrugs. “What?”
“The third date.”
Zoey cracks up.
“I am a horrible person for laughing at that, aren't I?” she wheezes.
“Eh, I'm telling it. Welcome to Detroit, I hope you enjoyed the ride. By the way, am I required to be at the briefing?”
“Excuse me, you're in charge of cyber security for the Chirp's software, so yes. Besides, I need you to keep from suffocating in bro-fumes.”
Trish chuckles. “Ah, the tech industry. I am damn glad I'm gonna be leaving it soon. Honestly, I'm gonna miss bug-hunting, but not much else.”
Zoey blinks. “Wait, what?”
“Yeah. I got a pair of angel investors, and in a few months, knock on wood, I am gonna have my own dance studio. Well, one of them's more of a demon, really, but his money's good.”
“Oh..congratulations,” Zoey says.
It's a blow, she won't lie. Silicon Valley and the land of startups isn't the sausage factory it used to be, but it still skews heavily male. She hates the idea of losing a talented coder.
At the same time, she kinda gets it. One performance was all it took to see where Trish's heart truly was. She pours her heart and soul into every routine in a way she never does in her work or at play.
“So what's new with you?”
“Well, the promotion, obviously. I haven't really had much time for dating, lot of family stress. Dad's ALS is..well.”
She shrugs.
“Oh. I'm sorry,” Trish says, hugging her.
Zoey had dragged Trish to Christmas and Thanksgiving dinner when they dated. At that point, Zoey's dad had been in the beginning stages of ALS, wheelchair-bound, but otherwise fairly healthy and cheerful.
Zoey had gotten the sense that Trish was scared of him. Zoey's mom occasionally asked what had happened to that 'nice, shy girl, the really tall one.' Zoey never had the heart to disillusion her.
“Why in the world did I dump you?” Zoey asks.
The better question was why Trish hadn't dumped her, after all the little inadvertent cruelties.
“Because I was stressing you out,” Trish laughs. “My god, you just let me drag you everywhere. Remember when you sneaked out from that concert? But, you know, you were good for me, so thanks for that.”
“Aww,” Zoey coos. “Oh, by the way, Mo, my neighbor wants your number.”
“Girl Mo or boy Mo?” Trish asks.
“Uh, I'm not actually sure,” Zoey laughs. “Mo just wants you as a fashion consultant.”
Trish grins. “Oh, that sounds like fun. My best friend had an enby kid. Send me a picture of Mo, maybe we've met.”
She looks at the photo, absently biting a nail.
“OK, no, we haven't met. I've seen them before at an art gallery opening, but we were both working and I got thrown out before I thought about chatting up the DJ.”
“What were you doing in an art gallery?”
“Pretending to be art. Long story, let's just say I am not cut out to be a PI. But I'll give them a call, it should be fun.”
“By the way, what happened to your friend's kid? Are they ok?”
“Oh, it turns out she had a boy all along. He's fine.”
Zoey blinks, shakes her head until her teeth rattle and then follows Trish in. Sure, she's cool with trans people, but Trish is on another level.
00
The rest of the morning flies by in blessed, blessed, quiet. Zoey flits from meeting to meeting. Everyone's on track, though the office grapevine is predictably hopping. Zoey would like to have a word with whoever decided the tech industry was filled with introverts who hate social interaction and small talk.
In her experience, Silicon Valley has the same amount of corporate raiders, social butterflies and straight up gossips as any other industry.Ok, so she's not wild about small talk and pointless socializing, but she can also leave work at work.
She intercepts one particularly gossipy email about Trish and forwards it on. A few minutes later she hides a smile as she hears cursing. Serves him right. He was just lucky Trish just locked his keyboard down.
She heads downstairs to the lobby at lunch. One of the managers mentioned that a food truck that he liked was stopping close to the office today and Zoey doesn't have any better ideas. She could brave the staff cafeteria; whoever's in charge of food here is a lot more sensible and less cheap than the people in San Francisco.
She thought she might invite Trish out too, because clearly they direly need to catch up, but Trish is chatting with...whoa.
Zoey tries not to stare at what is probably the hottest older woman she's ever met in person. Is it just Zoey's imagination or do they look a lot alike? Trish did tend to have a susceptibility to redheads.
On second look, they don't look that much alike except for the hair color, much to Zoey's dismay. Zoey's usually pretty content with her looks, but this woman is like Helen of Troy devastating. She's pretty sure that this is the woman Trish fell in love with at eight.
She'd thought it was just a childhood crush, but clearly, Trish is still in love with her, judging by the way she's hovering near the woman.
And to make matters worse..is that a guitar? Zoey's heart plummets into her stomach. Damnit, Mo was going to smirk forever.
“Hey, hey, you, you, I don't like your boyfriend,” Trish sings, twirling around the other woman.
“No way, no way, I think you need a girlfriend. You're so fine, I want you mine, you're so delicious, don't you know I could make you feel all right...”
She steps into the woman's space and the other woman bats her back.
“Don't pretend you don't know I'm damn precious, hell yeah I'm a muthafuckin' princess..I can tell you like me too and you know I'm right.. He's like, so whatever, and you could do so much better.. he's so conceited what the hell were you thinking! I never want to hear his name ever again!”
“Zoey, hey,” Trish says, when the music ends. “Beth, this is Zoey Clarke, the high muckety-muck I told you about. Zoey, this is Beth Boland.”
“Um, hi,” Zoey says.
Beth smiles like a wolf and offers Zoey her hand.