M. Hanover - Darker Angels

“Portland, Oregon,” I said.

Chogyi Jake’s eyes narrowed. I could almost hear him thinking.

“Did Eric have property in Oregon?”

“Condo in Eugene,” I said. “Nothing in Portland.”

“So what’s there?” Aubrey said.

“Mfume’s history,” Ex said, darkly.

“Pink Martini concerts,” I said. “Powell’s bookstore. It has also been alleged that there are some excellent microbreweries. And most important? Eric didn’t have property there. We’ve been busting hump for months because I was thinking there was somebody I was supposed to be, and you guys were all too polite and supportive to rein me in. Well. I’m reined in now. I’ve always wanted to go to Portland. I’ve never been. And I say we’re taking some time off.”

“Oh thank God,” Aubrey said, sagging back in his chair. Ex chuckled, and Chogyi Jake smiled his constant, authentic, gentle smile.

You really need to find out who you are, Daria Glapion had said to me once, not very long before. Sitting there with my friends around me, I thought I was making some progress. I wasn’t the girl who’d smart-mouthed her father into apoplexy before Sunday services, I wasn’t the sad-sack college dropout whose friends had left her behind, I wasn’t the demon huntress I’d tried to be with Karen Black. And if I also wasn’t sure yet who precisely I was becoming, at least I understood now that the only wrong answer was to hold too tightly to what I thought I was supposed to be. It was a start.

Only it turned out that wasn’t what she’d meant at all.