“I still don’t understand why you care so much what a bunch of strangers think about you and your body,” Vision Teddy said wearily. He was shrugging out of a designer button-down.
“It’s important to me, babe. I want my voice to be heard. I have things to say. I can help people live their best life. Just like I helped you,” Bianca crooned. “Remember how chubby and pale you used to be before me?” She walked her talon-like nails up his bare chest, and Riley worried about puncture wounds.
Teddy reached into the square foot of closet storage he’d been allotted and produced a t-shirt with a narwhal on it. He dragged it on over his head. Riley could feel his resignation. “It’s just a lot of money for that surgery. And didn’t the last surgeon say there were significant risks if you went any bigger?”
“Ew, babe. Don’t wear that. It’s disgusting. Put it in the trash and wear one of the golf shirts I got you.” She shoved a shirt at him.
“I can’t relax in that. I just want to sit on the couch and watch a movie with the kids. They don’t care what I wear.”
“We have an image to project,” Bianca insisted. “What if I take a selfie of family movie night and my followers are turned off by that rag?” Her face did a weird scrunching thing, and Riley realized Bianca was attempting to wrinkle her nose.
Teddy reached for his wife and grabbed her hands. “I don’t care about your follower count. I think your boobs are already too big. You had to stop wearing all of your six-inch heels because you tip over. I miss the old you. What happened to the girl who brought Chinese takeout over and stayed up all night with me watchingThe Matrixmovies?”
Bianca’s eye-roll was dramatic and practiced. “Babe. I’ve evolved. And you’re evolving too.” She poked him in the stomach. “Remember what those thirty extra pounds looked like down here. You were such a fluffy little nerd. And now look at you. Muscles. Tan. Contacts.”
“Hair plugs. Dry eyes. And I miss carbs,” he argued. “And I worry what kind of an effect your attitude is having on our daughter. She needs a mom, not a model. And I’m not working this hard just so you can turn yourself into some doll for a bunch of strangers.”
Bianca booped him on the nose and shoved the golf shirt into his hands. “No. You’re working this hard to provide the best life for our family. Now, put that shirt on and these shorts. And you can hold the reflector for my photo shoot.”
“I don’t even know who you are anymore,” Teddy whispered.
“I’m the best version of me, silly.”
The clouds were closing again, and Riley felt like she was being sucked through one of those bank drive-thru tubes.
She found herself back in the closet. The momentum of her head trip had her tipping to the side, falling into a section of club wear. Strong hands righted her and pushed her down to the carpet. The trash can appeared in her line of vision, and she managed a wobbly smile.
“I’m good,” she promised, waving it away. “Just a little dizzy.”
“That was… What the hell was that?” Kellen asked, sinking down on the floor next to her.
“That was a vision. Why? What did I look like while it was happening?”
“Your nose kept twitching, but your eyes stayed open and were glazed over. Like you were in a boring class and had totally checked out.”
“I was still in the closet. But I was watching Teddy and Bianca.”
“Did he do it? No. No way. That’s the kind of guy who sets humane mouse traps and shoos spiders outside.”
“I didn’t see her die,” she said, feeling a bit relieved. “But I did see them arguing. She wanted bigger boobs.” The dizziness began to fade, and she surveyed the closet from her seated position. She spotted the golf shirt Bianca had tried to force on Teddy on the floor in the corner.
“Bigger? I didn’t know they made them bigger.”
“Bigger boobs mean a bigger online following.”
“Maybe one of her followers killed her?” Kellen mused.
“How big of a following are we talking?”
“Twenty-thousand.”
“Twenty-thousand people wanted to watch her tell them how to marry rich and get plastic surgery?”
“Over half of them were fake accounts. We found the purchases on her credit card statements.”
“You can buy pretend followers?”
“What can I say?” Weber shrugged. “It’s a fucked-up world. Everyone’s got an opinion and an audience.”
