He leaves to get the door. I chose the black tulip dress I’m wearing for its pockets. I pull my phone out of one and text Finn.
They’re here.
He writes back immediately.
Good luck. Just arrived in Greenwich. Call if you need anything.
I take a deep breath. The light bourbon buzz I had going fades when I hear Rich in the foyer. It’s my fault he’s here, but I’m not in the mood to play future daughter-in-law tonight. Rich’s parents prefer denial to reality. If they sense anything off tonight, they won’t mention it. I don’t know whether to feel sad or happy that I’d probably be standing in this same spot living that same life if it weren’t for Finn.
Finn. Naked and tangled in his buttery sheets. Eating ice cream out of a shared cup as we walk home from a show in forty-degree weather. Reading softly to him from my journal in the twenty-four-hour diner, the hairs on the back of my neck standing up because the people in the booth behind us can surely hear. I’m not the sweet, quiet girl our families want me to be. I like sex and black coffee and knowing I’ve made someonefeelsomething. Even if they’re feeling it in a plastic-covered booth.
Glasses clink from the family room. Pre-dinner cocktails. I should join them, but to put it off a little longer, I resume my project of sorting Finn’s direct messages. Between yesterday being the last business day of the year for our office, and the time I spent with Dad today, I’ve been too busy to get through them all. I open them one by one.
Your work is amazing. We’ve featured you on our account today.
Who do we contact to license your photography?
We’re writing an article about boudoir photography. Can we mention you?
I move down to the next message, but the preview makes me stop.
Do us all a favor and
I shouldn’t open it. I’m about to have a potentially stressful dinner of make-believe stories about how great Rich and I are doing. I don’t need anything to upset me, especially without Finn here to comfort me.
It’s a troll trying to get a reaction, Finn would say, and he’d be right. It’s stupid. I lock my phone.
Laughter comes from the next room. My dad will come get me any minute.
Whether I read the message or not, I’ll think about it all during dinner. Wondering if it’s bad. Or legitimate. Or justified. I can’t expect everyone to like what I write. Even the greats have critics.
I type in my passcode and pull up Finn’s inbox again.
Do us all a favor and stop posting this CRAP, you slut.
My throat closes.Crap.Slut. I don’t recognize the sender. But why would I? I read it again. I shouldn’t have opened it. The backs of my eyes begin to ache. Obviously, she doesn’t get what we’re doing. She doesn’t understand my poetry, not like the thousands of other people who follow our account. Why would I care what she thinks?
I hit reply to tell her that in so many words, to suggest she find someone a little less complex to follow. She’s too simple for us. My fingers shake so much that I type gibberish. I backspace to start over, but I just stare at the screen.
I hear Finn’s voice.Leave it.She’s not worth it. You’re the expert.
Some people will think my work is crap. It’s inevitable. And why shouldn’t they? I have no real experience. No degree in literature or journalism. I’m not a model. I can’t really take offense to somebody pointing out the truth: in many ways, I’m a fraud.
But what happens if Finn figures that out? If he realizes my journals are nothing more than the desperate words of a teenage girl in a woman’s body?
“Halston?” Rich asks from the doorway.
I swallow down the urge to cry and turn. “What?”
“George sent me to get you.” He puts his hands in his trouser pockets. His chocolate-colored hair is a little longer than normal, curling around his ears. “Are you okay?” he asks.
I put my phone in my pocket. “I’m fine.”
“Look . . .” Rich walks farther into the room, out of hearing distance of our parents. “For what it’s worth, I didn’t really want to do this, either.”
“Really? It seems to me like you’d enjoy the fact that I’m obligated to play along for a whole weekend.”
“Not really. It actually feels pretty shitty pretending everything’s great when I know we might be over soon.”
