“It’s called Whale Fest.” She reached for her phone, but I held it above her head as I looked at the picture. “And it’s a beautiful celebration of whale migration.”
Oh my God. This wasn’t just any picture of a whale-themed 5K. As if the concept wasn’t ridiculous enough, Macey was pictured in the racedressed as a whale. She wore all gray and a giant hat that looked like the head of a whale, jaws open and all.
This didn’t align with the Macey I knew. She was supposed to be a corporate doll who wrote drab articles about events that were actually exciting. A driven woman with an unbeatable work ethic. Someone who succeeded at blending into the crowd, except for in this picture.
I hadn’t laughed this hard in what felt like years. Pretty sure tears were forming at the corners of my eyes. “Why are you the only person dressed like a whale?”
“Because at a turkey trot on Thanksgiving, everyone dresses like a turkey.” She pursed her lips and crossed her arms. “I thought everyone would dress as a whale for a whale 5k.”
I didn’t run on Thanksgiving. The holiday was for stuffingyour face full of food, not working out. Never trust people who run on Thanksgiving.
“What a horrible thought that was.” I was still laughing, but guilt bit into me when she looked embarrassed. I handed her the phone back. “I’d like to stay far away from your mind, Monroe.”
“No problem,” she sniffed. “You’re not invited.”
Macey pocketed the phone and stretched, lifting her arms above her head and exposing a small strip of skin above her sweatpants. Goose bumps scattered across her skin. I blinked and looked away.
“Where’s your jacket?” I asked. Her sweater clearly didn’t provide much cover from the wind.
“Whales don’t get cold,” she answered. “They’re warm-blooded and can survive in frigid waters.”
I couldn’t believe I was doing this. If Mom could see me now, she’d call me a gentleman. That was far from reality, but still, I pulled off one of my jackets and handed it to her. “Unlike whales, you don’t have blubber.”
Hesitation flashed through her face, and she stood unmoving. I insisted, “Take the jacket.”
She did, zipped it up gently, and offered me her thanks. It would be funny how much she swam in the jacket, if it weren’t cute.
The silence stretched between us. I was never very good at quiet—I always had a playlist or podcast in the background—but Macey seemed comfortable in it. The slow murmur of the crowd around the taxi stand was enough to keep me from going insane, and rationally, I knew I could put on my headphones and play music at full blast. But I didn’t want to.
I glanced frequently at Macey, trying to get a glimpse into her mind. Her face was impenetrable, like the security at concerts I tried and failed to sneak into as a kid.
When she started to put an earphone in one ear, I finally thoughtfuck itand asked, “So are we finally going to talk about it?”
Her hand, with fingernails painted light blue, froze halfway to her ear. “Talk about what?”
“Why do you think you’re better than me?”
Macey looked at me half-startled, a touch of pink creeping up underneath the collar of my jacket. “I don’t think that.”
I crossed my arms. “Your every action says otherwise.”
When I first met Macey at a world showcase held at the Bean, I was immediately captivated. It had been a year, but I could still see her the way she was that day, standing in the middle of a crowd, completely unaware of the chaos around her and inside my chest. When she spoke, her voice carried a warmth that seemed to wrap itself around everyone.
Too bad she hadn’t directed that warmth in my direction since. It was like once she understood what being an influencer meant, she stopped caring.
“Between us, Hansley, you’re the one who thinks you’re better than me.” She shoved the earphones into her purse. “Considering you’re the one who disrespects me and my time.”
I frowned for a moment. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Really?” A sharp edge caught into the smooth current of her voice. “Has every interaction with me been so insignificant that you immediately forgot it?”
“Better to be forgotten than treated unfairly.”
Macey furrowed her brow. “I guess you’re just too important to spend time with a measly magazine writer such as myself. God forbid your fans witness you treating me better than trash.”
Memories barreled over me like splintered steel, sharp and painful.Iwas the one who treatedherlike trash? The audacity ofher to say that to me when she was the one who wanted to feud with influencers because of some internalized prejudice.
“Maybe I would give you the time of day if you ever wanted it.”
