“He’s totally possessive with you,” says Lamé, nodding.
That sends a current of feelings through me, turned on, and hurt and confused, the way I’ve felt most of the time since I got here. I recall Zion’s face when I stepped into that last session, the singular fury, the burn in his eyes. “I had to leave the anal workshop.”
“Bummer,” says Gigi, making Lamé crack up and drawing a smile from me.
“Well, maybe one day. You know, with the right partner…” I grab another cracker from the coffee table and sit back again. At the total silence, I look up at Lamé, who’s seated, knees primly pressed together, in what I’ve come to discover is their favorite chair. My best friend’s face is front and center on the screen in their lap, the two expectant, pursed-lipped expressions eerily similar.
“What?” I say, my mouth half full.
“Right partner?” Lamé says.
“Like maybe,” Gigi puts her index finger to her pursed lips. “I don’t know. What’s his name again?”
“Zion?” they finish in unison and descend into laughter.
My heart does something weird in my chest.
I roll my eyes and shove another hunk of cheese into my mouth, hoping that will keep them from pressing.
“She told you about the spanking workshop?” Lamé asks, cutting me out entirely.
“Oh my god, yes. Did he really say that?”
“The hell you will,” Lamé imitates in a deep, southern accent, giving an extra syllable to the word hell so that it almost sounds like hey y’all.
“Wait. Did I tell you that?” I ask Lamé.
“It’s all over camp, honey.”
“How could it not be?” Gigi agrees, as if she and Lamé are already besties.
“Hot, right?”
“Listen.” The cheese thickens in my mouth. “Listen to me!”
They give me twin innocent looks. “What?”
“It’s…” I take a sip of tea and swallow back the cheese, set down the plate, let myself feel the weight of this whole bizarre situation. “He wasnothappy to see me.”
“Are you sure?” Lamé asks.
“Yes, seriously. I promise. He says I’m antagonizing him.”
“This is so fun,” Gigi says. “Weneverget to have fun since your career took off.”
“Your career’s going gangbusters,” I tell her. “And you have fun all the time.”
“I do,” she agrees. “I have so much fun. But you don’t. Not anymore.”
“I have fun at work?”
Gigi snorts. “Doesn’t count.”
“You know, Zion doesn’t have much fun anymore either,” says Lamé, drawing a definite evil eye from me.
“Spare me,” I reply. “He literally goes to a camp for adults every year.”
“Yeah, but he’s coasting.”
