“Oh, poor Mabel. I feel so sorry for you. It must be so tough to get a two-hour massage and then put on a designer dress to have dinner at a fancy restaurant with your famous, loving parents and their best friends who treat you like the daughter they never had. Not to mention their son, who has the body of a Greek god and the face of a bisexual simp that you just know would get on his knees and beg for it. Are your diamond shoes also too tight, my love? Needme to hold your stacks of cash and gold medals to shoulder some of the burden for you?”
“After you curl my hair, sure.” I shriek when Danny’s spun-up towel whips me in the shoulder, laughing as I pad across the low-lit room to the attached bathroom, careful not to slip on the oversized sheet wrapped around my body. Even though we’re only in Vegas for a few days, I splurged on the giant suite that resembles a spa more than a hotel room, because my job is hell on my skin and I take self-care very seriously. I try to live as modestly as a twenty-something woman whose dad still insists on paying her credit card bills can live, but I’ll be damned if I let the desert air mess with my routine. The in-room, one-person sauna and the waterfall shower were absolute musts.
Once I’m under the spray and rinsing the lavender and eucalyptus scented massage oil from my skin, Danny joins me in the bathroom. The shower is an open glass concept, but neither of us cares. Everyone knows that there are no secrets between a queer girl and her gay best friend.
“I hope you’re planning to wear the emerald plaid shift dress tonight because I’ve got ruby-red plans for those pouty lips of yours, Mabel.” Over the sound of the shower head, I can hear Dannyunpacking my makeup bag and no doubt making a mess all over the sink.
“Actually, I was going to go with the navy fit-and-flare Alice & Olivia piece that hits right above the knee with sheer tights and my white Louboutins.”
I can practically hear the pride radiating from Danny from here. My personal fashion sense leans more towards long underwear and fleece-lined leggings, but I’m happy to let Danny dress me up like a doll when we go shopping, and I try to listen when he puts outfits together for me.
“Oh, hot. And a good PR move, since this is probably the last time you’ll be photographed publicly before you’re off to Milan. We’ll do a cat eye with the red lip, and you’ll be a walking glam bot representing Team USA”
“And I’ll wear the white-gold drop earrings with the diamond stars that Mom and Dad gave me for my eighteenth birthday. I’ll be America’s Sweetheart Chic.”
Turning off the water, I quickly dry myself off and slip into a butter-yellow silk robe before sliding into the oversized vanity chair in front of the mirror. Danny undoes the claw clip holding the twisted knot of second-day hair on top of my head and starts running his fingers through the strands, finding my part.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come to dinner? Mom and Dad would love to have you. I’ll send Dad a text now and get the reservation changed to seven people.”
“As tempting as a fabulous Finch-Quinn meal is, I’m meeting up with that dancer from the male revue I’ve been talking to. I’m gonna help him get all oiled up before his eight o’clock show.” Danny winks at me in the mirror, waggling his eyebrows. “You should wear the patent Valentino platforms instead. Your legs look a mile long in those shoes. You’ll look like sex on a stick, babe. You’re going to walk into that restaurant and Ryder is gonna want to swipe the table clear of overpriced oysters and champagne and enjoy you for dinner instead. Mom and Dad will be scandalized.”
I stick my tongue out at him through the mirror. “First of all, babe, don’t ever mention me, sex, and my parents in the same sentence again. I fear I will never recover. Second, don’t ever mention me, sex, and Ryder Finch in the same sentence again. It’s never going to happen. I think besides snowboarding, that might be the one thing Ryder and I agree on.”
“You’re so cute when you lie to yourself,” Danny pouts at me through the mirror, pinching my cheek with one hand while the other fiddles with the curling iron. He’s using the three-incher, the one thatlooks like a frightening, red-hot dildo but that gives me the old Hollywood glam waves of my dreams. No doubt about it, I’m going to look like walking sex.
I can only imagine the headlines they’ll write about me after the photos hit the internet tonight, the bubblegum think-piece articles that will be posted online, pontificating on whether I’m actually a gifted athlete or if I’m weaponizing my sexuality to win gold medals. Everyone knows a woman can’t be sexy and talented, and don’t even think about adding smart into the mix. We have to pick a lane, or else the masses will be frothing at the mouth to knock us down a peg.
It’s all shit I’ve heard before, and while I’ve grown myself a nice, thick skin over the years, I still can’t help how annoyed I get at the misogyny of it all.
Sure, things are better now for women in professional sports than they were thirty years ago when Mom and Ramona were still competing, but I know no one would be accusing me of weaponizing my sexuality if I were a man.
“Mabel, anyone with two working eyes can see that, if given the opportunity, Ryder Finch would happily spend his life crawling on his hands and knees behind you, worshipping the ground you walk on. He’s a man obsessed.”
I roll my eyes, giving Danny an exhausted look.
“You are out of your mind, Danny Boy. I’m nothing more than a kid sister to Ryder. That’s why he torments me like it’s his job.”
“I’m sorry, I’m out of my mind?” he gasps, waving the curling iron so close to my head that I need to duck to avoid being left with burns on my scalp. “Mabel, I know you like your little bubble of delusion where you’re still just the little kid with a crush trying to keep up with Ryder on the mountain, but you know as well as I do he hasn’t seen you like that for a long, long time. You are all woman now, honey. And trust me, Ryder has noticed.”
“Danny, all the man does is pick on me. Any time we’re in the same room together, it’s like it’s his personal mission to get under my skin.”
“That’s because he likes you! Open your eyes, Mabel.”
I scoff so hard, spittle flies out of my mouth and sprinkles across the bottom of my vanity mirror.
“Okay, hypothetically speaking, even if Ryder teases me because he likes me, how juvenile is that? It’s like we’re kids on a playground, except I thought we decided as a society to stop teaching little girls that a boy is only pulling on your pigtails because he likes you. It’s toxic!”
“Uh, hello. Pot, kettle? You are a willing participant in the weird little game the two of you play.”
“I am not!”
“You so are! You’re softer than a kitten with everyone else, but the second Ryder Finch comes around, your claws come out. And besides, when has he actually ever been mean to you?”
I open my mouth, ready to fire back at Danny with a flushed-out list of every time Ryder Finch has purposefully picked on me, but I come up short. Pressing my tongue into my cheek, I comb through my memories of Ryder.
“He still calls me Marshmallow!” I exclaim when I finally land on something. Marshmallow, like I’m a fluffy cat or gelatinous orb of sugar. What a jerk.
“Marshmallow. That’s all you can come up with? Mabel, that’s not mean, that’s adorable. He has a pet name just for you.”
