The scent of coffee drifts into my nostrils as Lola comes to stand next to me. “You smell good,” I tell her.
She loops her arm through mine, rests her head against me, and whispers, “Still anxious?”
I tip my head until it rests on the top of hers. I’ve always liked our height difference because we fit together like puzzle pieces when we stand this way.
“Good Guy gave me an interview pep talk earlier, so I think I’m ready for that. I’ve moved on to the next worry, which iswhat happens when the interview is over. Do I have a job, or do I need to look for one?”
“One worry at a time,” Lola coaches.
We’re both watching Mabel now, and I can feel our breaths synching up as Lola’s chest rises and falls against my arm.
“She’s lived a thousand lives, hasn’t she?” Lola asks, and there’s no mistaking the admiration.
“If I could swap lives with anyone, it would be Mabel. She’s the person I wanna be when I grow up.” I pause and then say, almost to myself, “Maybe it’s too late for me, though.”
“That’s the nerves talking, and I know they’re loud so you won’t hear me tell you again how magical you are, but maybe I can show you.” Disentangling herself from me, she slips my phone from my back pocket and sits down at the dining table behind us.
I take a seat next to her, and without a word, she opens my Instagram profile and taps on my most recent post, and then on the comments, where she scrolls slowly so every word can be read. When she gets to the end, she opens up the next post and repeats.
After the third one, she turns her head and looks at me. “Comment after fucking comment telling you how talented you are…well, except Aunt Trudy because she’s a shrew.” She taps on the message icon that has a little red circle that reads 100+, because I never open any except Good Guy. “And look at all of these?—”
Her scrolling and her words come to an abrupt halt when our eyes land on a Thicker Than Water message, and a tingle runs through me that, if I wasn’t stressed out, might feel like lust. Instead, it feels like someone’s trying to feel me up while I’m wearing my puffy winter coat and snow pants and they’re wearing oven mitts—not even faintly teasing.
Hi Sophie. I’m Thicker Than Water’s manager. I would love to connect with you to thank you for the exposure and discuss working together on a possible collaboration and project. My email is [email protected]. Hope to hear from you soon.
I read it twice and then look at Lola and ask, doubtfully, “There’s no way this can be real, right?”
“It’s the band’s official account, of course it’s real, you badass!” Lola squeals as she tries to hand off the phone. “You have to message them back right now!”
I’m staring at the words on the screen. It’s ridiculous how badly I want to believe her, but my insecurities are so loud.
“Hey,” Lola snaps her fingers in front of my face to get my attention. “Do you think Mabel would’ve ended up at Woodstock if she didn’t jump on the back of that random guy’s motorcycle?”
It’s one of my favorite Mabel stories. We’ve even seen the photos. Her fearless tenacity shone with a vibrancy that radiated despite the age of the paper it was printed on. She’d been on a blind date at a restaurant with a man who foolishly thought it was his duty to tame her. When she’d had enough of his bullshit and tried to leave after dinner, he refused to take her home. She ran out the door and hopped on the back of a motorcycle that was stopped at a red light and yelled, “Take me wherever you’re going!” That’s how she ended up at the iconic festival. She seized every opportunity and lived in the moment—didn’t fight it or overthink it.
“You’re right.”
Taking the phone from her, I stand and pace while I open my email and click compose, titling it:Instagram collaboration reply from Sophie,and keep the message short and sweet.
Hi,
This is Sophie. My Instagram account is eye.for.an.I. I’m replying to your message of thanks (no need, the band is incredible) and a possible collaboration project. I would love to hear more about what that would entail. Feel free to email me or call me on my cell with details so we can discuss.
I add my cell number and sign off only with Sophie because I don’t feel comfortable giving my last name yet and click send before I chicken out.
“Why do I feel like I might throw up?” I toss my phone to Lola like it’s a hot potato.
She smiles like a proud mom when she catches it and sets it on the table. “Just breathe. It’s Sunday night, you probably won’t hear from them until tomorrow.” Since when did she turn into the rational one?
Mabel raps a courtesy knock on the back door and then enters. “What are my two favorite ladies goin’ on about? I could hear the ruckus from outside.”
“I gotta go shower, but sexy rock stars want Soph to take their photos, Mabel. Something big is coming, mark my words,” Lola says, as she rises and walks to the snack drawer to grab a cookie before heading downstairs.
“We don’t know for sure what they want or if it’s even legit,” I add, after explaining to Mabel what transpired.
“Oh, Soph, that’s spectacular!” There’s a twinkle in her blue eyes that feels a lot like pride when it’s directed at you. And then she says the words. “I’m so proud of you. You’re something special, dear girl. I’ve known it since the moment we met.”
“I shouldn’t get my hopes up when it’s probably fake, and I have a very real job interview in the morning, but…”
