Those thoughts only made her want to throw up, which was at least quieter than trying not to cry. Sleep was impossible, so Vivian closed her eyes and listened to Bryn breathe.
ChapterTwenty-Nine
Numb,Vivian sat in the folding chair the makeup team brought. Around her bathroom, three people moved in a practiced rhythm. Three sets of hands working on a body that belonged to someone else.
Vivian stared at her reflection. She recognized herself, but barely. Like how a person and a corpse shared a resemblance, but the absence of a soul altered everything just enough to confuse the grieving mind. To leave the smallest flicker of hope that there had been some mistake.
When her phone vibrated against the bathroom counter, the woman styling her hair into side-swept Old Hollywood waves looked at it. The man curling her lashes straightened.
“Do you need to get that?” he asked. “Someone keeps texting.”
Even without having looked at her phone, Vivian knew who it was. Not only did she rarely give out her number, but only one person would have the temerity to machine-gun message.
Heart screaming, Vivian slammed something shut inside her chest to stop the noise. To muffle it at least so that she didn’t have to listen to her own heart shatter.
“No,” Vivian replied, her voice a soulless ghost.
“You’ll get used to the lash extensions in a minute. I promise your eyes will stop watering soon,” he said, as if he had any hand in the unshed tears stabbing the back of her eyes.
They were packing up and Vivian only needed to put on her silver-beaded dress with a plunging neckline when she picked up her phone. Bryn’s texts were a play-by-play of the last three hours.
Vivian barely let herself read the messages, and she didn’t allow herself to open any of the photos for a better look. She couldn’t allow herself to linger. Responding only to her many questions about hairstyling, Vivian looked up from her phone and directed her questions at the team.
For a reasonable fee Vivian paid, they were happy to go to Bryn’s room and put a professional polish on Bryn’s supermarket-sourced hair and makeup. When she told Bryn the team was on their way, she sent another barrage of thankful texts.
Vivian couldn’t read them without wanting to cry. Every word. Every ridiculous emoji and silly selfie was an axe cleaving her heart in two.
She couldn’t even tell Bryn that her beauty shone from the depths of her being and she shouldn’t dampen that with a bunch of cheap tricks. Tonight was so important for Bryn.
All Vivian could do was put one foot in front of the other and keep moving. If she stopped—if she so much as hesitated—she wouldn’t stand a chance of getting back up.
Standing in her suite, dressed and miserable, Vivian did the thing she swore she’d never do again. Hand on the door handle, she took a trembling breath and reached for someone she’d buried years ago. Just one more time.
She stepped into the hallway as Vivian Taylor.
The ride to the theater with Bryn was a blur of Bryn’s excited energy. The red carpet gauntlet was the same. All the noise and lights and inane questions swirled around them, but all Vivian could see was Bryn.
Bryn, looking dapper and cool in a light blue tuxedo tailored so perfectly to her body. Bryn laughing and posing and constantly reaching back for Vivian. Reaching back with just a look like she wasn’t sure whether Vivian wanted to take her hand in front of all the prying eyes.
How Vivian wished she had the words to explain. Wished that she could tell her how incredibly proud she was of her—that she’d happily take her hand if it wouldn’t make their impending goodbye just that much more unbearable.
The moment they found their seats, Vivian’s stomach, already crushed in a cincher, clenched. Steps from the stage, she knew in her bones they were going to win. That Bryn was going to win, and Vivian hadn’t considered an acceptance speech.
“Hey, are you okay?” Bryn leaned over, the blue of her eyes absolutely arresting against the gold shadow and copper mascara.
“Yes,” she lied.
Bryn looked down at the plate Vivian hadn’t touched.
“Do you want me to ask if there’s something else?” Bryn asked. “I didn’t eat my roll if you want?—”
“I’m fine,” Vivian replied, wondering how many times she had to lie in a row to be pathological.
Bryn scooted closer to her like they weren’t sharing a table with ten other people. She leaned in close enough to torture Vivian with her clean perfume. “I know this is a lot of people, and chaos, and you hate?—”
“I’m fine,” Vivian repeated because she couldn’t tolerate Bryn’s kindness. Couldn’t tolerate Bryn knowing her well enough to understand how she hated crowds and attention. Her being worried about Vivian when she should only be thinking about the awards.
Despite unrelenting nausea and barely being able to choke down water, Vivian grabbed her fork and shoved a piece of tasteless food in her mouth. She chewed it like it was made of unbreakable rubber, and swallowed.
