“Nooooo.” Libby drew out the word, hoping Jean would jump in with a preposterous explanation that would still be more plausible than the truth. Barring that, she’d settle for a sinkhole opening under the house.
No such luck.
“That would be hard to do,” Libby said quietly. “Considering she doesn’t exist.” Jefferson looked at her sharply. “I’m just Libby. That’s all I ever was. There’s no such person as Lillibet.”
“She’s talking about curation,” Hildy said with a confidence Libby didn’t deserve. “Standard operating procedure for social media. We all craft our online persona.”
“Yeah.” Libby scratched her head, watching a few grains of sand sift onto the floor. “It was a little more than that.”
“We invented her,” Jean snapped. “Lillibet. She’s like the toothfairy, but more, you know.” She stuck a finger down her throat, gagging theatrically.
“You were right about the cooking,” Libby told Hildy. “That’s all Keoki. I suck in the kitchen. And I don’t arrange stuff prettily—Jean’s the artistic one—or take care of my skin or have a perfect life.”
It should have been a relief to confess, but the truth was not setting Libby free. She felt humiliated and pathetic and had a powerful urge to disappear, but she forced herself to stay and watch her audience’s shock and confusion tip into horror.
“You really don’t live that life?” Hildy gestured at the palatial living room.
Libby shook her head. “I wait tables for a living.”
“So no tinctures? Or body oils? Restorative exfoliation? Do you even do yoga?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Charlatans. They’re everywhere,” Uncle Richard huffed. “People in our position are always targets. They tell you what you want to hear.I love baseball! This corned beef is delicious! What a full head of hair you have!And then you find out it was all a game. They were playing you from the beginning.”
“Black widows,” Mr. L said.
“Nobody’s getting murdered,” Libby protested, but no one paid any attention.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jefferson asked. “Last night.”
“I just wanted a chance to be with you. One night together.”
“Is that all it was to you? One night?”
“No!” Panicked, she scrambled for a way to make him understand. “I was… living my truth.”
Everyone stared as if Libby had farted. It figured that the first time she tried to say something Lillibet-like and mean it, the words landed like a lead balloon.
“I mean, on the inside,” she stammered. “Where the real me is. It’s like those Russian dolls—”
Jefferson didn’t storm out or slam the door. He walked quietly, shoulders hunched like he was shielding himself from the next blow.
A distant part of Libby’s brain wasn’t surprised that Jefferson was going off alone to lick his wounds, instead of throwing a tantrum, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that once he was out of her sight, she’d never see him again. What was she going to say if she ran after him:I’m a liar, please love me anyway?
“I was always me to you.” Libby mumbled the words at his departing back, but by then it was too late. Her timing was as bad as her moral compass.
“What about me?” Hildy’s voice was plaintive, sounding even younger than she actually was. “Were you ever going to tell me?”
“Yes. I swear. I was waiting for the right moment.”
Hildy shook her head, unconvinced. “You and JJ were my role models. I thought you were more mature than this!”
“I’m not that much older than you—”
“You’re supposed to be an old soul,” Hildy shouted, before drooping. “But I guess none of that was real.”
“You see, Hildy? This is what I’m always telling you. Keeping a cool head is essential in business. It takes razor-sharp instincts to swim with the big dogs.” Uncle Richard made a slicing motion with his soft white hand. “This is why you need to go back to school and live in a nice, safe, protected environment until you’re ready to make your way in the world.”
