Josie:Marianne won’t give me the insta password. Can we look at all your DMs together the next time I see you?
Will:That is going to take at least forty-five minutes.
Josie:You sent forty-five minutes’ worth of posts to a business account? Fetish much?
Will:BRO MAKE A PERSONAL ACCOUNT. I WOULD FUCKING LOVE AN EXCUSE TO STARE AT PICTURES OF YOU
Later that night I download the app and create an account under the username @picturesofjosie. I take one selfie—my hair in a high bun, a hole in the collar of my T-shirt, smile wide, and a big thumbs-up—then post it. I easily find and follow Will, whose Instagram is about as stale as the accounts of most men in their late twenties. But I scroll through his photos anyway. Pictures from college, from sports games, with family members. There’s one photo of him and Zoe in Washington Square Park.
She’s beautiful. Always was, but she’s grown into herself now. In the photo, she’s wearing a red power lip she positively rocks.
I get the notification that he followed me back and bite on a smile.
willGrant27:More.
picturesofjosie:1 per day.
willGrant27:fine. can you at least make the account private? I don’t want anyone seeing these but me.
picturesofjosie:why, because they’re so scandalous?
willGrant27:because I don’t want to share presents from my girlfriend
Will moves to Austin toward the end of August, with one more week left at Ellis, totally remote, and one client project pending (mine). I wish I could road-trip with him from New York to Texas, but I can’t manage the time off from work. Still, I show up to help him unpack with a box full of wine and a plastic bag of medicine from Walgreens. Brooks stops by with little Marshall, a six-pack of beer, and a big, fat smile on his face. So does one of Will’s old clients—the guy Will cycles with, whom he considers a friend now.
He gets to know David better when we go on a double date with him and Camila. Now that their move is out in the open, it’s the bulk of what we talk about. The wedding coming up and then a brand-new chapter of their lives, as a married couple.
Later at my house when we’re lying in bed, I ask him if he’d ever want to pursue a career like David’s.
“Working in a kitchen is just as stressful as working on Wall Street,” he muses. “I’m glad I got that experience, and hats off to David for making a career out of it, but I don’t know if it’s what I’d want to do.”
“What, then?” I ask.
“I have an idea percolating with Brooks,” he says. “Can I tell you when it’s ready?”
“Sure. Whatever you want.”
Will pulls me against him and I rest my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. “I should have known,” he says to the ceiling, absently.
I tilt my chin up. “Known what?”
“That finding you would be the thing to finally set me right again.”
My rib cage isn’t big enough anymore.
I sit up, and Will pulls himself upright, too.
“I want to tell you something about me,” I whisper. “I just don’t know if I’m going to say it as eloquently as you.”
Will lifts me so I’m straddling him. “I’ll parse it,” he promises.
I breathe deeply. “I have felt like an imposter my whole life. I never believed about myself what other people made of me. My high school classmates thought I was aspirational, but really, I was an insecure wreck who found validation in the wrong places. Likes, follows, shopping expeditions, smiles from senior boys. Then I was this inventive college kid with a viral side hustle, but nobody knew how hard I had to work to scrape out the same grades it took other people zero effort to achieve. Nobody knew I was just lucky with my brand, that it isn’t a unique concept, that I was simply single-minded, hyper-fixated, and that’s how I managed it. And now, I’m a CEO, which is just, like, this hilarious fuckingjoke.Who the hell would sign up to work forme? It boggles my mind every day. If I showed up to work tomorrow and the whole office had quit, I think I’d say to myselfAbout time.”
Will says nothing, only rubs a hand up and down my back.
“Then you,” I go on, pushing through my hesitation. “If anyone could have spotted the fraud in me, it would have been you. I was worried that’s exactly what had happened when you told me you’d declined working with me. I was so bitter during that presentation, so adamant about B Corp, because I didn’t want you to think I was an imposter. If you had, I would have believed it, too.”
“It was never about that,” Will whispers. “I was only scared of hurting you more.”
