Fantastic.
“Hey, Emily,” he says. “Monroe was very pleased with your therapy session yesterday. She said you had a lot of growth, got some of those issues out there.”
As if he didn’t already know this from combing through the footage last night.
“Uh-huh,” I say, trying to keep my voice even. I want to avoid having the cameras on me as long as possible. “What’s going on over there?”
Rich’s oh-so-supportive smile stretches wider. “Monroe feels like it would be good for everyone to have a group therapy session. You two and the Not-Wives and—”
“You’re kidding me.” I sit upright so fast the camp chair nearly tips over. “We have to do therapywith them?”
“I mean, you’re not contractually obligated to, of course. But . . .”
But if Jason and I want our alone time, we will.
Despite how our alone time went yesterday, we need that.
“We’re all rooting for you guys, you know.” Rich awkwardly pats my shoulder, then pulls his hand quickly away at my death glare. He walks off and starts barking orders at the camera crew.
I barely refrain from chucking Dean Koontz at the back of his head.
Instead, I toss the book into our tent, just as I hear the shrill sound of Calista’s voice.
“I didn’t invite her to the dinner, she just showed up! Like a . . . a party crasher!”
“Oh, it was apartynow,” Kate’s snide voice filters back, just as I see the group of them round the side of the canyon, headed back into camp. Kate and Calista are in front, bitching at each other as they walk, the camera crew hurrying to stay ahead of them while walking backward. Monroe is in the back of the group, looking woefully exasperated and also uncomfortably sweaty. Destyny and Genesis also look uncomfortable, but mainly because they’re trying to stay as far away from each other as possible on the narrow trail, while also pretending they don’t notice the other one is there.
None of them are wearing high heels today, though Destyny’s bejeweled platform sandals don’t look much more comfortable.
“It was a dinner!” Calista squeals. “And some light lip fillers and forehead treatments!”
“So what you’re saying,” Kate continues, “is that somehow my sister ended up at your Botox party. A party I didn’t even know about, despite the fact that Itoldyou I’d noticed a new wrinkle and could use some—”
“Ladies,” Monroe says, “we’ll deal with this in our session. No need to stir up these issues right now.” She pauses. “Though I do recall Kate mentioning how she needed a treatment.”
From inside the designer bag eternally looped over her shoulder,Tiberius barks his agreement.
Kate turns her glare on Monroe. “I said I could use a treatment. I clearly don’tneedone at my age.” She tosses her hair back dramatically and storms off to her tent.The others split up and head into theirs, likely to change clothes and do makeup touch-ups that they’ll just sweat off in this heat.
Good god. I am going to be doing couples therapy with these women.
About fifteen minutes later, Jason and his crew come back, carrying their climbing equipment. Laughing—Jason included. My heart lifts; I love that laugh.
Jason sees me and flashes me that huge grin of his, but then suddenly it slips into a smaller, more guarded smile. I’m not sure whether it’s because he feels bad being caught having a great time with his friends while we’re going through problems, or if he, for a brief moment, forgot about those problems and then remembered them all over again.
I wish neither of these was true and I could just see that grin again.
“They’re back,” Rich calls. “Let’s get the session started. Get Monroe.” He snaps his fingers at a PA, who hurries to Monroe’s tent.
Apparently, Jason isn’t going to be given time to freshen up like the Not-Wives had. Not that either of us will care. I’m not so fresh myself, and even the Not-Wives are getting pretty ripe despite vigorous applications of dry shampoo and Chanel No 5.There’s only one trailer with a shower in the parking lot by camp, and Rich and the production heads are crazy stingy with who they let use it.This isn’t an issue for Jason or his crew (including me), who are all used to long backpacking trips.The Not-Wives, on the other hand, have been far more vocally displeased.
As Jason walks over to me, the cameras surround us again, and my blood pressure rises. I let out a deep breath and smile grimly at Jason as he eyes the tubs full of kids’ toys with the same wariness I did earlier. “What is this?” he asks.
“Group therapy. Hell.Take your pick.”
“No way. No effing—” He shakes his head. “Rich is a total prick.”
“Yep.” I look up at him. “We’re doing this though, yeah?”
