“He’s a fuckface,” Addison said. “Do you wanna vodka about it?”
Addison’s willingness to (1) curse, (2) drink, and (3) talk about sex like we didn’t grow up having accountability partners to make sure we weren’t thinking about genitalsever at allhad been really strange at first. And then it had become incredibly freeing, because I realized all the things I used to worry would make me a bad person... wouldn’t? Or wouldn’t necessarily? Because Addison was a lot of things, but she was also kind and loyal and a good listener, and she opened her home to me when I had no other place to go... and maybe when it came down to it, being a kind person was more important than having an empty swear jar.
“I might vodka about it later,” I said. “But something else interesting did happen, actually...”
After I finished telling her about Steph and the Hope After Dark offer, Addison was staring at me, her perfectly contoured face gone ashen, like I’d just told her I’d picked up a hitchhiker off the road and that he was going to live in her backyard sauna now.
“And you immediately told her no, right?” asked Addison. “I mean, what the fuck?TheWinnie Baker in a TV-MA movie? You have a brand!”
“Addy,” I said, gently, tiredly, because I had to keep explaining this to people. “The brand is dead. There is no moretheWinnie Baker. There is only Winnie Baker who got strung out at UnFestival.”
Addison sniffed in my defense. “Anyone should be so lucky. That’s an exclusive desert experience.”
“This is what I keep trying to tell people!”
“But baby girl,” my old friend said, suddenly serious. “No brand is dead while you’re still alive and pretty. You know what our circle loves more than anything? A good redemption story. And you have all your cards left to play when it comes to one. Make a big deal about how you’ve stopped backsliding and about how you’re trying to work things out with Michael, because your heart has been changed. And then the jobs will come back, the money will come back. Hell, maybe even Michael will come back.”
“But I don’twantMichael back,” I protested.
“Duh,” Addison said, flipping her shining, camera-ready waves over her shoulder. She’d been on QVC every day this week selling leggings for her lifestyle brand, Wishes of Addison, and she hadn’t messy-bun-ified her TV hair yet today. “But think ofthe optics, Winnie! Couple reunited! Love conquers all! You’ll feed the narrative with aPeoplestory and joint public appearances at our church, and everyone will eat it up.”
I made a face, and she gave me a look like I was being deliberately childish.
“I’m not sayinglovehim again. Shit, I’m not even sayingonly be with him. Just get back together for publicity’s sake and then secretly see other people. Famous couples do it all the time.”
“You don’t do that,” I pointed out. Addison was a rare single woman in our sphere.
“That’s because I have some mileage left on the whole ‘living my calling’ angle,” she said, picking up her fork and gesturing with it like there was an invisible PowerPoint presentation she was teaching from. “I predict that in two years, Wishes of Addison will be anchored enough that I can transition into the ‘I’ve just found the love of my life’ phase of my career, and then by thirty-six, I’ll start the baby phase. After that, Wishes of Addison will launch its new arm, Baby Wishes, and I’ll sell the company and take a job as the chief creative officer. And then? Hotels.” She nodded at her fork and then started digging at her fish again.
“You want to own hotels one day?”
“Fuck yes,” Addison said through a bite of swordfish. “Do you know how much good I could do for the world as a hotel owner? First item of business: every hotel room bathroom has a proper, working fan. Every single one. And a bidet! Second item of business—”
“Is this really my only option?” I cut in, looking down at my own plate of fish. I still hadn’t sat down yet. “Get back togetherwith Michael unless I want to secretly live in your pool house forever?”
“Girl, no,” Addison said. Now the fork was pointed at me. “I’m not telling you to be Michael’s doormat. I’m just saying that you shouldpretendto be in public. And then do whatever you want in private. Play the game, but still have fun.”
“Is that what you do, Addy?” I asked. For all the time we spent together, I didn’t actually know what her romantic life was like. Given how open she was with me about everything else, it was a little strange that I didn’t know anything more than that she sometimes slipped away at night.
The fork sank down a little, and Addison’s gaze dropped with it. “I do my best,” she said, but for the first time since I’d walked into her kitchen, she sounded a little uncertain.
And it struck me how ridiculous it all was. Here we were, thirty-two years old, household names, and still feeling like our entire lives had to be played by a set of rules that was handed to us when we were too young to choose for ourselves. And I was abruptly sick of it.
Not justtiredof it and not justsadabout it. But sick of it.Fevered, flushed, shaking. My body readying its defenses to fight off the past that corralled me, the bleak future that beckoned.
I want to define Winnie Baker for myself.That’s what I’d told Renata today. Either I meant that or I didn’t. And if I was going to mean it, then I needed tomeanit.
I set down my fork. “Fuck it,” I said and pulled Steph’s card out of my pocket.
Addison’s eyes went as round as Wishes of Addison tealights (only $12.99 at Target and on wishesofaddison.com) as she watched me reach for my phone.
“What are you doing?” she whispered.
“What has playing the game gotten me, Addy? A cheating husband, a public divorce, and therapy bills that I can barely pay. If the world thinks I’m a fallen angel,” I said, dialing Steph’s number, “then at the very least I want to choose my own wings.”
Chapter Two
Kallum
