Then, very quietly, the sound of Lauren sniffling. Then crying.
I set down the glass and go back to the bedroom. She's still sitting against the headboard, phone in hand, shoulders shaking.
“Hey.” I sit next to her. “What happened?”
She looks up, eyes already puffy, and hands me the phone without a word.
It's a video of us walking down the aisle. My hand on her back, her waving with that enormous grin. She looks genuinely joyful and gorgeous, even with the scooter and the cast.
“What? This is a great video. You look stunning.”
“Read the comments,” she says.
I know better. I read them anyway.
The body-shaming ones I scroll past. It's the others that catch me, the ones from her own followers, the people who subscribed to the sacred travel, the goddess energy, the carefully curated spirituality.
This is what “sacred travel” actually looks like lol.
Didn't she just post about moving with intention?
The wellness girlies when reality hits.
On and on. Not strangers mocking a stranger. Her own audience, turning.
I put the phone face-down on the nightstand. “Don't read any more of that.”
“It's my career.” She shakes her head. “Someone at the wedding posted it, tagged me, and then it spread. They're not going after my body.” She gestures at herself — broken ankle, demolished updo, tear-streaked mascara. “They're going after the gap between the brand and — this. The real me.”
“The real you was at her best friend's wedding,” I say. “There's nothing wrong with that.”
She's quiet for a moment. Then: “There's an email too. The Costa Rica retreat.” She says it flatly, like she's reading from a document. “Given the physical requirements of the program, they need to offer my placement to another creator. Very sorry. Hope I feel better soon.”
I sit with that. Don't rush to fix it.
“I'm sorry,” I say. “That's a real loss.”
She blinks. Like she expected a reframe and got something else instead.
“Yeah,” she says, after a moment. “It is.”
She leans her head back against the headboard. Something in her posture has changed, and now she looks exhausted.
“I just wanted to travel and take photographs,” she says quietly. “Somewhere along the way I got very good at something I don't actually love.”
I don't say anything. There's nothing useful to say right now, and she doesn't need me to fix this tonight.
After a while I get up and find the herbal basket Natalia stocks in every suite and put the kettle on. When I come back with the tea she looks up.
“How did you know I'd want tea?”
“Lucky guess.” I hand her the mug. “Also I overheard you talking about Kate’s tea blend.”
She wraps both hands around it. “You listened.”
“I notice things.” I sit back down beside her. Not in the armchair. Beside her.
We sit there for a while. The tea steams. The river runs dark outside the window. The DJ below us has finally silenced. The Magnolia Grand is peaceful.
