I'm going to tell Ravita and Marnie. I'm not going to wait for Rhonda's permission.
I text them:Can we meet? I need to tell you something.
Ravita:When?
Let’s meet after work, at our usual cafe.
Marnie:I'll be there.
But first I call Jani, because if I’m done hiding, I’m done hiding from her most of all.
“I’m seeing someone,” I blurt out. “She’s a woman. Her name is Rhonda. She likes bass. I mean she plays bass for the Belladonnas.”
There’s a silence, and then Jani laughs. “Of course. You know that you’re terrible at lying and that I knew since that photo, right?”
“What? Really?”
“I am going to need every single detail. But first—are you okay?”
“I will be. I’m telling my friends tonight. And I—” I take a breath. “Can you come this weekend? I want to introduce you to Ravita and Marnie. As my sister.”
The line goes quiet, because Jani knows what that means. My friends have spent three years worshipping her band. They have a shrine. Marnie has a spread. And not one of them knows that the bassist they idolise from three rows back is the girl I grew up sharing a bathroom with.
“You’re going to give them a heart attack,” Jani says.
“Probably.”
“Okay.” I can hear her smiling. “Okay. I’ll come. Let’s give your friends the shock of their lives.”
I sit down and I look at Ravita and Marnie and I tell them everything. About Rhonda. About the mask and the merch table and the airport and the couch. About a year of texts and voice notes and the secret I’ve been carrying.
I tell them about Rhonda's voice on the phone at 11 PM. I tell them about the rooftop photo and the fight and being invisible. I tell them about the fan account dying.
Ravita's face goes through phases: surprise, then hurt, then anger, then a deeper hurt that sits underneath the anger. She folds her arms and stares at her coffee.
"You couldn't tell me?" Her voice is quiet but sharp. "You see me every day. I asked you. I asked you and you lied to my face. I literally showed you the photo of Sandy at the mall two weeks ago. And the whole time you had Rhonda Mars on your couch. On your couch, Lena."
"I know."
"How many times? How many times did you see her?"
"I don't know. A lot. Most weekends."
"Most—" Ravita stops. Takes a breath. "Okay. And how many times did we talk about Belladonnas sightings in the group chat and you just—what, laughed? Smiled? Acted like we were this team of fans hunting them? And then the acoustic show. I invited you. I asked you directly. You said you had to work. But you were probably with her instead, weren't you?"
"Yeah," I say. There's no point in defending myself. "I was."
Marnie leans forward. Her face is careful, controlled. She's watching me like she's trying to piece together a puzzle where the pieces don't fit anymore.
"We sent you blurry photos of Belladonnas in the wild. We spotted them at malls and shops and we texted the group chat losing our minds like we'd spotted celebrities and the whole time you were dating one. You were dating their bassist, Lena. And you just let us send you photos like we were insane."
"I wasn't thinking about it like that."
"Like what? Like we were being stupid? Or like your girlfriend was just some musician you were hiding like she was something to be ashamed of?"
The words hurt more than I realise. I deserve all of it.
Ravita picks up the thread. "I showed you the photo at the mall. I was excited. I said, 'Look, it's Sandy, it's so cool that they're just living their lives in the city,' and you smiled. You smiled at me and you knew. You knew I was showing you your girlfriend's bandmate's photo and you just sat there."
