“Wardrobe coordinated toiletries.”
Ellie looked horrified.
“That’s not a job.”
“It became one after I used blue toothpaste before a television performance.”
“What was wrong with blue toothpaste?”
“It stained my tongue.”
She started laughing.
“It wasn’t funny.”
“Were you singing?”
“I was singing a romantic ballad.”
“With a blue tongue?”
“It was a difficult evening.”
“How blue?”
“Very.”
Ellie laughed harder.
I put down my wine.
“You’re enjoying this too much.”
“I’m imagining thousands of people wondering whether you’d eaten a popsicle backstage.”
“That was the official explanation.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Did they believe it?”
“The internet believes whatever it finds most entertaining.”
Her smile faded only slightly.
The shift was subtle, but I noticed it.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Specific nothing?”
She tore a piece of bread.
“I was thinking about what you said. About people having opinions on how you’re supposed to exist.”
