Page 97 of The Unraveling

She gives me a kind look. “Of course, it’s perfect for the performance and I’m delighted to have found someone who can play Manon with all the inner turmoil and who seems to understand the inner conflicts so deeply. It’s great for the role, but how is it for you? How are you, Jocelyn?”

She puts a hand briefly on my arm and then lets it drop, waiting for me to respond.

There is so much compassion and care in her tone and in her expression. I feel completely naked in front of her, almost a little embarrassed to be so completely empathized with. The only person who has ever really treated me like this is Mimi. She did everything a mother was supposed to do. And now that she’s gone, I realize it’s been quite a long time since anyone has treated me with this brand of support.

“I’m okay,” I say. Unexpected tears threaten to appear and then overflow, so I blink a few times and clear my throat. “I’m a little rocky sometimes, but I’m mostly okay. My donor actually…”

I start to tell her that he’s moved me into his apartment, but I get a strong feeling that’s crossing the boundaries a bit and Isabella might be concerned.

“What about your donor?” she asks, noticing my pause. “Is everything all right?”

She’s on alert. A woman wanting to make sure everything is on the up-and-up for another woman. I appreciate it, but of course since I desperately want Alistair, it’s conflicting.

“He’s been really supportive,” I say. “That’s all, he’s just been really great, is all.”

“He? I thought Clementine Cavendish was your sponsor.”

“Oh, right, well, it’s the two of them. She and her husband. But I haven’t met her yet, so. It’s just been A—Mr.Cavendish.”

Mister? Is that actually weirder than calling him Alistair?

“I see,” she says, seeming to be picking up on the fact that something is a little off.

I’m in a dizzying mental spiral, so I just put my fingers to my temple and say, “I’m sorry, I’m going to run to the bathroom quickly.”

What I’m not saying is that I want to fuck my donor, I miss my ex, and my dance partner spent an hour eating me out last night.

She is silent for a few seconds, and then she says, “Okay, why don’t you take an extra five minutes, go freshen up? We’ll resume at four twenty.”

“Okay,” I nod. “Thanks. Sorry.”

Oh my god, I’m being so weird. It’s just my guilt. Guilt has always made me a mess. When I did anything wrong as a kid, any little lie or extra piece of candy snuck, I was a complete wreck while I waited for my mom to figure it out. I always knew she would, and I dreaded it.

I go to the bathroom, and look in the mirror. My cheeks are pink, my skin dewy.

Everything is fine. I don’t know why I’m freaking out. I need to just calm down and enjoy the fact that I’m Manon. It’s all okay.

I was born for this part. I need to be calm and collected and not spiral out about everything else in the world that I can’t control.

On my way back up to the studio, I see Mary Simon with a woman I vaguely recognize. She has dark blond hair, she’s very thin, and—oh, fuck.

Clementine Cavendish. She isn’t as blond as the pictures I’ve seen, and she’s even thinner and prettier in person.

Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck.

The flashing memories from the other night are pulsing in my mind. I try to push them out of my head, but now that I shouldn’t, all I can think of is his lips on my neck. His hands cupping my breasts. The way he tasted. Me living in his bachelor pad.

I wonder if she knows.

The two women walk toward me.

“Jocelyn,” says Mary. “How lovely to see you again. I heard about the role. Congratulations. I knew I had a good feeling about you.”

“Thank you so much,” I say. “I’m very excited.”

“I’m sure you are. Please, let me introduce you to Clementine. I understand you’ve only met Alistair thus far, yes?”

His name being said aloud, in front of Clementine, puts a grip around my heart. Like an alarm sounding at the door of a store when you know you have a stolen lipstick in your pocket.

---