Page 25 of Paparazzi

I nod and grab the brush she hands me before she leaves me alone with my mother, with her long coppery hair streaked with white. My mother isn’t old. She’s only fifty, has red hair the same shade as mine, and freckles on her nose that make her look younger. She also has green eyes like mine, but there isn’t a spark any more to light them up like when I was a child and she read me fairy tales before going to bed.

“Hi, Mom, how are you? Today I have a little more time to be with you. I don’t have to work.” Or, I don’t want to go back to that apartment and torture myself again over the meaning of the email.

“Guess what? I met a guy... He’s cute. He’s nice and also smart—very. The problem is, I told him a few lies, and when he finds out, I’m afraid he’ll get mad at me. Now, a friend of his wants an interview on my blog. You remember I told you I have a music blog, right? The thing is, she asked me after this guy and I met, and I don’t know why she asked. I’m afraid she’s just going to want to meet me to do her friend a favor, not because she really appreciates my work.” Or worse, because she discovered my lies and wants to tell me to stay away from Thomas, but I don’t want to tell my mother about it. I don’t want to say to her that I’m afraid Lilly contacted me to say that she will ruin my reputation here in New York. Or that she wants to get a restraining order against me. It would be the end of my career that, disgusting as it is, I need to help pay for this clinic.

“I don’t know whether to agree to do that interview,” I continue while gently brushing her long hair, “but if I don’t, I risk missing an opportunity that could launch my blog like never before.”

The reasoning becomes clear to me as soon as I say it out loud. If I don’t accept, they’ll continue with their lives while I’ll have missed an opportunity that won’t come around again. My guilt about lying to Thomas, and the fear of being discovered, haven’t allowed me to think clearly. Add to that my chronic refusal to ask for help, and I’ve totally lost sight of what’s important.

I don’t know if Thomas did orchestrate this whole thing. But if I do the interview, I can ask Lilly directly and then tell Thomas not to get involved if that’s the case. Interviewing them means being noticed by the most prominent press outlets and, perhaps, using it as a resume when I submit articles as a freelance journalist. Until now, the big news organizations have always rejected my pitches, but getting an interview that others have been struggling to land for months could be a great calling card. After this interview, even A-list artists will be more willing to give me a chance. I could request press passes to the biggest events and write articles like a real journalist.

In theory, what I have to do is obvious; but in reality, the fear of being crucified for lying to Thomas makes my stomach tighten in a vice.

“Do you want me to read you a book?” I ask my mother when I realize I’ve been silent for a while, thinking about my problems instead of paying attention to the dearest person I have in the world.

I get up, take her copy ofThe Great Gatsbyfrom the nightstand, and settle into the other chair. I open to the bookmark, realizing I haven’t taken the time to read her something for a few days. I’m always too busy chasing temporary distractions and overlook what’s really important to me.

“Did she fall asleep?” asks Liberty when she enters the room a few hours later.

“She’s been dozing off for a few minutes. Do you want me to help you put her to bed?” I offer her my support, since I know from experience what a strenuous job it is to move a sleeping adult from an armchair to the bed.

Liberty smiles at me but shakes her head. “No, leave her there. It doesn’t hurt her to sit a little instead of lying down. I’m still going to have to feed her in a while, and it’s best if she wakes up already sitting down.”

My heart clenches thinking that she is the same woman who used to bring me to the beach, piggy-back ride me, and play with me in the water. Now she can’t even hold a fork in her hand or clean her mouth after eating.

“Do you want to stay and feed her?” she asks when she sees the sadness taking over me.

I nod and smile, watching the woman who gave birth to me dozing in front of me. “Yes, I’m in no hurry to get back to my job today.”

Liberty smiles back at me, and her blue eyes light up. “You should consider your own life too. I don’t need to say it every time, do I? You can’t be alone looking after her for the rest of your life.”

I know she’s just worried about me. My mother was one of her first patients, and she saw me grow up here, basically. But I don’t want to have this discussion, not today.

“I come with too much baggage not to scare guys my age to death.”

For a moment, my mind goes to the only person older than me who seems to have experienced even more than I have, and I wonder how he’d react if I told him about my mom. With Thomas, everything is a thrill, a rollercoaster ride, but only because reality hasn’t reached us yet. We’re in a bubble where only the two of us exist, without the lies and the mundane things of everyday life.

What Thomas and I have isn’t real. It’s a fantasy built by decisions that were made based on false information. A beautiful movie, a love story that will end in tragedy. After the credits, the two actors will go their own ways and never meet again. I wrote a script and put Thomas in the starring role without his knowledge. I’ve erased facts from the past about us. I’ve invented an Iris that doesn’t exist. I show him what he likes and hide what I don’t want him to see. He called paparazzi jackals outside the restaurant that night. I can’t imagine him forgiving me when he finds out I was one of them.

News!

Hi, Roadies!

How are you today? I’m popping in to announce that I’ll be attending several concerts and events during the Christmas season, so don’t miss my Instagram posts to discover new bands.

The juiciest news today, however, is that I’ve been contacted by the Red Velvet Curtains for an exclusive interview! You got that right. I have an opportunity to meet and interview the rising stars of rock face to face. Remember I told you they would make it big after winning that contest that took them on tour? Apparently, I was right! I can’t wait to be able to tell their story.

Be kind and Rock’n’Roll,

Iris

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I stand for ten minutes in front of her apartment door before I decide to knock. In a normal relationship, I’d call before I showed up at her house in the middle of the afternoon, but she hasn’t given me her number yet. This might suggest she doesn’t particularly want to see me again, which should make me think twice about showing up at her door, but I couldn’t wait any longer. It’s been two days since I ended up in her bed, and I miss her so much I’m in physical agony. The guy in the apartment next door opens the door a few inches to scrutinize me from head to toe then he quickly closes it. He must think I’m a fool, and I certainly can’t deny it. I’d be thinking the same thing.

I inhale deeply and raise my hand to knock when it suddenly opens, and I find myself facing Iris’s perplexed face. “How long have you been here?”

“I just arrived,” I’m ashamed to lie to her.

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