Page 26 of The Lovers
Beside them hovers a woman holding a Fujifilm camera, newer than the model I use to shoot YouTube content, and carrying a bulky gray bag that’s likely full of camera equipment.
We close the gap, and Millie does some soft finger claps for my ensemble as if we’re at a poetry jam and I just read out some especially poignant iambic pentameter.
“We should get some shots in front of the entrance,” Millie says, going into influencer mode.
“Lighting’s good here,” Coco—who is doing a fantastic job ignoring Jenni—says.
She’s wearing a cream romper and white (probably not vegan) leather jacket. She chases the sunlight for a selfie but comes to a standstill beneath a wash of amber light a few feet in front of the doors. I’m watching her smirk into the camera when I feel a body move up behind me, and I turn with a jolt to see Piper practically leering, covered head to toe in—you guessed it—Chanel.
“I see you didn’t get the all-white memo,” she says, but her eyes trip over the lines of my patterned wool shawl.
“Call me a rebel,” I reply. “I’m not a bridesmaid, so I don’t think the dress code exactly applies.”
“She’ll want you in the photos.”
“She said it was an impeccable vibe.” My palms are sweating.
“It’s not the same thing as being the aesthetic.”
Jesus, okay. Claws out. It’s probably a waste of energy to argue, but I won’t let that stop me. “My style is a brand staple. Millie hired Mystic Maven formyvibes.”
Piper’s lips dance into an almost sneer. “I only said something so you wouldn’t feel embarrassed that you stick out.” She winks. “Just looking out for you.”
I get a twinge in my stomach and the knee-jerk desire to say thank you. What the hell is that about? I should want to trip her on her way into the party bus—which has just pulled up—but there’s something about Piper that disarms normal survival instincts. She pounces, digging in her claws, and then I feel the need to apologize for getting blood in her fur.
Millie motions me over to take a photo with her crew, pointing to the inviting space between Coco and Natalie, but now I’m second-guessing if my aesthetic willactuallyruin the vibe, and rather than make a decision or run back to change with my tailbetween my legs, I pretend to be checking a text and make my way hastily onto the bus.
The party bus is one of those sleek Mercedes sprinter vans, complete with a single pole for dancing. There are leather bench seats running the length, breaking only for the neon-lit bar in the center. It’s fully stocked with booze, plus those bougie sparkling teas that Millie is a brand ambassador for. I grab one, taking a seat at the far end of the bench. I hear them moving toward the bus and I instinctively brace. I don’t know why I’m on the edge of a meltdown. I’ve taken complicated jobs before, been on major TV shows, read cards for stars, had a fucking stalker even. Being in the proximity of a girl I once knew should not be throwing me for such a goddamn loop. But it is. It’s not Piper’s viper gaze or the way she’s picking at my loose threads. It’s not stage fright.
It’s Julia.
Just knowing she’s nearby makes my heart race and brain go foggy-fuzzy.
I close my eyes, picturing my hypnotherapy safe space. Thank Spirit, it comes to me quickly this time.
The sound of birds, the gentle lap of water from the lake, are almost real.
For most of my childhood and adolescence, my parents had a timeshare near Big Bear Lake. We’d go for the summer just to hang out near the water, hike the trails, and canoe. But there was a spot under heavy tree growth where the shore of the lake curved around and my parents couldn’t see me from the house. I used to hide there to get a few minutes of alone time.
It was just the three of us, and that meant I was the center of every single activity, pitted against each parent in their competition of who could love me—or the other—more. It sounds shittyto complain, but love can smother just as easily as neglect can make you wither. It felt like if I had any emotion besidestotally content, I would crush their souls. To satisfy their expectations, I played a role, a performance I got supergood at giving over the years. It wasn’t like theyeverrequested it out loud, or got angry if I wasn’t perfect, but they never really had a chance, either. I never disappointed.
Still, it made me want to bolt, so I would sometimes. They’d be cooking dinner, or drinking wine on the deck, and I’d peace out just long enough that they didn’t get worried.
On that little curve of rocky beach, under the cover of fir trees, they couldn’t see me, so I didn’t have to pretend. I see it now—can almost smell the musk of those fir trees. In this safe space, my mind can go quiet, my subconscious can take over. I let out a sigh as calm settles on my skin like dew, feeling reassured, capable, slipping into a sense of—
A ruckus of voices breaks through the birds chirping, lapping of water, motherfucking calm of my safe space. And then her voice—“Where should I sit?”—crashes my lakeside retreat into a million tiny pieces.
My eyes fly open, defenses pricked, senses on overdrive.
Julia stands at the entrance to the bus, wild tendrils of hair wisping around her head like she ran here, lips tinted berry red, cheeks flushed, wearing a structured bomber jacket over the pin-striped shirt from earlier.
And staring right at me.
Chapter Ten
Julia
The ride is tense. Every muscle,tense, every breath,tense.
