Page 87 of The Lovers
The first comes directly after a FaceTime notification, reading:babe call me back immediately
The second and third are pleas for me to reply.
The fourth is a link to a TikTok and the preview image is of me.
Me and Julia.
Dancing.
My heart rate skyrockets. My mouth goes dry.
With a shaky hand I click on the link. It opens in the app, spinning for a second before fully loading.
It’s a video of us dancing. Kissing. Snuggling. Lost in the moment together.
It’s a video of us, but it looks like a movie. Like we’re at the earned romantic climax, and not the compulsory third act breakup, and as much as I want to believe we’re ready to walk into the sunset together, I can’t. Every pin holding up questions I have for myself and my future falls from the vision board of my life as I watch us spin around the dance floor.
My eyes drop to the text on the video.
She wanted sympathy for her breakup but she was keeping a secret. #mysticmaven hooks up while on the job. Geez, let the sheets cool. Trying a woman this time, too??? Fast, even for a serial dater with no identity of her own. Being alone must be her kryptonite. #chooseyourowntarotadventure
My legs wobble as the words sink in. Whoever wrote this yanked my fears out in the open and posted about it on TikTok. They used my hashtags so all the people who follow those would see it as soon as it hit their feed. I tap over to Instagram and Twitter to see it has loaded up on each of the sites.
My followers are flipping out in the comments. They are sharing it, calling out the account that posted it while simultaneously spreading the fucking word like an unchecked California wildfire. My body reels and I fall against the table, bracing but not able to stay steady.
Coco is the one whose arms break my fall. She heaves me up, letting me sway against her as I try to keep my bones from going liquid.
“You okay, Kit?” she asks, and I can smell the alcohol on herbreath. I wish I’d had one too many and that was why my head was swimming. I drop the phone to the table in front of me and I watch her gaze fall to the screen. Themysticmavenhashtag is alive with the video. Taking over my other content. Taking over everything.
Over and over and over.
Me sharing an intimate moment in what I thought was a safe space.
Me forced to come out.
This is not how I wanted to do it.
This is not how anyone wants to do it.
In a few hours it will be everywhere. My friends and fellow influencers will be coming into my DMs with all kinds of support and trios of hearts and GIFs of girls kissing and fuck fuck fuck I don’t want that right now.
My haters will spew vitriol like Linda Blair inThe Exorcist. Heads spinning around with gleeful possessed mania. I refuse to look at the comments to see how many of the trolls have already found their way in there or are the ones actively sharing it.
My mom—Mom will see this. There is no way Dad won’t find out. And no matter how they react, I won’t be the one who told them. It won’t be coming from me, on my terms.
“Who did this?” Coco asks me, getting in my eyeline. “Do you recognize the account?”
“It’s a fake account,” I say.
“It has to be someone at the wedding.” Coco stands up straight, looking around as if she’ll be able to identify the culprit with just a glance.
“I know who it is,” I say. Coco follows my gaze to the edge of the dance floor.
Piper stands beneath a lantern glowing red. The shimmer of a champagne flute in her hand. The glimmer of a malicious grin on her face.
“Why would she—”
“She’s Julia’s ex.”
