This Story Might Save Your Life(38)

“I get it,” Xander said. “You don’t want to need me. But the fact is, you do. Producing is my wheelhouse, not yours. And you know no one else would have Joy’s best interests at heart more than I do.”

Benny glanced at me, and I lifted my shoulders with a toothy wince. I see you don’t want to do this, but can we try it anyway? He’d been backed into a wall. He knew it, and Xander knew it, and the only thing left to do was agree.

To me, it was a great compromise. It wasn’t like this was going to last. We’d had a spate of good luck, but it would end soon. This way, everyone could keep on keeping on, and maybe, working together, we’d all find a way to move past the hurt.

Only, our luck didn’t end. It multiplied.

Soon, shockingly soon, we were recognized on the street. Approached in grocery stores. High-fived at concerts. Strangers bought us drinks at bars and whispered at us in museums. And this was only the beginning. After we began giving interviews and guest starring on other podcasts, the incidents snowballed.

Two years in, after a particularly bewildering experience at Pink’s, where half the line waiting for hot dogs wanted my autograph, Xander invited Benny and Luna over to our place for a drink.

We had not, I should note, found a way to move past the hurt. Rather, we’d swept it under the rug and stomped all over it. Turns out there are always more pressing matters to deal with than icky, messy feelings.

We made sure of it.

And so, casual drinks for no reason? What sorcery was this? Was it possible Xander was finally ready to hug it out?

Instead, what he said was, “I think we should send you two on tour.”

Luna and I nearly spat out our wine.

Benny was the first to respond with actual words. “You’re joking, right?”

“Not at all.” Xander crossed his white-trousered legs and ran a hand through his sleek blond hair. “You’re a live wire. This may only last another year, maybe two. Why not capitalize on it? Why not go big?”

It’s funny to think back on now, how preposterous this all sounded. Live shows? How could we possibly? The logistics alone. My sleep disorder. The cough tension between Benny and Xander. Absurd. I laughed, and so did Benny, and that might have been where it ended had Luna not leaned forward and said, “You should do it.”

I stopped laughing. “You’re serious?”

“I’m not saying it’s without risks. It’d be a hell of a lot different from recording in here.” She made a circle with her finger, indicating the small two-bedroom town house Xander and I had purchased that year. “Could be very stressful.”

I felt this sentiment deeply. Despite my immense gratitude for our success, I sometimes wished we could reverse time—go back to the way things were before people recognized us on the street, when our listeners didn’t yet presume to know us inside and out. In the two years since we’d recorded our first episode, I’d experienced a fundamental change to my basic humanhood. I’d been peeled open and exposed to the world. All at once, strangers were sharing their opinions about everything we said, good or bad.

Back in the early days, I felt obligated to participate in these conversations. I wanted our listeners to know I appreciated their time in any way, shape, or form. “I’m sorry I offended you when I joked about _______. I’ll try to do better.” “I hear you when you say I didn’t represent all sides of the argument in our episode about _______.” “Thank you for pointing out my mistake about _______.” “I’m sorry.” “I’m sorry.” “I’m sorry.” I had no idea how vile I was until I was borderline famous. Before the podcast, I never bothered to imagine what life must be like for public figures. There are a million ways to mess up every day.

Benny had to keep reminding me not to sweat the small stuff. No one can be right one hundred percent of the time. But that didn’t stop me from wanting to try. Which was why I couldn’t imagine an unedited version of myself touring the country.

“B-but…” I blinked at him. “How would we even do it?”

“Same way you do the podcast,” Xander said. “Only you’d keep it local to whatever city you’re touring in. Say you’re in Chicago, then one of you would research a Chicago-based survival story. You wouldn’t have to memorize anything. You’d just go up there and be you.”

“I don’t know.” I shook my head. “I think Luna is right. It could be very stressful.”

“Could also be very lucrative,” Xander said.

It was clear Benny was considering it. “What about Joy’s schedule?”

“I’ve taken it into account.” Of course he had. “We can start in LA, get your feet wet, work out the kinks. We’ve both traveled with Joy before. We’ll obviously make every special accommodation necessary.”

Benny and I stared at each other from across the coffee table. In a matter of minutes, he’d thawed to the idea, and then warmed. Now the heat of excitement flushed his cheeks. I knew he would never pressure me to do this. He would leave the choice entirely up to me, and he would make himself happy with my decision. But I also knew he was picturing us onstage in Chicago and New York and Seattle and Denver, and he was liking the view. A lot. “We may as well give it a shot,” I said.

After all, what did we have to lose?