Davis slumps in his chair. “No one will want to fuck the more serious side of her, however.”
I imagine Josh hearing this—I suspect he’d be out of his chair. What did he say to that surf instructor? Come repeat that on shore, asshole. I’d love to hear him say that to Davis.
“I looked like this when you met me,” I remind him, taking a seat at the far end of the table. They both blink as if they’d forgotten I had a voice at all. “You thought I was pretty enough then.”
“But were you famous then?” he asks. “No, you were not.”
“I still think we should say she went to rehab,” Stephanie tells him. “No one is going to believe there weren’t illegal substances involved.”
Davis shakes his head. “There are too many photos of her in Hawaii. Let’s just stipulate that it isn’t discussed in interviews and release a statement implying she was at rehab without stating it outright. Just refer to some much-needed time away. Everyone will assume it’s rehab, she apologizes, people move on.”
I sit back, listening to them discuss me as if I’m not in the room. As if I’m an entity rather than a person. How long has it been like this and why did I allow it? I suppose because when it started, I just felt lucky and I didn’t want to jinx it. And what’s different today is that I no longer feel lucky. I don’t care quite so much if I jinx it.
“I’m not apologizing,” I say flatly. “And I’m not letting anyone imply I’m on drugs.”
They look at me again, surprised, irritated. The sex doll speaks and thinks she has a right to make demands, their faces say.
“Please let us do our jobs,” Stephanie says. “We’re trying to get you out of a mess you’ve created.”
I stand up and they both look surprised. Again.
“What are you doing?” asks Davis.
“It’s called walking out,” I reply. “And if this press tour doesn’t go the way I like, prepare to see a lot more of it.”
The room is utterly silent as I make my way to the door. I want to feel empowered, but instead the world just feels very large, too full and too empty all at once. The problem with burning bridges is that you need to have someplace else to go.
It’s Tali I call in desperation.
She meets me at a sunny patio café in Huntington Beach, halfway between Laguna and LA. The sight of her temporarily makes me forget all my woes.
“Holy shit,” I say, staring at her stomach. She didn’t look so pregnant the last time I saw her, but now… “You can’t possibly have two more months left.”
She laughs and sinks into the chair across from me like a pregnant woman would, hand on her stomach as if she’s not sure the baby knows to come with her. “It’s bizarre, I know.”
“What if this kid is Hayes’s size?” I ask. “Your vagina will be permanently ruined.”
She raises a brow. “It’s as if you consulted a list of the worst possible things to say to a pregnant woman and are running through them as fast as possible.”
“Sorry,” I say meekly. “No filter.”
She laughs. “You and Hayes both. He asked my doctor if we could just go ahead and schedule this as a C-section ‘to ensure everything remains the appropriate size’。 So enough about me and my vagina…which Bailey brother are you with today?”
I roll my eyes. I texted her about the Kalalau Trail, but she doesn’t know everything that came afterward, and there’s really no reason to tell her. Nothing will come of it. “Neither of them.”
“Well,” she says with a sigh. “I guess it could be worse.”
“Josh kissed me,” I blurt. So much for keeping it to myself. “At the airport.”
She is wide-eyed with delight. “That’s so—”
“Don’t say it.”
She says it anyway. “Romantic.”
I lean back in my seat and pull my hair out of its messy bun. “You think everything is romantic.”
“Believe me, there was never a single thing you told me about Six that I’d have claimed was romantic. And I mean—” She pulls out her phone. I have no idea how she has pictures of Josh at the ready, but she does. “Look at this guy.”
He isn’t smiling in the picture. He isn’t even posing in the picture. He’s standing there in scrubs talking to someone, looking distracted and pissy and perfect and I just…miss him. That’s all there is to it. I miss him so much that it makes everything else pale by contrast. I’ve avoided looking Josh up online for this very reason—because I knew it would hurt, and because I knew there’d be this swirl of longing in my chest and I’d have nowhere to go with it.
“I don’t know what to do,” I whisper.
“Does he know you’re not with his brother?” she asks. “That might help.”
I nod. “I told Beth and I’m sure she’s told Josh,” I reply. “He’s the person she seems to lean on the most.”
I want Tali to give me an excuse for why I haven’t heard from him, but there’s nothing. All I see in her eyes is sympathy right now, as if this is a story that’s already come to a close.
When I get back to the hotel, I climb into bed and stay there. I don’t run. I don’t worry about what I’m eating. My hygiene is questionable at best, but I figure it’s my last hurrah: once the tour begins, it’ll be upkeep and starvation 24/7. It always is.
I’m still in bed on Sunday, the day before I leave, when my cell rings. The moment I see Beth’s name the fog hanging over me vanishes. I sit up, yanking my eye mask off the top of my head. I can't stop the small thrill in my chest, though she’s probably just calling about the scarf or to discuss the breakup.
"Drew!" she cries, "I'm so happy I caught you. You weren’t asleep, were you?”
I force a laugh. “Of course not,” I reply. “It’s…” I look at the clock. “After one.”
“We’re having lunch at the Chateau and I just heard someone say you’re staying here in the hotel. Are you around? Can you pop by to say hello?"
I want to ask who's coming as I agree, but I don’t.
Instead, I literally run into the shower, yelping at the cold water as I start to scrub, already scolding myself. “Josh won’t be there,” I announce to the shower walls. “And you’re an idiot getting your hopes up about nothing.”
What would I even say if he was there? It's not as if I can tell him in front of his parents that nothing but him has mattered to me since that moment in the airport, and probably long before that. I won’t be able to say anything at all. And if it mattered to him that I wasn’t with his brother he’d have said something by now.
I scrape my wet hair back from my face and pull it up into a bun, dab on a bit of lip gloss and mascara and pull a silk tank and skirt out of my closet, the kind of thing a publicist might wear but Drew Wilson would not.
I approve of the girl I see in the mirror. She looks exotic, French. Audrey Hepburn with lighter hair and a decent tan. I want Josh to be there so badly I can taste it. I want him to be there so badly I'm not sure I'll be able to stand my disappointment if he isn't.