I send a long string of symbols to mess with Sunny: Kissy faces, fire, fireworks, various fruits and vegetables, more fireworks, and a bomb. I make myself blush, but I know it will get a laugh out of Mercer, especially since she’s likely already hopped up on her second 44 ounce jug of Diet Coke. Something I’m finding I appreciate about Mercer is her easy laugh, via text and in real life. She’s a gem.
SUNNY: My eyes! Stop!
MERCER: LOLOLOLOL
SUNNY: I’ve taken a screenshot of this to be used at my own discretion.
INDIE: You wouldn’t.
I have a momentary panic wherein I picture Joe receiving that screenshot and regretting every interaction we've ever had. Honestly, it wouldn't be the most embarrassing thing that has happened to me this month, or even this week. But surely she wasn't serious.
SUNNY: Oh, I would. Tread carefully, Fox. Hahaha
She has attached a screenshot of her screenshot folder, where there's a thumbnail of our conversation, along with many other text conversations.
MERCER: Heads up. Sunny is the queen of incriminatingscreenshots. This is the only entertainment in her life.
INDIE: I never would have guessed you are so evil.
SUNNY: See you at dinner.
She's attached a GIF of a laughing devil that makes me snort.
Another text comes in, this time from my mother. I still haven’t looked at my social media, answered any emails, or even opened her last several messages. The familiar stormcloud of dread forms in my stomach, but I have a full, fun day stretching in front of me, and I’d rather not go into it with this weighing on my mind. Like Mark Twain said, “If it's your job to eat a frog, it's best to do it first thing in the morning.” I click to open our one-sided text chain.Get in my belly, frog.
MOM: You haven’t sent anything for us to post. I’m sure you’re enjoying your vacay, but please send something. I didn’t complain about your vacation, but you still have responsibilities.
I’ve missed you, too, Mom, and you absolutelydidcomplain about my vacation.
MOM: You lost the Skinnybee partnership.
Before my life fell apart, I was supposed to be part of the upcoming launch party for the company’s new line. I had been looking forward to it, sort of. Even though I was anxious about the public appearance—I had spent months dialing in my workout routine,my diet, and even my skincare routine to better match my real world self with my online self—I knew it would be a boon for my career. But this was good. I was unsettled about the company from the beginning. Their brand is all about looks over function. Their sports bras are designed to flaunt the chest and provide zero support. I hate wearing them in public, and since my whole life is public, until last week I was constantly wearing them in public. Smell you later, objectifying sports bras.
MOM: Indigo. People are speculating and your lack of engagement is making the problem worse. I’m going to post in your name until I hear from you.
Of course my mother and her team have posted in my name before, but with everything going on this seems different. A tiny voice in the back of my mind tells me to check on what she’s doing, but there’s a louder voice telling me I’m on vacation. I don’t want to see my social media. This is one frog I don’t want to eat. I’m choosing to trust that my mom is doing what is best. She is a pro at this stuff, after all. I can catch up when I go back to California—a thought that weighs on me even more than eating the social media frog. Eventually I’ll have to leave this weird little town, my new friends, and Joe. I’ve already gotten way too attached. Maybe I can keep up with them online? I don’t know if Mercer or Sunny have social media accounts. I can’t picture Joe or Sarah on Instagram. The thought deflates me. I’m not looking forward to leaving my friends and facing reality. I’m going to enjoy being with them as much as I can while I’m still here, which means I need to quickly appease my mother and put down my phone.
INDIE: Thank you for handling things while I’m gone. I’m sending some photos I’ve taken this week.
I attach a few shots I took when I subbed on the hike with Mercer the other day, a few random pictures of the red cliffs, and I even attach the selfie I took with The Hulk. My mother will have no idea what to do with them, I am sure. The Hulk might give her a heart attack. These pictures are a major departure from my usual makeup routine and clothing haul, and actually that thought fills me up. There’s nothing wrong with loving makeup and clothes, I guess, but I feel good having added another facet to my personality. I love the outdoors. I love the desert. I love sitting by a campfire. The jury is still out on going to the bathroom outdoors.
Speaking of, I need to visit the Pratt’s ladies’ room.
Late that afternoon I skip up the steps to the Pratt’s house carrying a bouquet of chamomile that I grabbed at a grocery store because it seemed the most like Sarah. The sun is still high and I'm early for dinner, but I'm hoping she was sincere in her invitation to come over whenever I want. I've been antsy today, hanging out in The Hulk without a hike to go on, knowing I’d spend my evening with the Pratt’s. I can smell food cooking before I even knock on the door, and when I reach up to do that, the door swings open. It’s Sunny.
“I know you weren’t going to knock on this door. You know bathroom privileges include an open door, no-knocking policy.” Her smile is huge and she throws an arm around my shoulders, leading me into the house.
I laugh. “When people are home I do a warning knock because someone on the premises tends to walk around half dressed.”Not that I’m complaining.
She meets my laugh with a sisterly eye roll. “I can’t tell you how many of my friends have gotten an eyeful over the years. For somereason they always wanted to hang out here after school.” She makes a fake gag sound. “I lost a lot of fake friends when he left for college.”
We make it to the open kitchen and dining area, where Sarah is massacring a mountain of leafy greens on the large island, her long white braid hanging over her shoulder. There’s something savory roasting in a crockpot and a huge sheet pan of hot, pillowy dinner rolls sits next to the stove. I’ll be taking several of those home in my pockets, thank you very much.
“These are for you.” I give Sarah my meager floral offering with a grimace. It’s an inadequate thank you after everything she’s done for me, but she smiles in return.
“I love chamomile! Thank you!” She pulls a vase down from an open shelf and trims the ends of each stem with scissors while the vase fills with water. Everything she does is fast and efficient, like she’s been running this home for decades, which she obviously has. “Sunny, you should take Indie to meet your sisters and find Joe.”
“Would you like some help, though?” I ask. I’m being polite, but what I really want to do is meet Joe’s sisters and find their brother to see if he’s wearing a shirt today. I’m antsy for him like he’s my high school crush and I’m waiting for him to walk into class. Maybe shirtless.
