“Do you think this is weird?” I ask suddenly. The question has been at the forefront of my mind all day – hell, for several days as our messages have increased.
“What?”
“Our texts, and now this. Talking on the phone.”
“You know what the Internet is like, Maeve. You can make some very strange connections that actually aren’t all that strange at all.”
“But you’re like…” It’s my turn to suck my lips into my mouth, probably messing up my lip liner and lipstick. “You’re the literal opposite of me.”
“Opposites attract?” they offer, and I open my mouth to protest but they are quicker. “And I don’t mean sexually, Maeve. Please don’t get confused by my job. You must know that I canhave a conversation or a connection with someone and for it to not be sexual at all.”
Their words punch their way into my brain and maybe somewhere else in my body, but I don’t want to think about that. “No, I get it. I don’t think this is sexual for you. And of course, for me it’s not at all,” I say, matter-of-fact.
The truth in that statement and having it reciprocated brings me more comfort than I expect. It wasn’t like I’d been worrying about Loncey’s intentions, but to have them stated clearly makes me exhale and lean back in the pillows a little more.
“I think we’re just two people navigating the highs and lows of sharing content online. Yes, very different types of content, but still content. And it’s content that has to do with our lives – not all of our lives, I think we’re both smart enough to hold back some of ourselves from the world – but it’s still all very personal and that can be a hard thing to do.”
I find myself nodding along with Loncey as they continue.
“I don’t know about you, but the friends I’ve met doing the work I do, they’re among the nicest, kindest and sweetest people I’ll ever likely meet. They’re true friends, true community. I guess I see you as an extension of that.”
I stop nodding, a little stunned by what they’re saying. They really do see me as a friend.
“You know,” I start, my throat a little dry. “I don’t really have that many friends in the industry. You know, other influencers.”
“Yeah, you mentioned that already. You said you’d been screwed over a few times.”
“Yeah, but also…” I suck in a sharp breath. “Also I don’t exactly make a big effort. I just feel like I already have the friends and family I want. I don’t need more people in my life, filling it with their noise.”
Loncey holds my eye contact and tilts their head down ever so slightly. After a pause, they finally speak. “But what if it’s not noise someone brings, but music?”
My stomach lurches with that question, at the beauty and hope in it. I don’t like the way my body freezes but, a second later, it starts to melt, warmth spreading from my core and down all my limbs. I don’t like it at all, so I do what I always do when conversations get too heavy for my liking. I make a joke.
“That depends what kind of music it is. Metal music can fuck right off.”
Loncey laughs and I feel my body relax again, or maybe I feel that melting sensation stop, a little tension returning to my muscles. Whatever it is, rightly or wrongly, I feel more… normal. And I’m grateful for it.
Chapter Fourteen
Loncey
We talk for longer than I expect. We talk about social media and working with brands and how to best protect our privacy online. We talk about other influencers we both vaguely know and we talk about the weirdest and creepiest DMs we’ve ever received. We talk for so long that I forget the time and it’s only when I feel my phone vibrate with a text message that I look at my device and see the time.
“Shit, I gotta go. I’m late.”
“Oh yeah, your meeting.” Maeve yawns.
“Yeah, but wait, don’t you have a plane to catch?”
“Shite, yeah. My car will be here in ten minutes.” She sits up and looks around the room. I feel an instant wave of disappointment. I was enjoying looking at her relaxed in the white pillows, her hair a golden yellow halo around her face.
“Your car? Jesus, Maeve, you’re living the dream.”
“It’s a fecking taxi, isn’t it? Nothing special.” She narrows her eyes at me and pouts.
“I was just teasing,” I say. “But I’m sorry for doing so.”
Her expression softens. “Sorry. I get pre-travel anxiety.” She gets up and starts moving around the room, presumably getting ready for her taxi.
