My eyes dart around his bedroom, moonlight filtering through half-drawn curtains. A tower of pillows guards the king-size bed, and there’s a cat bed next to his nightstand. I expect his shelves to be full of awards, but the only things there are different kinds of crocheted items in various stages of completion—cat mittens, a little frog—as well as a music box model kit, propped against a framed picture of him and Rosa, his ex. They’re at a farm, and Asher is kissing hercheek, so my theory about him wanting to date me to make her jealous tracks.
“Sasha, are you listening?” Marissa’s voice snaps me from my thoughts. “It’s not a big deal, but we don’t want any photos of you looking unhinged. You’ll give the tabloids ground to run with the narrative that you’re just another young female artist, spiraling out of control.”
“So what am I supposed to do as a young female artist, smile all the time?”
This is starting to piss me off. When my life doesn’t revolve around who I’m dating, it revolves around how nice or palatable I am.
“I’m not saying that, but kind of? It will make your life easier if you do,” she says. “Look, my job is to anticipate people’s reactions. I don’t want you to be seen as rude. We’re doing all of this to shed your teenage persona and transition to a more adult approach. You’re almost twenty.Adultmeanscontained. The older you get, the more contained and measured you have to be.”
Do I? Is that it? What’s adulthood even supposed to look like?
I’ve noticed that people talk about aging like it strips you of your personhood. Like the older you get, the fewer spaces you’re allowed to inhabit. Take Mom, for example. When she decided to go back to college in her forties to get her master’s, some of her and Mamá’s friends gave her looks, because what was the point of going back to school at her age? She kept asking them why they thought that, but no one could give her a real answer.
I know this isn’t the same, but how many years do I have left before it’s no longer acceptable for me to… I don’t know, be me? If being an adult means becoming contained, am I slowly losing my freedom?
“I pulled some strings, and they won’t post the picture. The only thing people on social media are focusing on is Kai and Asher’s race anyway.”
I navigate to my feed. It is flooded with videos from the bouldering place.
@sassyswisdomtoothdidn’t know these three were friends. so wholesome!
@sassysguitar_maybe they’re helping asher through his breakup with rosa.
There are also links to multiple articles.
Sassy’s boyfriend injured during outing with Nadia’s son—Fridaystar Asher Grish. Find out everything about their surprising friendship!
Definitely not thegentle first lovenarrative Marissa wanted to push. But it’s not bad, either, I guess. It just focuses on a nonexistent friendship between Asher and us.
“How’s Kai?” Marissa asks with a sigh, gentler.
“He’s—”
“Is he going to be able to make it to tomorrow’s Homes for Change event?”
“Fuck. I forgot it’s tomorrow.” Tomorrow is supposed to be our first red carpet as a couple. A fundraiser to improve housing and rehabilitation programs for people that struggle with substance abuse or face housing insecurity. Kai and I were supposed to attend the masquerade ball together, followed by a silent auction, for which I donated a handful of guitars and a private concert.
I prop the door open and steal a look at the living room. Kai is on Asher’s couch, a mountain of pillows propping his foot up on the leaf-shaped coffee table. Asher sits beside him on the carpet, wrapping an ice packet in paper towels and slicing a weed gummy in half.
He offers it to Kai, but considering he already had a gummy an hour ago—
“Did you know my name was supposed to be Caio, but my mom wanted a more American-sounding name? So now I’m Kai. Kaiiiii. If you think about it, it sounds likekey,” Kai says as he stares at the ceiling, gesturing dramatically. “Like I’m the key to something. But Kai also hasAI, as in artificial intelligence, so maybe me studying computer science wasn’t random. I have no escape. MaybeIam the key to AI.”
He’s definitely high.
“You don’t seem happy about it.” Asher places the ice packet on Kai’s ankle, seemingly enjoying his weed-infused confessions.
“I just want people to appreciate my silly little drawings,” Kai whines into a pillow. “Your cushions smell like peppermint.”
Maybe I should call us a cab and head home.
“I don’t think tomorrow is happening,” I tell Marissa. “He’s fine, but he has to wear a boot, and the doctor said he should use compression gear and keep his foot elevated for a few days.”
“Ugh.” Marissa rolls thegto make it obvious she’s annoyed.
“Girl, chill, I’m the one who was invited to the event. Am I suddenly not enough?”
“You know what they say: Two is better than one. I already told the press you two were going together. But it’s fine, I guess. Are you still good to go alone?”
