“Me either, but it was my favorite flavor as a kid.”
“Mine was strawberry. I’m such a basic bitch at heart.”
“Girl, what? You are anything but basic.”
“That’s the thing, though. I am. Everything anyone knows about me is a show. My whole life is a fraud.” I’m the fakest person I know. My own thoughts are lies. “The act is more me than my own self is.”
“I’m sure it feels like that,” she says. “Have you thought about therapy?”
“I have,” I tell her. “Stowaway isn’t teeming with them, so I’ve been trying to set up a virtual session.”
“That’s good. I’m proud of you, Louisa,” she says.
An uncontrollable sob erupts out of me, and I bury my face in my palms.
“Shit, what did I say?”
“Nobody’s ever said that to me,” I cry.
“Ever?” She sounds aghast. As if it’s such a common thing to hear. At twenty-eight, this is my first time.
“Ever,” I confirm. “Not even Carolyn has said it, and she’s made millions off me over my career.”
“That’s because she’s a cunt,” she says, making me laugh. “You’ve been proud of yourself, though, yeah?”
Her question surprises me, because I’ve never put much thought into it. I’ve been excited about jobs I’ve landed, coveted covers I’ve graced, and world-class designers I’ve worked with. But I always chalked it up more to luck than anything.
“Honestly, I’m not sure.”
“You’re a hard worker who has accomplished what so many only dream of. That’s something to be proud of. But what you should be most proud of is that you left. You took the leap,” she says, pointing to the spot under my T-shirt that now carries that one word.
I did do those things. Before Pierre, maybe I was proud of the direction my career was taking. Then, he wormed into my brain and made me second-guess and doubt.
“I leaped,” I confirm with soft confidence.
Walking away from Pierre was the hardest, most profound thing I’ve ever done. Staying away is even harder.
Ten
Lou
“Love looks through a telescope; envy through a microscope.”
Josh Billings
It’s bingo night at The Wave Break. As soon as we walk in, we’re both handed a few cards and something called a dobber.
“The first three are free, sweeties. If you want more, Joanne, here, will take care of you,” an elderly woman, whose hair is meticulously styled in the same flip up I bet she’s worn since the sixties, tells us. Joanne sits at a folding card table with a little sign that reads “BINGO cards $5 each, all proceeds benefit Stowaway HomeAway.”
“What is Stowaway HomeAway?” I ask her.
“That’s the assisted living facility, honey,” the woman answers with lips perfectly painted red.
I don’t know who these two women are, but I hope to look as fabulous as them when I’m their age.
“I’ll take five, please,” I say.
“Me, too,” Juliet adds. From there, we find a table set in the back corner of the bar that is just big enough for the two of us to spread out our cards. “Vodka soda with lime?”
