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“I’m talking about the video, obviously!”

Of course.

Not my marriage. Not my bakery.

The video.

Vivian starts pacing across the bare floor. “It has fourteen million views.”

“Congratulations. You’re famous, just like you always wanted to be.”

“I’m serious. It’s everywhere. Someone added captions. There are reaction videos. There are fucking hashtags!”

I giggle, and she whirls around and glares at me. “This isn’t funny!”

“Two brands dropped me yesterday. Two! One was a six-month skincare partnership, Delilah. Do you understand what that means?”

I do, in fact. It means there is a God, and She has Wi-Fi.

I don’t say that, though, as fun as it would be. Personal growth is exhausting.

Vivian presses a hand to her chest. “The comments are insane. People are posting my old pictures. Someone found the tanning salon thing, which wasn’t even my fault. Yesterday, this random woman recognized me outside Whole Foods and called me a ‘home-wrecking slut.’“

“Which Whole Foods?”

“What?”

“I’m wondering if I should send her flowers.”

Vivian’s face hardens. “Mom can’t leave the house.” Ah, of course. Here comes the rest of the guilt trip. “She says people at church are talking. Aunt Virginia won’t take her calls. She hasn’t slept properly since Christmas Eve.”

I cock out a hip. I refuse to be swayed by her bullshit and crocodile tears. They aren’t real. She doesn’t care about Mom’s REM cycles. She just wants to be adored and nothing else.

“So what are you asking me for?”

Vivian ventures closer. “I need you to post something.”

I laugh before I can stop myself.

“A statement,” she says quickly, warming up, because now, we’re in the part of the conversation she rehearsed. “It doesn’t have to be long. You just say the video’s old, or it’s been edited, or that it’s a private family matter and everyone’s blowing it out of proportion. A misunderstanding between adults. You put it on your bakery page and turn the comments off.” She spreads her hands. “That’s it. That’s all. It’s five minutes of your time.”

“But that would be a lie,” I say, pursing my lips thoughtfully. “You want me to lie for you?”

“Goddammit, Delilah, just say it’s edited!”

“It isn’t.”

“Say it was taken out of context!”

“I’m dying to hear the context that improves it.”

Her cheeks flush. “All you have to do is say that you regret sharing it publicly.”

“I don’t, though.”

“You don’t have to mean it.”

“I know. That’s your specialty.”