Page 155 of The Doctors Will See You Now

It wasn’t exactly the most creative opening after thinking about it for six and a half songs, but it was the best my cynical mind could do, apparently. Not to mention, it wasn’t like I could sit there and think on it as I typed while the light of the screen sent out a virtual distress call to any and all ushers in the area. Just like in a movie theater, they didn’t like when you texted during the entertainment.

Harlow: Bleeding Woman?

Right. Of course, she wouldn’t remember the thing she’d said that I’d remembered a million times since. It figured.

Me: Your sex victim name.

Harlow: Oh. Yeah. I guess that’s me. But why act like you didn’t creep my medical file to find my real name? You CLEARLY know it.

I leaned forward, just slightly, again trying to get a read off of her by inspecting her face, but she was completely out of view behind the bulk of her dad, like she’d become one with the seat. I’d just have to do my best to assess the situation without visual cues.

Me: I didn’t do it on purpose.

Okay, that was a bit of a lie, but it wasn’t like I was the only one sugarcoating the truth. I mean, she was also that fucking columnist from Gossip.

Harlow: Job hazards, right? Pffft.

Me: Listen, I tried not to look, but I had to sign off on your chart. And like you should talk. You’re the Gossip columnist.

Harlow: Yep. That’s me.

So fucking casual. My jaw ached from clenching it, and my pulse pounded in my ears. She had a way of getting under my skin like no other, but at least I was keeping it contained, eating away at me on the inside rather than causing a scene.

As if on cue, my mother turned to me with a hostile frown.

Okay, maybe I’m not keeping it on the inside.

A tiny fragment of our previous phone conversation struck me like lightning.

Me: Well…I guess you were right about being an inside source.

Harlow: I don’t lie.

She doesn’t lie? SHE DOESN’T LIE? Was she serious?

Me: …

What? I don’t yell via text message or even out loud. Just in my head, usually.

Harlow: Okay, so I lie *sometimes*. But, whatever. It’s a gossip column. What do you expect?

Me: Oh, I don’t know. Some kind of truth in reporting…

Harlow: It’s a GOSSIP column.

I started to type again when another message popped up from her.

Harlow: Can you stop messaging me now? I’m trying to watch Kinky Boots.

I scoffed, and my mom outright seethed in my direction. Bared teeth and a silent snarl, Nicole Shepard was five seconds away from tanning my thirty-five-year-old ass. Shit.

Me: You don’t want to watch Kinky Boots. You want to avoid me and the consequences of your actions. The “freedom” of anonymity sure makes being out in the open even worse, huh?

Harlow: Stop. Messaging. Me.

Fine. She didn’t want to talk via text? That was just fine.

“Oh, what the fuck? Are you serious right now?” Harlow shouted as she came out of the stall to find me leaning against the bathroom counter during intermission.