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The three of us spent the next five hours getting facials, manis, pedis, and massages in front of the television.
Santi talked us all into watching some strange videos on YouTube that had titles like Jet Fuel Doesn’t Melt Steel, Why the Denver Airport is a Portal to Hell, and The Moon Landing was Faked.
Santi, turned out, was an avid conspiracy theory nut. I was a bit troubled about it, but Jovie thought it was hilarious. She shamelessly egged him on.
Vincent surprised me by agreeing with Santi with more than half of the theories.
At first Chester was adamantly disapproving of our choice of viewing subjects, but as Santi pivoted from the crazier conspiracy videos to the lighter ones, such as one where Shane Dawson focused on a Chuck E. Cheese pizza plot, eventually even he could admit begrudgingly that it was all pretty entertaining.
After much effort I even talked Chester and Vincent into getting scalp massages and wearing avocado sheet masks.
We couldn’t stop laughing, and I managed to get some photographic proof, threatening to use it for future blackmailing.
When Santi finally ran out of his conspiracy steam, we switched to watching bad reality TV. Jovie and Santi had a running disagreement about Life of Kylie.
Santi thought it was awful.
Jovie didn’t see it the same way.
“I stan her,” she said stubbornly.
That comment got Chester involved. “What does that even mean?” he asked her.
“It means she’s a big fan of hers,” I explained.
“Like obsessed,” Santi added. “I don’t get it. Kylie’s a mile wide and two inches deep. I think Jovie just likes her because they’re both shallow.”
Jovie was far from offended. “I’m not shallow, I’m vain,” she shot back, laughing. “And she’s a self-made billionaire because of makeup.” She gave a big sigh. “My dream.”
“You can’t be self-made when you start out with money!” Santi pointed out.
Chester shook his head, muttering something along the lines of ‘kids these days’ which made us all laugh.
We were taking turns picking shows to watch, and on one of Jovie’s, she chose RuPaul’s Drag Race.
“You just like this show because their hair’s as big as yours,” Santi remarked.
Jovie, as usual not taking offense, patted her hair with a smirk. It was a striking dark blonde that was a trim shade paler than her skin. Her corkscrew curls were particularly voluminous with all the spa treatments adding a warm humidity to the room. “Don’t you know my hair is where I keep all the secrets? It’s not getting any smaller, honey.”
* * *
It was impossible to keep secrets from Jovie forever. Even big ones.
The day before I left for Paris, I broke down and told her everything about my marriage. Every little deceitful detail.
“It’s all fake,” I reiterated after I was completely finished unloading.
“Bullshit,” she said succinctly.
I stared. “What? You don’t believe me?”
“Oh I believe you about the arranged marriage, the Bride Catalogue, Banks being an asshole, all of that. But calling it fake? Whatever that thing is between you, it’s not fake. That man is crazy about you. He loses his mind every time he looks at you.”
I mulled that over. She was exaggerating as only a teenager could, of course, but it made me wonder. How did he look at me? Did it mean anything? I pushed the thought away. There was nothing so painful as false hope. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t care.”
I knew I was lying to myself. It was a fact that I lied to myself all the time, but at least I never believed me.
From the look she was sending me, Jovie didn’t believe me either.
