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“Modern Motherhood Magazine has been made aware of our reader’s concerns about the photographer featured in this month’s issue. We were not aware of the allegations surrounding the subject of the piece and we’re moving quickly to rectify the situation. All December issues will be pulled from shelves and the article has now been removed from our site. Modern Motherhood in no way endorses Ella’s Photography Studio. We apologize for any distress caused by our mistake.”
“Fuck!” I shout, leaping to my feet.
Mistake. I was their mistake.
Tori’s head whips around. “What happened?”
I thrust my phone in front of her face where she can read it, and she spits out a few choice curses as well. “Cowards. You haven’t been accused of anything. They’re just covering their own asses.”
The page Tori is looking at features the picture of Oliver and me together. It’s everywhere now. For the first time, I wonder where it came from. I recognize the clothes we’re wearing, and the background shows a couple of outdoor bistro tables. It’s the café next to the steakhouse we went to downtown. “That picture of us, it was taken when Oliver and I went out to eat last week. Who the hell would’ve taken it? Has someone been following us? And for what? Just to drag me on social media?”
Tori stares at the photo. “It doesn’t make any sense.” She shakes her head and downs her glass of wine. “I’ve tried everything I know to figure out who the account belongs to, but I keep hitting walls. The username isn’t connected to any other accounts. She never posts her face. Her life updates are just vapid statements alongside a shot of her shoes.” The sound of a key in a lock draws my attention but Tori flaps her hand in that direction. “It’s Paul.”
Who could’ve taken that picture?
I’m struck by a sudden realization. “The steakhouse is located across from the restaurant where Breanna works. I saw her when we were going in. I didn’t think she noticed us.”
Tori blinks, looking over at me. “Oliver’s ex? You two never had any problems, did you?”
“No, Oliver and I even ran into her, remember? I told you about it. She was the first memory Oliver had come back to him. She seemed a little upset, but I figured it was because of his condition.”
Tori types feverishly, then points to the screen. “This was the last post this evening.” A photo of feet boasting designer high heeled shoes is captioned with this bit of advice. “Want to make those tips, ladies? Sexy shoes and pigtails, that’s the trick. Men are simple creatures. It’s going to be a good night.”
Tori looks up at me. “I thought maybe she was a stripper, but I guess the same thing could apply to a waitress when it comes to tips.”
“She was a hostess when we were there.”
“Whatever.” Tori leaps to her feet and calls out, “Paul! Don’t take your shoes off yet! We need a ride!”
Paul is a trooper, I’ll give him that. He was barely through the door after work when Tori swept him into this, and now he’s parking near the restaurant where Breanna works downtown.
“Do you expect her to admit she did it even if it’s her?” he asks.
“We don’t need her to. We know what shoes Poetic Kicks is wearing. That’s proof enough,” Tori says.
“Then what?”
He’s asking Tori but I answer. “Then I twist her fucking head off.”
Tori cracks up and flashes a smile at me. We’re buzzed and hyped up now.
Paul looks back at me after we all get out of the car. “Getting yourself arrested will only make things worse.”
He’s not wrong. “I know. I’m not going to do anything stupid.” That remains to be seen. Punching her in her mouth will be a decision that might be made in the moment. She may not even be working tonight.
It’s late and the restaurant is five minutes from closing time. When we enter, a man wearing a manager tag calls out from behind a drink station. “The kitchen is closed, folks, sorry!”
“We’re looking for Breanna. Is she working tonight?” I ask, trying to sound casual.
He turns and bellows toward the kitchen. “Breanna! You got some friends here!” He nods at us. “You can wait in the dining room.”
“Thank you.”
As soon as we enter the empty dining room, Breanna enters through a different door. We aren’t who she expected to see and the smile on her face drops. It isn’t her smile that’s of interest, however. It’s the designer heels on her feet. Not to mention her hair that’s pulled into two pigtails.
“Nice shoes, you fucking bitch,” Tori says. Her tone of voice shows she didn’t really believe Breanna was the one who did this until now.
Confusion creases Breanna’s brow. “What are you doing here?”
