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She did, however, encourage me to go to therapy.
Case in point part two: when I was in middle school, Dad wanted to send me to some fancy all-boys’ boarding school in Virginia. I was a grumpy introvert even then. The idea of being away from home for months at a time, surrounded by strangers, terrified me.
Mom understood. Dad, obviously, did not. So Mom signed me up for a week-long summer camp at a local private school—lacrosse, I think—which I absolutely loved. I came home every night and raved about the coaches, the facilities. The other kids.
Next thing I know, Dad agreed to enroll me in that school instead.
Mom always played the long game, and she usually won.
I hope she wins this time too.
@WSBathroom 7/10
All right, Wall Street Bathroom lurkers. It’s time to open those fat wallets of yours to support a good cause.
@WSBathroom 7/10
Our Erotic Einstein and his Muffin Girl lady love have founded a charity honoring his late sister, Lizzie. Lizzie’s Lovefest raises money to provide mental health services to children and young adults. How rad is that? #Donatenow
@WSBathroom 7/10
They are hosting their first fundraiser on August 17 at Kate’s Roller Rink in Concord, North Carolina. Donate at the link below!
@WSBathroom 7/10
We hear a certain bond trader with connections to one of Charlotte’s most famous (and wealthy) families is a major donor. He will join Margaux Phillips on Lovefest’s board of directors.
Chapter Thirty-Two
BROOKS
The bass drops.
My breastbone vibrates. So does the wooden rink beneath my skates.
Judging by the screams of every girl and woman around me, you’d think N*SYNC was actually in the room.
I wince. Beside me, Greer laughs. I shouldn’t be surprised. This is our playlist. The one we put together for Lizzie’s Lovefest.
“I thought Justin Timberlake was cancelled,” I shout.
She shrugs. “Try not to dance to this song. I dare you.”
Lizzie loved N*SYNC. I remember this song blaring from the big ass boom box she had on top of her desk in her bedroom. Dad would shout at her to turn it down.
She’d dance instead, banging her feet on the floor so he could hear her from downstairs.
So I dance too. I hold Greer’s hand a little tighter and weave through the skaters around us, doing a Jersey-Shore-style fist pump in time to the beat. Greer throws up her arm too. The hem of her cropped shirt lifts, revealing an enticing slice of skin. Her bellybutton.
I try my best to tamp down the flare of lust that erupts between my legs.
We fuck all the time.
All the time. Morning, noon, and night.
We made love less than two hours ago, right before we left for Kate’s. But I want her again.
I always want her again.
The Lovefest began an hour ago, and already Kate’s is packed. We received over two hundred RSVPs, but I never imagined this many people would actually show up. Most of the trading floor is here, along with their families. Kids crowd the video games. Parents crowd the bar. The rink is filled with people of all ages.
Hannah is passing out glow-in-the-dark necklaces, while Dustin floats through the crowd with a tray of Greer’s chocolate covered pretzels. The ones without drugs (she makes those at home to avoid any accidental mix-ups; I keep a box of the “special” ones in my bedside table).
Mom and Dad, however, still haven’t arrived. I know I’m being an idiot to hold a torch for them. They never RSVP’d. But there’s still this niggling voice inside me that says they wouldn’t miss an event for Lizzie. Even if Dad does disapprove of the choices I’m making.
Whatever. It’s out of my hands now. Might as well celebrate the hit Greer and I made happen.
I’m decked out in at least a dozen necklaces and bracelets. So is Greer. But she looks less like a light-up Frankenstein (me) and more like a fucking adorable hippie. Her bangs flutter in the breeze created by our momentum. Her cheeks are pink. She knows every word to this song. So does Nora, who waves to us from her perch on one of the carpeted benches just off the rink, her newborn—a girl named Lily—in her arms.
Theo comes up behind her. Hands her a water bottle before kissing her cheek and taking the baby out of her arms.
Before Greer, I would look away. Good for them, I’d say to myself. I wouldn’t need to think the rest. That I couldn’t pair off. That I wasn’t capable of making someone happy. Of keeping them safe.
I turn my head and see Greer throwing her head back and belting out the chorus. She looks at me and her entire being smiles. Eyes, mouth.
I fucking did this.
I made her happy.
I’m keeping her safe.
And together we’re honoring my sister in a way I never dared to dream I’d be able to.
Out loud.
In public.
And I’m still standing.
