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Instead, my notifications are lit up like a Christmas tree. There are texts, emails, and Facebook messages from people I haven’t seen or spoken to in years.
Confused, I scroll through them until I land on one from Theo. “Did you know?”
Know what?
Then I find a text from Beth. “Tatiana?! You’re dating Tatiana? She has an EGOT!”
Tatiana? What is she talking about?
I scroll through a few more messages and see a picture of Annie singing karaoke at Mercury Slice. Right next to her face is a picture of Tatiana, the superstar pop princess.
They look nothing alike. Annie’s hair is short and blonde; Tatiana’s is long and red. Annie has freckles; Tatiana doesn’t. Annie has pale eyelashes; Tatiana’s are a thick, black fringe.
But the blue eyes staring at me from both photos are the same.
Annie’s eyes.
Beside me, Annie rolls over, stretching her arms over her head. “Morning,” she says sleepily, looking at me. Her eyes are squinty with the remnants of sleep, but they’re the same eyes that stare up from my phone.
Annie is Tatiana?I shake my head, too stunned to piece together a sentence. Finally, I blurt, “What the fuck is an EGOT?”
“An Emmy, a Grammy, an Oscar, and a Tony.” Her eyes widen, and she sits up straight. “Why do you want to know what an EGOT is?”
“You’ve won all of those?” I ask incredulously.
The color drains from her face. “Hamlet…”
I hold up my phone so she can see the side-by-side videos on the screen. “That’s you? You’re Tatiana?”
She runs a hand through her blonde hair. “I was afraid this was going to happen. Someone must have recognized me at the pizza parlor.”
I leap out of bed, suddenly furious. “What the fuck was this? Why are you here? You’re a fucking superstar! Why are you in my bed pretending to be a songwriter?”
“I was going to tell you—"
“Is this a Candid Camera situation? Are you playing me?”
“No…”
“What’s with the old guitar? Old Susannah? Did it ever even belong to your grandfather.”
Tears spring to her eyes. “Of course!”
“Tatiana,” I say again, shaking my head. “One name. Like fucking Madonna, or Cher, or Adele.”
She points to the phone screen. “That’s Tatiana. I’m Annie. Just Annie.”
“If you were just Annie, my phone wouldn’t be blowing up right now.”
She deflates. “I’m both. But Tatiana is theperformer, Hamlet. Annie is the real me. You know therealme.”
“I don’t know you at all.”
Tears stream down her face. “You said you’d be there for me when I’m a superstar. That you’d travel the world with me. What’s changed?”
I take a deep breath and attempt to harden my heart. Even now, the sight of her tears is ripping me apart. But she’s a liar. And she played me. “I’m going to take a shower. Please be gone when I come out,Tatiana.”
“What’s changed?” she demands again.
