“I think I need to tell you a little more about Frankie,” I begin, resisting the urge to grab her hand again.

  Colette pulls her legs up on the mattress, so she’s cross-legged as she turns her body toward me. “Only what you feel comfortable talking about.”

  I smile as I look into her eyes, then I tell her everything I can.

  I tell her how Frankie was on the verge of committing suicide after what happened. How my sister and I both deleted our social media accounts, and how I used the life insurance money I got from my mother’s death, and the venture capital I got for TIPS, to buy my condo. We couldn’t stand the thought of living in the childhood home where our mom’s life was so brutally stolen.

  I don’t tell her my legal name, because I can’t risk her googling it and finding out this all happened the day we met. I don’t mention how, a few months before we met, my mom kicked my stepdad out, which is why I switched to a day-shift at the bar. I needed to be home at night to protect my mom after my stepdad got off work.

  I don’t tell her it was Frankie who was texting me while Colette and I spent our first day together. Or how it was my sister who assured me I could spend the night with Colette. Or that it was a text from Frankie, saying my stepdad had just shown up, that forced me to leave in the middle of the night.

  And I definitely don’t tell her how I had to wait outside Colette’s house for eleven minutes for my Uber to show up. How I arrived at the house where my mother was killed nine minutes after the shots were fired. I don’t mention how Frankie blamed herself for encouraging me not to come home.

  I hope I never have to tell Colette how many times I’ve gone back and forth between blaming myself and blaming everyone else—including, in my darkest moments, her.

  I do tell her how Frankie has ADHD, and how she’s been having problems with one of her professors not adhering to her 504 plan.

  “What’s that?” Colette asks with genuine interest as she adjusts her position to get more comfortable.

  “It’s a document that spells out the special accommodations she needs,” I reply, resisting my desperate urge to touch her. “But this professor is a little old-school. And, honestly, he’s had trouble with posting racist tweets in the past, so it’s not a huge surprise. Anyway, he’s been a dick about her needing extra time for tests and stuff. With everything else Frankie’s dealing with, the whole thing sent her into an emotional tailspin a couple weeks ago. Now, Stanford has opened an investigation into whether she’s the one who vandalized his office.”

  Colette covers her mouth, but I can tell she’s smiling by the way her eyes crinkle at the edges.

  “I’m sorry,” she says with a look of remorse. “I know I shouldn’t be laughing, but that’s kind of funny.”

  “Not gonna lie. The vandalism part was pretty damn funny. But she refuses to admit it was her.”

  “What happened?”

  I chuckle as I think of the picture Frankie’s advisor sent me. “Someone printed an enormous poster and taped it to her professor’s office door. It was a photoshopped picture of him smiling and standing with his boot on a woman’s neck… while wearing a Nazi uniform.”

  Her eyes widen as she whispers, “Holy shit.”

  “Yeah, I really hope it wasn’t her or they don’t find any proof it was. It wouldn’t be her finest moment, but that’s Frankie. And that’s the sort of stuff I’ve been dealing with ever since…”

  I trail off, allowing my mother’s death to linger between us almost like an afterthought instead of the solid brick wall it actually is.

  Colette lets out a soft sigh. “I remember my first semester at U-Dub. I can’t imagine dealing with the scariness of being on your own on top of everything else she’s going through.”

  “Yeah, she’s in the thick of it, that’s for sure.”

  She’s quiet for a while, then her lips curve into a careful smile. “I’ll go with you to California for Thanksgiving.”

  My eyes are fixed on hers. “Really?”

  She nods as her smile widens. I take her chin between my thumb and forefinger as I lean forward to place a soft kiss on her gorgeous mouth.

  “Thank you,” I murmur against her lips.

  Her eyes are glued to my mouth as she whispers, “You’re welcome.”

  “I should get going,” I say, releasing her chin. “But before I go, I need to ask you something.”

  Her eyebrows perk up with curiosity. “Ask away.”

  I fix her with a serious expression. “Has your neighbor been bothering you?”

  She looks down at her hands as she considers her answer. “Nope. The complaint with the management office is still pending, so he’s been leaving me alone.”

  “It’s still pending? But it’s been, what, a month and a half?”

  She shrugs as she looks up to meet my gaze. “I don’t think they’re in any rush. And I’m not worried about it. I swear. I’m fine.”

  I try not to let it show on my face how I don’t believe a word of this. I hardly have any right to judge her for withholding the truth.

  “Look, I trust you to know if the situation becomes more serious,” I say, reaching up to brush a damp piece of hair away from her soft skin. “But I want you to promise you’ll tell me when that happens, okay?”

  “I will.”

  “You promise?”

  She hesitates for a moment, then lets out a soft sigh. “I promise.”

  Despite how desperately I want to be inside her, I leave her with only a parting kiss. I need her to know that even if a man finds her attractive, he can still resist touching her. I want her to know she’s more than just an object to be desired.

  She’s a woman. The most wondrous and vulnerable creature in existence. And she loves me. It’s my duty to protect her body and heart from anyone who may harm them, including me.

  15

  Normal

  I’ve never flown first class. In fact, I’ve only been on an airplane once in my life, and that was over ten years ago, and I had Dahlia, Elle, and my parents with me then. Our trip to Disneyland when I was twelve was my parents’ idea, to celebrate Elle’s first birthday in remission. Even at such a young age, I understood the irony in the way the amusement park rides made her vomit almost as much as the chemo.

  Sometimes, the cure is as bad as the sickness.

  As Jake and I settle into our seats in the second row, and the rest of the passengers continue the boarding process, the flight attendant takes our drink orders. Jake watches me push my well-worn backpack under the seat in front of me.

  “Thank you for coming with me.”

  I smile as I nudge the bag with my foot to make certain it’s not blocking the aisle.

  “I’m happy to spend the day with you and your sister. You don’t have to thank me,” I say, turning slightly in the wide leather seat to face him. “Unless you want to thank me in the lavatory.”

  He smiles as he shakes his head in dismay.

  “I’m serious,” he says, glancing toward my chest. “I’m trying to keep Frankie’s life as normal as possible right now. Not that I know what the hell normal is.”

  “You don’t have to explain why you wanted me to come with you,” I say, lacing my fingers through his hand and giving it a light squeeze. “I won’t lie. I’m nervous as fuck. But it’s only a couple of days, and, anyway, I should be the one thanking you.”

  Jake looks confused as he accepts a club soda from the flight attendant. “For what?”

  I take my glass of orange juice and draw in a deep breath as I work up the courage to confess. “I know it sounds bad, but… you rescued me from my first Thanksgiving without Elle.”

  He squeezes my hand now as he leans over and places a soft kiss on my temple. “Believe me, I understand. It would be nice to pretend the holidays no longer exist.”

  Like your parents and my sister?

  He doesn’t speak this sentiment aloud, but I’m certain we’re both thinking the same thing.

  It reminds me of a video I saw recently. The TikTok algorithm knows me scarily well. I realized just how well when they fed me a video by a grief therapist.

  She said death doesn’t just take our loved ones. It also takes the love and joy out of every space they occupied in our lives. Being impulsive in our attempts to fill those gaps is often what gets us into trouble.

  After I watched that video, I lay awake for hours thinking of all the holes Elle left behind: our inside jokes; our fighting over the upstairs shower; repeating the same lines while watching movies; the non-verbal communication no one else understood. It’s isolating to know others don’t notice the holes.

  It makes me want to scream in the middle of everyday, mundane conversations. Can’t you see? I’m as thin as paper and disintegrating right before your eyes. And you want to talk to me about the weather?

  Jake lets out a soft sigh. “So, are your parents skipping Thanksgiving this year?”

  I blink a few times to clear away the haze of my depressing thoughts. “Actually, I convinced them to celebrate it on Saturday instead of Thursday, so Dahlia and Anissa can join us.”

  I told my parents this was because I had “offered” to spend Thanksgiving with my “friend” Jake. I didn’t tell them I seized on the invitation to be with Jake today, so I wouldn’t have to face them alone. My dad’s dismal birthday dinner a couple months ago filled my depressing-family-gathering quota for a while.

  It took some verbal gymnastics to get my mom to stop asking if my “friend” Jake is my boyfriend. I told her we’re just friends. My body and heart know we’re so much more, but my brain still doesn’t know what Jake and I are to each other.

  I know he loves me, but God forbid I should ever call us lovers again. I may never live that one down with Anissa and Dahlia. But if we’re not boyfriend and girlfriend, and we’re not friends or lovers, what are we?

  The past month with Jake has been more incredible than I could have expected. With the tampon drama behind us, I gladly—and somewhat sheepishly—accepted a new transmitter for my car, so I could easily come and go from Jake’s condo. And because of my dollhouse-size bed, we’ve been spending a few nights a week at his place. But I still don’t know where this is going.

  If letting Jake pamper me and make me laugh until my sides ache is part of this beautiful journey, what’s the destination? Will he eventually tell me all the secrets of his ravaged heart? Or will Jake’s pain be the one part of him I’ll never have? Would I be okay with that?

  These thoughts plague my mind over the course of our two-and-a-half-hour plane ride, all while I pretend to read a steamy romance novel Anissa suggested. From what I’ve read so far, I understand the heroine has been kidnapped by a dark stranger with “striking blue orbs” that seize her. I can’t help but wonder if it hurts being seized by an orb.

  I’ll read the book when I get back from California, and I can settle in with a beer and my battery-operated Jake. Hmm… Maybe he is my boyfriend if I’ve named my vibrator after him.

  This is so stupid. Why do I need to hear him say the word “boyfriend” for it to be official? I’m a big girl. I can label him whatever the fuck I want.

  Next time I talk to my mom about Jake, I’ll call him my man-slave. Or whatever the French equivalent is. I’ll have to look it up.

  “Hey,” Jake says, nudging my elbow with his.

  I glance up from the page I’ve been rereading for God knows how long. “Yeah?”

  “Do you mind if I introduce you to my sister as my girlfriend?”

  I press my lips together to suppress a laugh.

  “Too much?” he asks, looking somewhat hesitant.

  I shake my head as I try to temper my uncontrollable grin. “No. Not at all. I just think it’s funny that I was thinking about the same thing.”

  “Is that why you’ve been staring at the same page for the last hour?”

  I roll my eyes. “It’s hard to concentrate when I’m around you.”

  “Oh, you’re blaming it on me?” he says, leaning over to glance at my phone screen. “I’m sorry I kept you from concentrating on… Her Filthy Debt.”

  I place my phone screen-side-down on my lap. “You know, not everyone is as fortunate as you. Some people have to do filthy things to pay their debts. You shouldn’t make light of it.”

  His mouth curves into a sultry smile as his hand lands on my leg. “Sounds serious. Maybe you should enlighten me by reading this book to me later.”

  Blood rushes to my core as he gives my thigh a light squeeze. I swallow hard as my breathing quickens.

  “Okay, but only if you do one thing for me.”

  His gaze lands on my lips. “What do you want, baby?”

  I smile as I bask in the lust radiating off of him. “Can you FaceTime Gary with me when we get off the plane?”

  He laughs as he gives my leg another squeeze before letting go. “Isn’t Gary staying with your friend Dahlia?”

  My stomach clenches as I wonder how this is going to play out. I haven’t asked Jake to meet Dahlia or Anissa yet. But now that we’ve officially established our relationship status, I’m dying for Dahlia to meet him.

  Also, I’m itching to see Gary. It’s been seven hours since I dropped him off at Dahlia’s apartment this morning.

  “Is that okay?” I ask tentatively.

  His smile recedes as he sits up straight in his seat and faces forward. “Yeah, of course.”

  “Are you sure? You don’t have to do it if you’re not comfortable.”

  He takes a deep breath and turns to me again. “Baby, I’m fine. It’s just… sort of a big deal meeting your friends for the first time. I’m allowed to be a little nervous, right?”

  I let his words sink in before I respond. “Of course. I… If we’re being totally honest here, I should probably tell you why I’m nervous about meeting your sister.”

  His eyes lock on mine. “Why are you nervous?”

  I draw in a long breath and let it out slowly. “Because I don’t know what happened to her. I’m… I’m afraid I’ll accidentally say something offensive.”

  His gaze falls to my chest, and his eyes glaze over as he contemplates my words. The muscle in his jaw tightens as his mind drifts to places unknown. Then he blinks a few times and his body seems to relax.

  “You’ll be fine,” he assures me as his eyes meet mine again. “Frankie isn’t easily offended. And I know she’s gonna love you. You have nothing to be nervous about. Okay?”

  I smile with relief as I release the breath I was holding. “Okay.”

  He lays a tender kiss on my forehead, and I go back to ruminating as he goes back to whatever he’s doing on his phone.

  I don’t tell Jake, but there’s another reason I’m nervous about meeting Frankie.

  She’s almost the same age as Elle. And despite the hardships Frankie has faced, she still got to go to college, unlike my sister.

  Unlike me.

  When Frankie complains about her professors, will she see the same envy in my eyes that I saw in Elle’s every time I whined about sharing a triple-room dorm at UW?

  I don’t tell Jake this because I know it would only worry him if he knew I felt this way. He wouldn’t ask me to spend the holiday with him unless he really needed me. And I want to be there for him today, the way he’s always there for me.

  16

  Catastrophizing

  We disembark the plane and Colette insists on carrying her own backpack as we walk through Terminal 2 toward the exit. I love her independent streak. With my fingers laced through hers, I feel like we can take on the world. But the moment I remember what I promised to do for her—FaceTime Gary and her friend—my confidence ebbs.

  As we pass the restaurants and duty-free shops, I silently remind myself that most of the articles related to my mom’s death didn’t feature any images of me. I never did interviews with journalists. It’s unlikely any of Colette’s friends or family will ever recognize me.

  It’s unlikely but not impossible.

  Still, a FaceTime call with one of her friends is the least I can do to thank Colette for coming with me today. And the quality of FaceTime video is so shitty. Even if her friend is familiar with my mom’s case, it’s not likely she’d recognize me.

  In the seven months since it happened, I purposely put on almost fifteen pounds of muscle. I also changed my hairstyle, clothing, and facial hair. I’m not the same person I was back then.

  “You want to call Gary before we get outside?” I ask as we approach the exit of Terminal 2.

  Colette nods, and the messy bun on top of her head bounces as she reaches into the pocket of her white hoodie to retrieve her phone.

  “Good idea,” she says, following me as I lead her toward a somewhat quieter corner of the bustling terminal.

  I scratch the scruff on my jaw and tilt my head. “How do I look? Do I need to touch up my makeup?”

  She smiles as she peels her gaze away from her phone and looks up at me. “You could use a touch more rouge on those cheekbones.”

  “I knew I shouldn’t have left my rouge at home.”

  She shakes her head as she positions herself at my side and holds up her phone so we’re both centered on the screen.

  “Wow. How do you look that good with the front-facing camera?” she says as she presses the call button. “I look like I have a hot-dog nose.”

  “You look hot as fuck. Never doubt that,” I say as the ringing stops and our image is replaced by a girl with stick-straight, platinum-blonde hair and glittering pink lips.

  Her light-blue eyes widen when she sees me. “Uh… Hello?”

  Colette smiles at her dumbfounded expression.

  “Dahlia, this is—” She hesitates for a moment as she glances up at me. “This is my boyfriend, Jake. Jake, this is Dahlia.”

  Dahlia’s shocked expression changes to incredulity. “Uh, I’m not Dahlia. I’m your best friend. Get it right.”

  The video gets shaky as Dahlia seems to stand up and start walking.