Like a Sister(45)

She kept on like that. Name-dropping celebs. After a minute, I took out my phone too and opened the camera function, stepping back so I could get everything. The bed. The hospital gown. The bracelet. The only thing I didn’t catch was the bandage on her left hand. “Ugh,” she said. “Some troll said he hoped I’d died.”

Her face contorted. Desiree hated trolls more than she hated gluten. The moment was perfect. My finger pressed hard on the HOME button, capturing as much as I could until she finally smiled. “Blocked!”

I went with burst mode, selected the photo, hit Settings, and scrolled through my handiwork. There were seven total, each worse than the last. I went with number five. Desiree had never been one for candids, blaming her resting bitch face. I looked them over. Even with the Fenty and the NARS, she was not camera ready. I texted the shot to her. Call it speaking her native tongue.

It took a few seconds to make its way across the room. I waited. She was still mentioning celebs like she was hosting an award show. “Selena DMed. Says we need to do lunch as soon as I’m out the hospital.”

She paused. My photo must’ve arrived. She finally looked up. Finally looked at me. It wasn’t a staring contest, but she still looked away first, just like when we were kids. “Do I really look that bad?” she said.

I opened my mouth, glad I’d gotten through, ready to reassure her I’d help her as long as she wanted to help herself. That we could get through this together. That this was just a bump in the road. But she continued.

“I wasn’t ready. Can you take another? Maybe while I’m still looking away. I’ll post it. Tag E! This could be my season-two storyline.”

My anger grew with each declaration. I yanked my bag off the bed. “I’m not going to sit around waiting for the next call from some stranger. I’m not going to rush to the hospital ever again to see you give more of a shit about your Instagram than your own life. I’m not going to let you lie about how bad your problem is. You could’ve killed yourself tonight. You could’ve hurt someone else. Because you—not anyone else—hit a fucking pole. And guess what? You’re probably going to jail for it.”

I stared her down until she looked at me. “I can’t do this anymore,” I said at last.

“Then don’t.” Desiree went back to her phone, made a point of ignoring me.

“Everything all right?”

I turned, found Aunt E standing at the curtain. “I’m going home,” I said.

By the time I got out of the building, I’d blocked Desiree on everything. Phone and email. I’ll show her—that was all I could think.

But as it turned out, I’d only showed myself.





INSTAGRAM LIVE JANUARY 16, 2018,

5:00 a.m. Eastern @TheDesireePierce212




A snowy New York sidewalk. Desiree Pierce stares straight at the camera, ignoring people streaming out of the club behind her. She’s solemn as she addresses the camera. “Someone saved my life today. Want to meet them?”

Erin Ambrose crowds into the frame so they’re cheek to cheek, their equally glassy eyes a few inches apart.

“This is Erin…” Desiree trails off, unsure of what comes next.

Erin speaks up. “Ambrose. Erin Nicole Ambrose.”

“Pretty!” Desiree says, then remembers she is supposed to be stoic. “This is Erin Nicole Ambrose and she is my hero. Let me explain. I was expecting a really important delivery of cookies.”

Erin chimes in. “I love cookies. I literally cannot function without them.”

“Exactly. I usually keep enough around, but I was running low. And my friend—Alfie—was supposed to drop them off. At midnight. And midnight comes—”

Erin interrupts. “No Alfie.”

“One a.m.”

“No Alfie!”

“Two a.m.”

They say it together. “No Alfie!”

They look at each other. Giggle. Then again remember this is supposed to be serious. Desiree turns back to the camera. “I call him. No answer. I keep calling because now I really want that cookie. And guess what? His car broke down. He wanted me to pick them up. But I’d been drinking, and I don’t drink and drive. I really thought I’d have no cookies. I’m all sad. And then this one comes up to me and is all ‘Why are you so sad?’”

Erin jumps in. “She explained to me what happened. And I felt so bad.”

“But today turned out to be my lucky day because Erin had cookies.”

“I was happy to share.”

“And we ate cookies and danced our asses off and now we’re going to eat.”

“I’m starv—” Erin stops abruptly. When she speaks, she’s panicked. “My purse. I left it in the club.”

Desiree’s eyes widen. “Crap. I remember seeing it in the bathroom. I’m sure we can get back in if we just explain.” She looks at the camera. “Love you all. Talk later.”





Fourteen



Get your skinny butt on up. It ain’t even five o’clock.”

Past Me should have changed the locks as soon as I moved into Gram’s house so Aunt E couldn’t just let herself into my apartment. As it was, she found Present Me in bed on my laptop. I’d been trying to hack into Desiree’s Instagram since I’d gotten back from the hotel. The username wasn’t the problem. The password was. I’d tried my birthday. Her birthday. Gram’s birthday, which I had tatted on my inner right wrist. Mel’s birthday, which I knew only because The Shade Room did a yearly post. Even Veronika’s birthday, which I’d searched for online, noting that her age was off by about two years. All were Not It. Lisbeth Salander I was not.