The Comeback(62)

“And right now? Are you still together? And I’m talking physically as opposed to spiritually,” she stresses, smiling blandly at me.

“Dylan is my best friend,” I say carefully. “And he supports every step I’m taking to rediscover who I am, and what brings me peace.”

I check my watch and realize the interview should have been over twenty minutes ago. I feel vaguely irritated that nobody told me, and I stand up to stretch.

“Have you got what you need?” I ask brightly.

Camila shrugs and stands up too. She’s probably terrified that I’m going to tell her more about my past lives. I silently thank Margot for that one.

“For now, Grace. Like I said, I’m planning on turning this around quickly, but I’ll be in touch if I need you to clarify anything.”

I kiss Camila and the photographer on each cheek and lead them to the front door. At the last minute Camila turns back and hits record again on her device. She holds it out between us, and I stare down at it. Emilia is standing protectively next to me.

“One thing I forgot to ask. Have you got anything to say about Able’s influence on your life? What it’s like being known as his ‘muse’?”

I freeze and it takes everything in my power not to open the door and push her through it. I think of all the things I could say that would be a lie, and I hate Camila for being so casual with the secret that has forced its way so violently into my sense of self.

I paste a rigid smile on my face.

“What can I say about Able? He made me who I am today.”

Camila’s eyes burn into mine for a second before she nods once. As Camila and the photographer finally turn to leave, Emilia asks Camila to send her a copy of the candid shot of the two of us on the sofa. She wants to frame it and put it on her wall.





CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE





I sit on Emilia’s bed with a glass of iced tea and watch her pack for her trip. I have made her late and she is stressed, although she’s trying not to let me see it. I have also been in a strange mood since Camila left, as if there were two versions of my life dangling in front of me for a moment, and somehow I chose wrong all over again. I look at Emilia and wonder if, in the long run, I’m going to end up hurting her more than I am Able.

“Are you okay, darling?” Emilia asks at one point.

“I’m fine,” I say, nodding, but I must not be convincing enough because Emilia pauses, clutching a change of clothes for after the flight in her hand, including a modest black silk bra. The intimacy of it all, that I now know what Able will be touching, unclasping, later that night, makes me flinch.

Emilia notices my discomfort and sits down next to me on the bed.

“I’m sorry. I should have asked if you were okay earlier. Today was a big deal, wasn’t it? It was the first time you’ve spoken publicly about your . . . sobriety. I know we’ve never spoken about it before.”

I nod slowly.

“You’re doing so beautifully, Grace. I want you to know that I see you.”

I want to ask Emilia why people are always lying to me like this, what purpose it serves when they make special concessions for me. Not having a drink in my hand or an opioid in my blood isn’t doing beautifully, it’s just doing what other people do every day without ever having to think about it.

Emilia puts her arm around my shoulders, and we sit together like that for a while, my body eventually softening into hers. And then, with a clarity that makes my chest feel tight, I realize why I don’t want Emilia to go to Salt Lake City. I don’t want her to go because Able doesn’t deserve her. He doesn’t deserve to feel safe or loved, to be told that everything will be okay whatever happens. I want Emilia to stay here with me instead, and I want her to choose me over Able, time and time again, until he feels as alone as I do.

“I guess it feels like there are just more people to let down this way,” I say after a moment, an idea slowly unfurling in my mind.

“You won’t let anybody down,” Emilia says firmly. “Remember that you aren’t accountable to anyone except for yourself. You need to keep your head down and focus on your own recovery. Fuck everyone else.”

“Can I be honest with you, Emilia?” I ask, and my whole body is trembling now. Emilia reaches over and takes my hand.

“Of course.”

“I’ve never wanted a drink more than earlier, when I was saying those words out loud.”

Emilia makes an anguished sound as she turns toward me.

“Oh, darling, I’m so sorry to hear that. I wish I could stay and look after you.”

I shrug, waving my hand at her, realizing as I do that it’s the exact way that she does it.

“I’ll be okay. I’ve been through worse than this.”

“Is there someone we can call? Do you still have a sponsor?” Emilia murmurs.

I shake my head, and then I feel a rush of disappointment as Emilia stands up anyway, dropping the clothes from her hand into her overnight bag and zipping it up.

“Well, you know both Able and I will be home tomorrow night if you need us,” she says gently.

“I’ll be fine,” I say, forcing a smile. Emilia is watching me now with a sad look on her face, and I can see that she’s teetering on the edge of making the right decision; she just needs a little nudge.