Page 6 of In What World
I grab one of the forty-eight mangled bran muffins I baked last night to distract myself and slip into my office for a series of meetings I committed to before everything became too much at once.
When I check on Erik a while later, he’s right where I left him at the dining table, shoulders hunched, iced coffee sweating onto one of my coasters, both hands continuing to grip my phone for dear life.
“Anything good happening on there?” I ask. “By the way, do you want a muffin?”
He flicks his gaze to the forty-seven Frankenstein creations still crowding my kitchen counter, then immediately returns to looking at my phone screen. “No thank you,” he says primly. “Lots of old friends have been dusting off your number, just like you said. There were some interesting brandrequests and things like that in your DMs. I’ve forwarded them all to your publicist for review. You had a few messages that seemed real enough to reply to. I looked back through your old texts and did my best to mimic your style. I’ve sent a lot of kissy-face emojis and red hearts. Not what I would’ve chosen, but I didn’t want to stray too far from the path. Not yet, at least.”
“Look at you! A pro already!”
“Yeah,” he says in total agreement. “Your mom was really excited to get a reply from you.”
This sends a chill down my spine, but I do my best to mask it. “Was she, now?”
“You had about ten messages from her saying how proud she was. I saw you hadn’t answered her in over a year, though, so I just sent her a few hearts. When she replied right away, I gave it a heart react. That should stop her responses for a while. I get the vibe that’s what you’d want.”
“Don’t worry, her interest in me will pass,” I tell him. “It always does.”
“Anyway,” he says with a shrug. “It’s fun. I like being a part of the start of your relevance.”
“Sixteen years in this business, and I’m only at thestart?” I question, too amused to be offended.
“You told me in my interview not to lie to you,” he replies.
“And I meant it. So keep it up. You’re not wrong either. Last week, half of this town didn’t even remember my name.”
He looks up, serious in a way I haven’t seen from him yet, bringing a blood oath level of gravity to the moment. “That’s how fast it can change. You were wise to bring me on now. I can keep you afloat.”
Ah. Yes. There it is. The confident, unflappable wisdom of a young adult. I remember it so well, being twenty-one andbelieving I understood it all. It warms my heart to see the same in Erik. Where would I be if I wasn’t once a kid who thought she knew absolutely everything?
Probably back in Iowa.
“Oh, actually,” Erik says. “There was one email I wasn’t sure what to do with.”
“After so confidently braving the minefield that is my relationship with my mother, I find that hard to believe.”
“I know. But it was something about coming to your old high school’s spring musical in May? It seemed real, because I googled it and saw you actually went to the random school in Iowa where this email address originated from, and in your texts, you’d been talking to someone named Dallas, who this Marlowe person mentions by name. It felt a little too specific to be fake, but I wasn’t sure.”
I pluck my phone out of his hands. “Let me see.”
“I made a tab called ‘For Cilla’s Review,’ ” Erik says. “You can find it there.”
Hello Cilla,
It’s Marlowe Jenkins. I got your email address from Dallas.
I’m reaching out to inquire about whether or not you actually intend to come toSpring Awakeningin May. It’s best for me to know the answer now, so I can give the students ample time to process and our school security the ability to appropriately prepare.
Thank you,
Marlowe Jenkins
Beneath the stiff formality of the email, I can hear the battery acid coating her every word. Give the students ample time toprocess. The school security the ability toprepare. Process and prepare. I bet those two words get her wet.
“I’ll do this one,” I tell Erik.
Well hello there Marlowe Jenkins!
You don’t need to call me Cilla. We’ve known each other way too long for that.
