Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Partying in your thirties was no joke. In my mid-twenties, I could go out on a weeknight and drink to the point of blacking out, then be ready to go for a 9 A.M. conference call. Now? My thirty-two-year-old tongue was coated in sandpaper, my head pounded so hard my brain throbbed, and my eyes could barely open because all the moisture from my tear ducts had been redirected to other critical parts of my body so they could function.

I grabbed a bottle of water on my nightstand and chugged the entire thing.

I’d had one fewer drink than Mia because after three consecutive shots, I was on the brink of going to a bad, vomitous place. But she was always one to go for broke, even if it meant suffering the dire consequences a few hours later.

Sliding my feet into fuzzy slippers, I shuffled to the kitchen and brought back two large glasses of water and a bottle of Tylenol.

It took a while for Mia to sit up. “Mental note . . . cake and vodka shots should be consumed in moderation.” She took two pills and chased them with desperate gulps of water. “You know, it’s a shame we can’t talk about Solv on social media. If you get the internship, which I hope you will, we’ll need to figure out how to share the news.”

Her phone dinged on the dresser. She moaned and glared at it.

It dinged again.

And again.

Snatching Mia’s iPhone, I tossed it into her lap. “Can you at least turn down the volume? My brain can’t take the noise right now. Especially loud ones that ring and echo in your head. I have to head to class now while you enjoy your restorative beauty sleep.”

After a quick wardrobe change and a few pats of powder, I grabbed my backpack and ran out the door. The Global Audience and Influencer Culture class topic of the day was reputation management and cancel culture, and I couldn’t wait to go. It would be in full attendance, so I got there early to get a good seat, right in the front row.

The class began promptly, and as the professor began the lecture, the TA unstacked some chairs and placed three of them in the front, facing the audience.

The next minute unfolded in dizzying slow motion, both from the shock of seeing Amanda, and from the remaining alcohol in my bloodstream pulsing hard and recirculating throughout my body. There was nowhere to hide because of my prominent front-row position, and I couldn’t escape easily because I was smack in the center.

Amanda’s eyes fixed on me, a slight head tilt and furrowing brow suggesting vague recollection. But then, bam! It clicked.

All I could do was offer a shrug. Playing it cool (or at least faking it cool) seemed to be the way to go, because flailing and running out of the room screaming wasn’t striking me as the right approach.

She managed to stay poised as she spoke about author branding and crisis management, offering the class examples from my own publisher that were nowhere near the level of complexity I was currently navigating. As she expressed how important it was to have transparency and honesty between authors and publishers, I sank low in my chair. Amanda wasn’t always looking in my direction, but regardless, those words packed punches. It was like she was talking only to me.

As the professor announced a five-minute intermission, Amanda marched over before I could make a move.

She was tiny, but her overall meticulousness and law-abiding overzealousness scared the living shit out of me. “This is an unexpected place to meet you for the first time in person,” she remarked. “Is there a reason that you’re here and not . . . writing a book?”

So I tried the transparency approach she had just talked about and came clean, speaking at the speed of an auctioneer, explaining how my life had spiraled, and how I was trying to fix it. That I had an internship almost lined up. And I was only weeks away from getting my degree again. I ended with begging her not to tell anyone.

Offering Amanda my best pleading puppy-dog look, she eventually unscrunched her shoulders. “My reputation is on the line too now. Send me what pages you have so far and what you’re proposing to do, and I can talk to Katherine. Just, please, don’t make things any worse.”

She shook her head and offered me the slightest of smiles. Not once did Amanda mention canceling my contract. Or giving back my advance payment. None of the things I’d feared would happen . . . at least not yet.

Letting out a long sigh, I placed clasped hands against my chest. “I promise, I will fix this. And thank you.”

I took my seat again as Amanda walked out with the other guest speaker. For now, my secret was safe.

* * *

I WALKED INTO my bedroom, surprised to find Mia on the bed, with two laptops, a phone, and a tablet placed around her in a semi-circle. Her cell kept making all sorts of buzzing, vibrating, and pinging sounds while she clicked around on the screen.

She shook her head. “No, it’s not that. Although, it might be that soon. God, I feel like ass.” Mia sighed and handed me her phone. “Don’t freak, this is just one media hit I received, I’m hoping it doesn’t blow up. When my head isn’t foggy, we can figure out a plan.”

I stared at the article and read.

CARLTHORPE COURIER NEWS

Carlthorpe has had its fair share of celebrity sightings over the years, due to our low profile, picturesque college town setting and our city’s generous production tax benefits. Longtime rumors have been confirmed that an esteemed nonfiction author has been attending classes at Carlthorpe. Lily Lee, a Carlthorpe alum, has been spotted in the science and engineering buildings on campus. One librarian, who asked to remain anonymous, says Lee “is here for several hours, usually by herself, on the weekend.”

We’re excited about Lee’s return to campus and can’t wait to find out what special project she’s working on to grace us with her presence. Is it a new book? Will she be teaching here? Is she consulting on curriculum? We reached out to her to request an interview but so far no reply. More to come as the story develops.

—Madison Drew, Staff Reporter

Mia took the phone from my hands. “At least they called you a celeb.”

It wasn’t surprising that my anonymous life on campus might eventually become exposed. I checked my school email and there weren’t any messages requesting an interview, but after looking through my social media accounts, I saw a DM from the Carlthorpe Courier during exam week, which I’d overlooked. Damn.

I was confident that Mia and I could quickly come up with a viable cover story to explain my campus appearance. We’d already discussed a few options but had never solidified anything official. Once I’d gotten past midterms and had been undetected among the student body for so long, I let my guard down, thinking the coast was clear. But it wasn’t. Amanda showing up to my class really shook me.

Mia nodded. “I need something to soak up the alcohol. Why did we think it was a good idea to try sparkling wine from a sixty-four-ounce can just before we went to bed?”

I shook my head. “Please don’t mention last night in any capacity. I never want to see red velvet cake again.”

She laughed as her phone buzzed three times in a row. “Jesus. How viral could that Carlthorpe Courier celebrity sighting blog post be?” She unlocked her phone and clicked a few times, then rubbed her chin. “Okay, so today just turned worse, which I didn’t think was possible.”

She nodded. “This might be harder to do than I thought. But don’t panic. If I can spin a famous fashion TikToker’s rehab and a start-up founder’s random hookup as ‘self-exploration,’ I can help you through this.”

Nausea hit me hard when I saw the photo of Ethan and me leaving Solv’s Manhattan office building. It was on SpottedinTheBigApple’s Instagram account, which was a place where exclusive society news about moderately interesting celeb types who lived in New York could be found. It worked sort of like Reddit, where news stories that received the most likes and engagement would be the stories they showcase on social media. A year ago, it would have been an honor to be featured on SpottedinTheBigApple and I would have died to have a ton of “upvotes.” But now? It was a liability. Why was I even on their radar in the first place?

The first part of the caption under the photo poked fun at me for carrying one of those old-school leather portfolios under my arm that people used in TV show legal depositions.

Okay, that was kind of funny.

Not helpful, Mia. But yes, it is a good picture.

More concerning than the photo was the rest of the caption. “Spotted: Lily Lee at Solv HQ. Is she working on a secret (!) book? Interviewing employees or . . . interviewing for a position there? We did some sleuthing and scoured the job descriptions on Solv’s website and saw an open HEAD OF STRATEGY position, which we think makes total sense given Lee’s skill set. But there’s more! We also uncovered this recent blog post from Carlthorpe Courier about Lily’s latest whereabouts on the local campus. Why is she on campus four hours away if she’s also in NYC? More news to come (make sure you like and comment to upvote!).”

The post had just gone live in the morning, and unfortunately the engagement was high. There were people speculating on whether I was writing two books: one about tech companies and one about academia. Others thought I was consulting. And, of course, the trolls were out doing their thing, less speculating, more commenting about how I was an underqualified woman taking jobs away from more qualified men. So far, no one had put two and two together to actually connect my CS class with my internship candidacy at Solv. But it was only a matter of time.

I pleaded, “Give it to me straight. In your professional opinion and as my best friend, how screwed am I?”

She put her phone down. “Professionally speaking, it’s too early to say. I’d recommend that we get ahead of this, maybe post something in the next twenty-four hours about why you’re back on campus. We should have done that earlier, and damn, that’s on me for not thinking it might come to this. The level of disclosure is up to you, but I’d recommend being as honest as possible without disclosing all the nitty-gritty details. As a friend, I can offer you a giant hug and say I have your back no matter what.” Mia wrapped her arms around my body and squeezed. “I think I fucked up, I’m so sorry.”

I swallowed hard. “All of this is not on you. It’s on me too. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in life, it’s that adults like us wing it every day. Even though we pretend to have some control over our lives and good judgment from years of life experience, things just go wrong. For me, all the time. Mistakes happen. Risks don’t pay off. And we have to somehow keep going. Sadly, this will go on forever until we die.”

She let out a weak laugh. “Well, that was insightful, and disturbingly morbid. Maybe we need Beth in here for a pep talk. Any other ideas on what we can do to make this go away? My brain is not cooperating at the moment.”

Usually I was asking her for advice, not the other way around. “Maybe I should just run away, like Maria does in The Sound of Music.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I hate to break it to you, but there are no convents to run away to within driving distance of Carlthorpe. To be honest, I don’t even know if they exist in real life at all in this country, but we have other things to worry about than googling abbey locations right now. Oh! And remember? That crazy-ass Maria came back! I would have ghosted permanently.”

My shoulders slumped. “Yeah, true. Okay, how bad is all of this, really, on a scale of one to ten? Be truthful, like you always are.” I winced, anticipating her answer.

She flinched. “Ten out of ten. You get a perfect score.”

* * *

MIA AND I recorded the final take of a short video, coming clean about my college situation, and were trying to upload it when we realized it was too late.

I was tagged in several posts at once. Each headline read like a smack across the face.

IS LILY LEE A FEMINIST OR A FRAUD? Slap!

SENIORITIS STRIKES LILY LEE AS SHE RETURNS TO CAMPUS. Whack!

HOW LILY LEE’S EDUCATION HOAX FOOLED US ALL: WHY WE SHOULD BAN HER BOOKS. Punch! Thwack!

My hands trembled as I continued doomscrolling. Each of these clickbait blog titles and social media grabby posts read like front-page newspaper headlines, shouting directly at me, pronouncing me a huge fake and a pathetic scam artist to the whole world. Every major failure in my life that left me an insecure mess came roaring back into my mind. Getting knocked out of the citywide spelling bee, ironically by the word “disappoint.” Being second or third chair in the flute section all throughout high school band, never number one. And let’s not forget my sister’s MD/PhD, compared to my college dropout status. I couldn’t get a job. Couldn’t fulfill my book contract. And now I had no life to go back to anymore. Without my reputation and status, I had nothing. What I’d thought about myself for years was exactly how others saw me too.

Fraud.

Imposter.

Fake.

Everything was fully spelled out in the world exactly as I saw it in my head, in pithy sound bites in various news outlets and social media for everyone to see.

It was Mia who broke down crying first. “I’m so, so sorry I let you down. I thought we could get ahead of it.”

Mia openly showing her feelings caused me to burst into tears soon after, and the pressure compressing my chest, plus the sense of doom lodged deep inside me, let up a little as more tears flowed. Crying was more therapeutic than I’d realized.

She took a deep breath and wiped her cheeks. “Let’s do damage control and go from there. What do we tackle first? What worries you the most?”

I sniffled and closed my eyes. “God, so many things. Everyone thinks I’m a hack without giving me a chance for a rebuttal. What if my publisher cancels my contract now? And Solv rejects me because of this? What if I’ve jeopardized my graduation again? And shit, what about my parents?” There was no hierarchy to this list. Everything was equally terrible in its own way, and all the possibilities had increased in likelihood tenfold since morning.

Mia asked, “Are you going to tell your parents?”

My shoulders slumped. “I didn’t even think about that. I have to, right?”

By guilt-trip, Mia meant that my mom and dad would scold me about how they came to the United States when they were in their twenties, fighting for survival and trying to obtain the American dream, only to have me waste time and opportunities. They would read this as my being careless, not appreciating their ultimate immigrant sacrifice, disrespecting them with each and every failure. And having a thirty-something daughter without a college degree? The ultimate disgrace.

It was as if my life had been hit by an 8.0 earthquake, and all I wanted right now was a sliver of hope, a sign that maybe things would work out. I needed something, anything, to believe in. Maybe with that I could see past the wreckage around me.

Mia added, “There are probably other people you want to tell first.”

Mia would tell Beth, so it came down to me to let the one person I didn’t want to be vulnerable around know about my media exposure.

Truthfully, I wanted to tell him, even if Mia hadn’t prodded me. I missed him. And the more time that passed, the more distant Jake and I had become.

I dialed his number. Once upon a time, Jake had promised me that he’d always pick up when I called. What a dumb thing for me to remember and hold sacred after all these years.

An unmistakable feeling of my chest tightening returned. Hello again, anxiety.

After three long rings, I heard his voice crackle through the speaker.

My lungs wouldn’t fully expand, which cut off my breathing. I hung up.

Mia whispered, “I’m so sorry.”

My phone rang before I could respond.

It was Jake.

There was agitation in his voice when I answered. “Hey, I’m walking into an important meeting, but saw you called. Sorry I missed it, the ringer was silenced and I had a feeling that I needed to check my phone when you called. Is it important? Or did you butt dial me by accident?”

It wasn’t exactly the movie montage response I wanted, but it was better than getting his voice mail. And the last thing I wanted was to sabotage whatever meeting he had already lined up. But he gave me what I needed at a time I needed him the most.

Hope.

I smiled. “Yes. And thank you. I’ll be fine for now. Good luck with your meeting.”

He promised. I glanced at Mia when I hung up. Her mouth tugged at the corners as she spoke. “That sounded optimistic. While you were on the phone, I came up with a couple of ideas I want to run by you. And Beth texted me . . . she’ll be popping in here shortly.”

Good, I could use some of Beth’s optimism. Hopefully without the whistle.

She entered my room carrying a two-tiered frosted chocolate cake. No one had ever entered my room with a two-tiered frosted chocolate cake, but I hoped it wouldn’t be the last time. It solved none of my immediate problems and I wasn’t really hungry, especially after eating so much dessert the night before, but seeing the cake and Beth’s smiling face distracted me enough to help me recognize that I had friends in my corner. My heart fluttered in my chest as Beth set the dessert down.

Mia hugged Beth. “It’s beautiful and perfect.”

Blushing hard, Beth said, “Thank you. I stayed up all night working on my grad school applications after we drank and I made the brownie layers this morning. I was just going to freeze it for later, but what good timing! I thought you could use some cheering up, and who doesn’t love a brownie cake?”

She shrugged and sliced into the top layer, revealing chewy, chocolatey goodness. “Good genes, I guess.”

Good genes, and a young, sprightly body. Her hydrated skin had the elasticity of a TRX strength band, despite all the Diet Coke she drank. “Your brownie cake is gorgeous, inside and out. Just like you, Beth,” I said.

Mia placed one of the slices on a small paper plate and took a bite. “Oh my God, Beth. I thought I couldn’t stand looking at this after last night, but this is to die for. I really need you to bake for all my PR events. Let’s talk later, when all of this blows over.”

She licked frosting off her fork. “Have I seen worse than this in my line of work? Maybe not. But I have a few ideas now that the shock has worn off a little. Things are going to be bad for a while until the dust settles, so there won’t be much down time or”—Mia looked down at her plate—“leisurely eating. But let’s eat our brunch brownie cake and brainstorm together, and we can start putting things in motion. How does that sound?”