Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
CARI
Aspen and River have arranged a small get-together at their house for New Year’s Eve, and despite being invited, I don’t go.
I think Max is going to be there, along with Gus and Emily, and I’m not ready for all of that.
My meds are working, and I’m feeling better, but they aren’t magic.
I know better than to put myself in a potentially stressful situation right now.
So instead of spending the night at home alone, I have decided to take myself on a date. It’s something Shirley recommended, and while at first it seemed stupid, it’s actually something I’ve been enjoying. I’ve been finding life outside of social media and relationships.
Finding creativity in new ways, along with rediscovering who I am without the parade of likes and comments telling me.
It was a little jarring at first, not having the masses telling me who I am and how much approval I didn’t realize I needed.
And while I could make a new account, Shirley and I decided that wasn’t the best idea for me right now.
So I am at the Museum of Modern Art (MOMA), walking through the so-called art.
I don’t think I am a fan of modern art, so much of this looks like something I could make when I’m drunk.
Like, there’s a plain canvas with a rip through the middle.
That’s the piece. I stare at it for a few minutes, trying to find something I like about it, but I can’t.
I mean, it looks like someone’s garbage they accidentally hung up.
I’m walking around, and some of the things make me wonder if this is all a big experiment.
Like, how outrageous can we make ‘art’ before people call bullshit?
But apparently scribbling on paper like a toddler, cutting canvas, and spilling red paint on paper is considered ‘art.’ This is why I wasn’t an art major in college, I could never get past this.
Not to mention the array of random penises in art.
Like, why are men so obsessed with their dicks?
You don’t see women constantly talking about, touching, or drawing their vaginas, and they are MUCH prettier.
But I’m looking at art, and then all of a sudden, there’s a flaccid penis staring back at me.
Is it supposed to be a metaphor for something?
Maybe some kind of warning for straight women? I don’t know.
Shirley suggested I try journaling on my solo dates, so I pull out my little notebook. It is purple with a bunch of stickers on the cover. I click the pen and start scribbling away about how I feel. It’s mostly about the art and how I don’t understand it.
Maybe I should become an artist. I could buy some canvas, and I already have a knife at home to cut it with. I could make millions from it and not need to worry about finding a new job. That’s another thing I’ve been writing about lately.
It’s been almost three months since my account got shut down, and while it wrecked me, it might actually be for the best. Except that I now have no idea what to do with my life.
As expected, most of my contracts had dried up; they wanted someone who could reach the followers I no longer had. Thankfully, I didn’t have to pay any of them back, but it left me in a weird position, unsure what to do with my life.
I had sort of fallen into being an influencer. I have a college degree in marketing, but I haven’t actually used it. I mean, there was a certain level of social media that included marketing, but it wasn’t like I’d ever had an office job or anything before.
All I know is I don’t want to be tied to an office cubicle five days a week. I had saved up quite a bit, so I don’t need to worry about things like rent, but I know I’m privileged in that way.
I put my journal away and start Googling ‘jobs with a marketing degree’.
Millions of results pop up, and most of them don’t sound interesting.
I mean, I don’t want to jump into sales at some stuffy office.
But then I see a public relations manager ad, and I pause.
While I’m not ready to go back into the limelight, I know enough about it.
I could write a book on how to make a successful account, what if I managed others?
I could still make content, help influencers, go on podcasts, and be partially in the limelight, but not be thrown into it the way I have in the past.
Could it really be that simple? I have the degree, but I have nowhere to start. I mean how does someone even break into something like that? How am I going to show people I know what I am talking about when I don’t even have an account anymore.
People like to see proof, to know that I’m not just talking out of my ass. But I have no way of proving myself without my account being reinstated. And Instagram made it more than clear that isn’t happening.
I sigh. Well, I guess I’ll have to keep searching.
I could always get a part-time job if it was really necessary.
I know enough about makeup to work at Sephora or in fashion for a boutique.
I just want a job that brings me as much joy as being an influencer did in the beginning.
When I was new to it and doing it for myself, it felt like a dream. I wish I could go back to that.
I walk around a bit more, glancing at the abstract art, trying to figure out if the artists were just high.
Maybe that’s what I should’ve done. I only hit my weed pen once in a while these days, but this seems like a good reason to take it out.
I mean, maybe I’d understand the art a bit more if I was in the same mindset as the artists. Or at least on the same planet as them.
I’m not feeling much in this museum besides boredom, and despite the cold, it isn’t snowing, so I decide to grab my jacket from coat check and take a walk.
The city is great when it looks like this, except for the occasional tourist; people stay inside in this weather. I don’t mind the cold while I’m bundled up. My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I accept it through my touchscreen gloves.
“Carrie-Ann! How are you?” my sister, Janet says from the other end.
Ever since I missed Thanksgiving with no text or phone call I’ve received a phone call from at least one of my sisters every week.
It was their way of checking in on me despite my attempts to tell them I am fine.
As always, my mom was the only one who came to visit.
She stayed with me for a few days after River and Aspen came over.
I don’t know for sure, but I think River called her.
It’s not like they are strangers; River and I went to high school together, but I was still a little embarrassed she had to call my mom on me.
“Carrie-Ann?” Janet prompts.
“Sorry, I’m here. I’m doing good, just taking a walk,” I say. “How are you? How’s the pregnancy going?”
Just as I expected, Janet announced her first pregnancy over Christmas with a little onesie for my parents.
“Ugh, I’m finally over the morning sickness, but it’s kicking my ass. I swear I’m huge, but Kyle swears I’m not. I’m glad you’re good, but a walk? In this weather?” She gasps.
“You know I like the cold.” I shrug even though she can’t see it.
“I know, just be careful. Anything else going on? It is New Year’s Eve after all,” she asks.
“Not really, it’s a chill night in. I might get some lo mein from the Chinese place near my apartment.”
“Oh.” She sounds disappointed.
“Are you doing anything tonight?” I put it back on her.
“No, but I’m growing a person. You should be living it up; who knows how many more of these you’ll get? When you settle down it’s crazy trying to get a night out.” She sighs.
I don’t know how to tell her that even if I do settle down with someone, I don’t plan on uprooting my life and moving to the suburbs.
So I just laugh nervously and lie, “Yeah, my friends are away for the holidays, so there isn’t too much going on.”
“Oh, I see…Are you doing okay? Really?” Her voice shifts as she asks.
“I am. I promise. Taking my meds, I’ve got my therapy down to twice a week now, and I’m feeling better,” I reassure her.
“Good. Good. I know it’s probably annoying with all of us asking, but we’re really worried about you.” She sighs.
“I know, I’m sorry.” I am unfortunately used to this. Too often, I apologize for things I don’t have control over.
I ask some questions about the pregnancy and then make an excuse to get off the phone. I’m not in the mood to dissect my mood with her, and I wanted to enjoy the walk.
But I wasn’t paying attention to where I was walking, which is how I’ve ended up in River and Aspen’s neighborhood.
I’m crossing the street just as Gus steps out of the bodega around the corner from River’s apartment.
Gus stops short when they see me, their eyes widening, and Emily steps out behind them.
She’s wearing a beanie, tucking away her recognizable blonde hair, and a hoodie under her jacket.
I guess she’s trying to ditch the paparazzi.
“Hi,” Gus offers.
“Hi,” I say quietly.
“Are you going to River’s?” They look confused; I had RSVP’d no on everything and I clearly wasn’t dressed right for it.
“Uh, no, I was just taking a walk through the neighborhood,” I explain. “I’m sorry about everything—” I start.
Emily goes to cut me off but Gus puts their hand on her shoulder. She looks angrily at me but doesn’t say anything.
“I could make excuses but I won’t. I was using you to get back at Max, and I’m so sorry for that.
You deserved so much better than that, and I definitely shouldn’t have kissed you when I knew you were with Emily.
I’m sorry to you both.” I’m glad to finally have a chance to say my piece.
I’d been holding on to that for far too long.
“I forgive you. You were shitty, but I do forgive you. I don’t necessarily want to be friends, but I don’t want to have to avoid you at parties either. I think we’re both adults who can be civil,” Gus says with a half-smile.
“Thank you, I appreciate that.” It’s honestly more than I could have anticipated, but this is Gus after all.
“If you do anything to hurt Gus again—” Emily starts but this time I’m the one to cut her off.
“You don’t have to say a word. Trust me, that’s not happening.” I nod.
“Good,” Emily says.
“We better get going.” Gus wraps their arms around Emily.
We exchange Happy New Year’s before heading in opposite directions. I’m on my way back to my apartment, suddenly craving lo mein, and I want to journal about this.
I had hoped I’d get the chance to apologize to Gus and Emily, but it wasn’t like I could call them up.
There is something symbolic about it happening today. Like maybe I am starting a new chapter after all. I mean sure, there are some things left hanging in the balance of this year. But maybe next year could be a fresh start for me.