Chapter 44
44
Lunch is a picnic by the ocean. Fizzy pink drinks in sweating champagne glasses, sandwiches cut into diagonal quarters, tropical fruit platters, kale salads topped with pomegranate, and miniature strawberry shortcakes sit on top of a gingham blanket. An umbrella shades us from the sun.
After our yoga session, golden energy ripples through me. I am worthy with every step I take. I am great and beautiful and brave and kind. I haven’t felt this good—this free—in a long time. We are a group of women, young and alive with the generous desire to uplift and listen. We’ve sweated off our makeup, stripped our defenses, changed into similar linen clothes. We are barefaced and vulnerable, imperfections and all.
If this is how the rest of the week goes, I’d never want to leave.
“I can’t thank you enough,” I say. “This was such a much-needed break.”
“Of course, darling,” Bella Marie replies, handing Emmeline a napkin after she spills orange juice onto her white pants. “We don’t listen to our bodies enough. It’s an honor to host you all.”
“It’s good to have a moment to ourselves,” Ana adds.
“Especially for us moms,” says Lily, glancing at Iz. “Otherwise, we’d lose ourselves entirely. Not to scare you or anything,” she says to Angelique.
“Oh, no worries.” Angelique strokes her belly. She glances at the distant waves, a solemn expression threading her Botoxed brows. “I’m not worried about that at all.”
Iz forks some salad into her mouth. “Lily took me on a walk earlier this morning and it really hit me. I can’t believe you have an entire island.” She chews, then swallows. “This is… a crazy life. And you do this every year?”
“It’s all thanks to Bella Marie,” Kelly says. “She gives up so much for us.”
“So generous,” says Emmeline.
“And so perfect.” Lily.
“Beautiful too.” Maya.
The Belladonnas glow at Bella Marie, who smiles sheepishly. Her golden hair is almost white in the sunlight. “Oh, stop it,” she says, covering her mouth.
“We all work so hard,” Kelly continues. “This is the one week a year we get to take a break.”
Everyone nods in agreement.
But there’s a laugh. The slightest chuckle from Iz. Attention whips to her. She looks around, lips pressing into a line.
Kelly tips her head, agitation pinching her eyes. I smell spearmint, even though she isn’t chewing gum. “What are you laughing at?” She’s smiling, but her tone is clipped.
“Isla,” Lily says, gripping her glass of juice tight. “Remember what we spoke about earlier?”
“Yeah, but, I mean, it’s just that… You know.” Iz tries to laugh it off. But no one laughs with her.
“ You know … what?” Kelly asks.
Iz glances around as if hoping someone will finish her sentence. Everyone falls quiet.
“We’re influencers .”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Kelly asks.
I still, and my core tightens. Water crashes on the rocks a few paces away, splashing spikes of water onto my thigh.
Iz picks up her fork, like she’s hoping we’ll move on. When no one speaks up, she puts down her fork and speaks softly. “I’m just saying, being an influencer isn’t, like, the hardest thing in the world.” She glances at Kelly. “You literally make reaction content.”
Kelly arches her brow. “And?”
“Are you seriously going to make me say it?” Iz sighs. “Like, that doesn’t require a lot of work.”
I clutch the bottom of my blouse, my breath shortening. What is she doing?
Kelly’s mouth falls open in a surprised, angry laugh. “Do you know how long I’ve had to work to get to where I am? And for the record, I have a very, very high production value. I have a team of five. I feed families.”
“Right. But at the end of the day, don’t you just press play and record a reaction?”
“I abhor that characterization of my work.”
Iz whistles. “ Abhor. Wow.”
I bite my lip, eyes flipping from Kelly to Iz. I want them to stop fighting. I want us to return to what we were moments ago. Family. Supportive. What happened to Kelly’s whole sermon on group synergy? Do the rules not apply to her if she’s the one affronted?
“We should all calm down—” Emmeline begins.
“If you think it’s so easy,” Kelly says, “why don’t you do it?”
Iz leans back, her hands in the air, making a gesture like, Isn’t it obvious? “I’ll never be applauded for mediocrity because I’m not a stereotypically beautiful white girl.”
I wince at how Iz has spoken the truth aloud and glance at Bella Marie, waiting for her to relieve the tension. But her jaw is set. Her eyes don’t follow who’s speaking, as if she’s deep in thought.
Kelly clenches her fists. “Mediocrity?”
“Race has nothing to do with Kelly’s content,” Ana says.
“Of course, you say that.” Iz rolls her eyes.
“I think we should all take a breath,” Sophia chirps, “practice some positive meditation—”
“Excuse me?” Ana spits. “I worked hard for my followers! Do you know how much I sacrificed to get to where I am?”
“Your entire career is defined by your appearance,” Iz continues. “I mean, no offense, but you have to acknowledge it’s true. That’s literally your niche. You don’t sing. You don’t do makeup. You aren’t into fitness. You’re just pretty. You take selfies and do body checks.”
“That’s not true. I write poetry!”
“Putting paragraph breaks between a fragmented sentence is not poetry!” Iz’s back is straight as an arrow, a horrid line between her brow. “I mean it’s— Why are we even debating this?”
Angelique downs her orange juice and pours herself a glass of wine as Lily palms her forehead.
“Just because we’re white doesn’t mean we work any less hard for our following,” Maya says.
“Social media creates an equal playing field for everyone,” Emmeline adds.
“Equal?” Iz jolts. “Is that a joke? You do realize the basis of social media starts offline, right? Social media is inherently unequal. I mean, even if we disregard race entirely, there are so many barriers to accessibility. Who can afford a phone? Who has access to stable internet? Who has time to scroll and learn about trends instead of clocking in to a double shift to feed their families? Even what country you’re born in affects it. There’s nothing equal about social media. Sure, once in a blue moon it uplifts creators from underserved backgrounds, but that’s like finding a unicorn amid a stable of horses.”
“God,” exhales Emmeline. “You don’t have to sit there and make a speech like Obama—”
I flinch.
“Obama?” Iz repeats.
“—it’s patronizing and belittling.”
“I’m disappointed in you,” Lily says. “I thought you understood.”
Iz rolls her eyes. “I’m not going to silence myself for something as dumb as group synergy. ”
The girls gasp in horror and a tense silence chokes the air.
“You’re being awfully rude and antagonistic today, Isla,” says Maya.
“Very rude,” says Ana.
“Terribly antagonistic,” echoes Kelly.
“Christ. I’m just saying we should take some accountability. Especially you, Emmeline.”
Emmeline jerks straight. “Me? Why are you singling me out?”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
Fuck.
Emmeline is visibly shaking, as if there’s a timer within her, tick, tick, tick, about to explode. Her pale cheeks bloom red as her eyes grow misty. “Those tweets were from years ago.”
“It wasn’t cool to be racist in 2010!”
Emmeline starts tearing up.
“Look what you did!” Kelly holds Emmeline’s hand, patting her back. “Apologize.”
“What?” Iz pushes her plate of food away. “No! Are you fucking kidding? I feel like I’m going crazy right now.”
“That’s obvious,” Ana says. “Your jealousy is showing and it’s not pretty.”
“Very ugly,” says Maya.
I scan the table and notice that Ana, Maya, Lily, Kelly, and Emmeline have somehow joined hands, their shoulders pressed together like a solid wall. They all bare their teeth. Their expressions are so similar that for a second, I can’t tell them apart.
“Okay? So now we’re just attacking my appearance?” Iz blows out a breath, exasperated. “Fine. Let’s talk about appearance and race since you are all so desperate to pretend it’s not a factor. Well, news flash. It is! It’s inherent in the business of photo and video content.” She turns to Emmeline, who has two rivers streaming down her cheeks. “Like your videos. I love the aesthetics—which I don’t doubt is thanks to your editor and entire creative team—but you never fail to complain about how hard your life is. About how you’re depressed and lonely all the time. Meanwhile, you’re jet-setting to Paris, attending fashion shows, eating hotel brunch, and lounging in your little New York penthouse with your dog. You have the luxury of boredom and people eat it up. Why? Because you’re a stereotypical beauty. Desirable by Western norms. People are sympathetic to your struggles because your appearance makes your whining palatable. And I’m not saying your feelings of depression aren’t genuine. They’re valid. I’m only saying if a Black or Hispanic, or hell, even Asian”—she turns to me and I recoil—“person said the same things you do, they’d be labeled as ungrateful. If we rotted in bed like you, our oily hair would be seen as dirty and lazy instead of relatable. We have to confine ourselves into these perfect yet nonthreatening boxes, while you have the privilege of complaining because you fit the aesthetic of the sad white girl that society thirsts for.”
“That’s not true,” Emmeline says, dabbing her tears with a gingham napkin. “You don’t know how hard I worked to get to where I am. What I’ve given up. You’re making me upset.”
“You can’t cry your way out of everything, Emmeline.” Iz sighs, while the rest of the table gapes. “Obviously, we all worked hard to get to where we are. But acknowledging our privilege is still important. We all put in our hours. We are all on the grind. We’ve all sacrificed. But some people sacrifice less and get more. And other people work themselves to the bone and get scraps. That’s the nature of life and social media is not an exception.”
There’s a deafening silence as a cool wind blows around us. Emmeline hiccups. The sun retreats behind the clouds. My skin tickles with the feeling of winter.
“Isla,” Kelly snarls, “just because you’re less successful than us doesn’t mean you get to be a bitter, envious bitch and gaslight us about our hard work.”
“A bi —” Iz gapes. “Are you fucking serious?” She’s met with nothing but angry stares. Simmering resentment.
But then she turns to me.
Her eyes are desperate. The air seems to thin as my throat constricts. I shake my head slowly. Please don’t bring me into this. But it’s too late.
My heart whirls in my chest as everyone shifts to me. All nine faces and eighteen eyes staring, waiting for me to say something. To take a side. This whole time, I avoided being swept in, letting them fire at each other. But now the Belladonnas are wide-eyed, eyebrows rising.
You agree with us, right? Don’t you want to become one of us? Don’t you want to be accepted and happy and buoyant?
Iz is breathless. “C’mon, Chloe. You see what I’m trying to say, right?”
“Uh, um. I—”
Two sharp claps ring through the air. We all twist to look at Bella Marie. She stands, a mother about to lecture her children. “I think we’ve all hurt each other in this heated conversation.” She turns to Kelly, specifically. “You must be understanding of Isla. She’s new to this. She doesn’t know what we’ve given. What we’ve sacrificed. Hasn’t experienced what we have. It’s only day two. We’ve barely gotten started. Give her time to understand our world. Remember, darlings, we are family.”
No one affirms this.
There’s the slightest twitch in Bella Marie’s eyes, the smallest crack in her perfection, a fracture before an earthquake. “Kelly, I would really appreciate if you apologized to Isla for calling her a b-word.”
Kelly blows out an annoyed sigh. “I’m sorry if what I said offended you.”
Bella Marie turns to Iz. “And? What about you, Isla?”
“You aren’t serious, right?” Iz asks. But everyone waits for her to apologize. She shakes her head, glancing at me, disappointed, and then looks away.
Guilt burns inside my throat. Hot, acidic, and paralyzing.
She gets up from the table and no one stops her.
I’m the only one who hears her whisper, “That’s not even a real fucking apology.”