THREE
Maeve
I spend the next two days testing out how we could make an episode together without actually being within a hundred yards of each other. Typically, we have a three-camera setup. I set a close-up on Finn, a close-up on me, and a wide shot that shows the two of us together. In the edit I cut between the three cameras, depending on who’s talking, our body language, gesticulating, reactions, all that—and the audio is pristine thanks to the lav mics that are clipped to our shirt collars. I think we could make an episode with just close-ups and hide that we’re not in the same room … but the problem is, our episodes aren’t scripted. We prepare what we’re talking about, and always have a list of Questions of the Week to end the episode, but we’re typically improvising.
Because together we’re hilarious. And smart. And maybe sexy? All of my good qualities increase tenfold when I’m in the room with Finn.
I write a script for this first episode, which is something I’ve never done before. I spend hours laboring over jokes, thinking about how Finn would talk, how he would answer the questions I pull from our online form and DMs. How he would tease me. And then I try to play both parts and piece it together. And it sucks.
I hit Pause on the practice video and get up from my editing bay to start pacing. It’s an awesome setup that used to be a laptop in my closet in New York, but now has a full room in my ridiculously large house. I have two forty-inch color correct monitors, a completely tricked-out laptop, and an ergonomic chair that set Streamify back five grand. It all showed up wrapped in a giant red bow the day after I moved in. Finn got a five-thousand-dollar bottle of whiskey.
I need to make this work. I text my group chat with my sisters.
sos! I’m trying to make an episode with both Finn and me in it … but without actually doing it together
and it sucks
help please, I’m out of ideas
Sarah starts typing, then stops, and I groan and hit Play on the episode again. It’s so stiff and awkward. It would be marginally better with Finn in it. But I don’t think we’d be able to pass it off as a normal episode. And I can just imagine what the articles would say if people discovered we were pretending to record together. Our fans are incredibly loyal … but also figure out everything . They are basically FBI agents. They’ve tracked down my high school prom photos, who Finn’s first kiss was (Cassidy, obviously), all of my family members, and where my hometown is, even though we use code names for everyone and everything important. Give them a month and they’ll probably be mailing vibrators to our new home addresses. They’d know we’re faking it.
My phone starts vibrating with a flurry of texts from Claude and Tiffany. They’re probably together, sending these dueling texts from opposite ends of the couch. I don’t miss home, but I do miss them and the chaotic energy of having three sisters, which surrounded my entire childhood.
Claude:
I say record with him again. Pretend he’s a teammate you don’t like
Tiffany:
F for effort Not helpful , I reply.
Sarah:
Can’t you each just do your own half It’s too awkward , I type quickly.
Tiffany:
Bridal shower game!!!
You each have to separately answer questions about the other and see if you get it right
Now this I like. We can lean in to not recording together, acknowledge it, and make it part of the fun. This could work. Finn and I actually played that game on The Today Show once, and, shockingly, he got every single one about me right. I missed two, but to my credit they weren’t softballs. How would I know the name of his Little League team? Unlike the rest of the women and gay men in America, I’m not obsessed with him.
I think this idea could actually work. I pick up my phone instinctively, to call Finn and tell him my idea, only to stop myself. For the past two years he was the first person I told everything to. He was always so excited for me. It was the first time that I felt like someone really appreciated and believed in me . I really thought he felt the same way I did about our connection. Everything we did was better with each other. With him, eating takeout on the floor of my bedroom wasn’t depressing, it was incredible because we were laughing and coming up with ideas and building on each other’s thoughts and creating an awesome episode about it that went out to millions of people. And then reading messages from people who dumped a toxic ex be cause of us, or orgasmed for the first time, or came out to their best friend. And falling asleep with my head on his shoulder while he was listening back to the episode, and thinking it all meant something, when to him it was just a fun thing to do. When he was always looking for someone like Cassidy, who’s shiny and perfect and famous and doesn’t talk about blow jobs on a podcast.
So instead of calling him, I text Tiffany a thank-you GIF, then get in my car and drive to the studio.
“Maeve! We weren’t expecting you today. Is Finn coming in?” The receptionist looks surprised to see me. Previously, Finn and I recorded in stellar locations like Finn’s living room floor, my bed, his bed, my fire escape, and occasionally a friend’s apartment. We had offers from production studios in New York, but once we started getting big I didn’t want to sign over our IP. I didn’t know we’d get a deal like this … but I knew I hated the idea of a middle-aged man owning any part of this show that I’d worked so hard on. Even now, we’re licensing the IP for three years, exclusively, and at the end of the term we could walk away with it. But in the meantime I’m definitely going to enjoy using Streamify’s super professional studios whenever we want.
“He’s not! Just testing something out, and he’s busy with family. Would you mind helping me set up?”
The receptionist presses “1” on the phone she had already half raised to her ear as she talked. “I’ll get a PA sent over to you right away! Want some snacks? Coconut water? Cappuccino? Wine?”
It feels strange to have someone fussing over me like this. I’ve always been on the sidelines while my sisters prepared for big events like pageants and soccer tournaments, and despite our success with the podcast the past few years, since we recorded alone, it never felt like as big a deal as it was. “An iced coffee would be great. Thank you so much.” I shove my beat-up CamelBak deeper into my bag.
Before I have time to sit down, a young man is opening a hidden door in the wall and motioning me toward him. For a second, I wonder if it was unprofessional to do our first recording session without Finn. He’s more used to being catered to than I am, but he loved the offices when we toured during contract negotiations and would get a kick out of this VIP treatment. But he made his bed, and now he has to lie in it.
“I’m Leo. It’s great to meet you,” the PA says as he leads me down an elegant hallway. “I’ve actually been working on the Tell Me How You Really Feel set for the past month, psyched to see what you think of it. I’m here five days a week, so I’m your lead PA, anything you need I’m here. I don’t know how you two roll, but if you prefer to record in the middle of the night or something, just say so, I’m there.”
“Oh wow,” I stammer. “Thank you. We usually record …” I think back to the past year and a half. “Well actually, we have no set schedule. But I think we’ll be getting much more organized now that we’re at Streamify.” We’ll have to, if we’re going to keep recording separately.
“Sweet, sweet. Can’t wait to see how the magic happens.”
I would be wincing if I said something that cheesy, but Leo appears to be dead serious. He presses on what looks like a bookshelf that houses solely sex-related books, and the door slowly opens to reveal what is clearly the Tell Me How You Really Feel studios.
“You like it!” he exclaims, and I realize my jaw had dropped. Except it wasn’t in a good way. The table is designed to look like a massive vagina, and the walls are painted with line drawings of naked people of all shapes and sizes kissing. There are regular mics and penis mics sitting at the table, and the flower arrangements are in vases shaped like butts and busts. The room does have a strangely expensive vibe … but is also so “in your face” sexual that my blood curdles. Now that we have the big deal, I want to gradually make the show more serious, not more viral through sex and shock value.
“It’s … it’s definitely a lot,” I manage after a moment of Leo clearly waiting for my response. I drop my bag on the table and start examining things. The camera equipment is nicer than what Finn and I have been using, and the room is entirely soundproof. But it’s a lot . I turn to Leo and smile winningly. “We actually use lav mics.” At least that gets rid of the most egregious thing in the room: those awful penis mics that would inspire a thousand GIFs. Again, my hand twitches, instinctively wanting to send Finn a picture of them. “But when Finn comes in … definitely put it back out.”
“For sure,” Leo agrees smoothly. He opens a hidden compartment and pulls out lav mics. What is with all the hidden compartments? It’s like Streamify decided showing they had drawers, doors, and closets in this massive building was gauche. “I know the room really pops. But I thought it would help, you know? With the goal.”
“What goal?” I ask immediately. Does he know I want my own show? To never be in the room with Finn again?
Leo starts testing the lav mics as he talks. “Beating The Paul Myers Show ? Since both shows are going Streamify exclusive and relaunching the same week, it’s kind of intense competition. I would love to see Paul Myers get knocked down a peg. I hate the guy. The stuff he says about immigrants is wack. Once I heard he was coming on too, I practically begged to be reassigned to you guys.”
My blood runs cold. No one has said anything about The Paul Myers Show going exclusive with Streamify. I don’t know if I would have even signed the contract if I realized that was happening. “Why wasn’t there a press release about his show going exclusive?”
Leo shrugs. “I assume he’s worried about the ratings and wants to save the publicity for the first week out. So you’ll be easier to compete with.”
“Right …” I trail off. “Would you mind giving me a minute?” I feel blindsided and need a moment to regroup. A jolt of anxiety has shot through me, and I need to get my bearings so I don’t spiral.
Leo makes a swift exit and I drop into the chair with a dull thud. The Paul Myers Show is the most popular, and the most problematic, podcast out there. It’s bigoted, extremist, inflammatory, and downright dangerous if I’m being honest. Paul Myers is obsessed with making the world a more hateful place. He’s taken aim at us more times than I can count, calling me everything from a whore to an uneducated hick, and spewed all sorts of homophobic and transphobic names at Finn, just because he knows the slightest bit about feelings, nice clothes, and personal grooming. It’s truly disgusting. And I have no idea what his problem is with us. Ever since the literal one time we overtook him in the ratings, with episode three, he has been relentless.
I pull out my phone and dial Shazia. She picks up on the second ring. “Maeve. What’s up?”
I swallow hard. “Did you know Paul Myers is exclusive to Streamify too?”
“What?” I can hear the surprise in her voice.
“Apparently, they held the press release. He’s launching the new season of his show the same week we are.” I take a deep breath. I want to keep the quiver of panic out of my voice, but it feels like I’m hearing my own voice, small and tinny from afar, through a haze of fear. Dread is heavy in my gut. Ever since we’ve inked this contract I’ve been waiting for everything to come crashing down. I knew there had to be a catch. And now my anxiety is finally validated. “I don’t know if we’d have signed if we knew.”
“They should have disclosed this. We could argue it constitutes reputational damage to you and Finn, to be so closely associated with Paul Myers, since he’s part of this new Streamify-exclusive campaign. Both sides have an option to cancel in the event that anything in the contract is found to have the potential to cause reputational damage.”
“I don’t want out of the deal. But I just … I don’t know.” There’s a long pause. I don’t want to end the contract, despite everything. It’s sixty million dollars. That’s a life-altering amount of money. But I do feel duped. “Do you think he’s getting paid sixty million too?”
Shazia’s tone is steel when she speaks. “I think he could very well be getting paid more. I’m going to see what I can do about this. Maybe they can sweeten the deal. They knew this would upset you; that’s why they kept it secret. They have to be prepared with something they’re willing to give.”
I end the call, eyes smarting as I blink back tears. There’s nothing I can do about this, and I feel like I have my emotions under control now that I’ve taken a minute to assess the situation, so I might as well get to work. I knock on the wall so that Leo knows he can come back in, and he returns and resumes testing the lav in silence. Once he’s done, he presses a button under the table that results in an immediate knock on the door/bookcase. He opens it through touching the wall in a specific (but completely unmarked) spot, making me very worried I’ll get stuck in this orgy of a room, then grabs an iced coffee from a young woman and turns. “Everyone is rooting for you. Literally everyone here hates him, except the execs that he’s about to print money for.” He hands me the coffee. “Iced oat milk latte, one pump cinnamon, half a vanilla creamer.”
It’s eerie that he knows my order. But it’s also good to hear that he’s in my corner. “Thanks.”
“So, do you need a run down on how the equipment works? It’s all ready to go, keep the mic set to phantom power so it pulls power from the camera. Cameras each have eight hours of run time on, four hours recording power since while it’s recording you halve the battery capacity. I’ll switch out the batteries if need be, but thought that would probably be enough. You basically just have to hit Record. Any questions?”
I shake my head. These cameras are souped up models of the ones we’ve been using. Not having to stop everything to switch out batteries every thirty minutes will be a huge plus, though. “This is all amazing, thank you.”
“Do you want me to monitor the camera and audio feed?”
I glance around the room, suddenly worried it’s full of hidden cameras. It feels strange to know someone’s watching, although it’s undeniably helpful to have someone checking that nothing cuts out or glitches. But Finn and I have always recorded just us. It was intimate, and sometimes I still blush thinking of the conversations that we uploaded for the world to listen to. I tell him things during our recordings that I never thought I would share with the masses, because it really does feel like it’s just for us when we’re recording.
“No need,” I say ultimately. “If you’re still here when I head out, you could check it over for technical issues. And would you mind sending me the footage afterward?”
“On it. I can’t believe you actually self-edit. I thought that was a myth.”
I smile for real now. “I enjoy it. I want to make the edit perfect. And Finn likes to—” I cut myself off. We’re not going to be spending twelve-hour stretches hunched over Premiere on my MacBook together anymore. “It works for us.”
Leo leaves me to it, opening the hidden door by placing his hand on a totally different area. I run my lav mic under my shirt and clip it to my collar, then double-check that the shotgun mic is on phantom power. Next, I check my close-up on the camera opposite me and cut in slightly. It would normally be an over-the-shoulder shot, but I want it to be so tight on my face that our viewers forget they don’t see Finn’s shoulder and the side of his head as he looks over at me. I’m always surprised by how many of our viewers tune in to the video version of the show. We get tagged in Instagram stories of people throwing it up on their TV or having weekly wine nights with their roommates while they watch on their biggest laptop. More than half of our viewers watch the video, which makes this so much harder to get away with. But I have to try because I don’t think I can sit here with Finn and talk about relationships without bursting into tears, screaming at him, or both.
His words from our last real conversation echo through my head. It was the day after his first date with Cassidy, and it took place through my apartment’s intercom because I didn’t want to see him and wouldn’t pick up his calls.
Cassidy’s the kind of girl I’ve always been looking for.
Of course I love you. You’re my best friend.
What we did doesn’t have to mean anything.
Fuck. Him.
I hit Record on my mic and the cameras trained on my close-up and the wide shot, and I turn Finn’s close-up camera off altogether. Then I open my laptop to the list of topics I want to cover this episode—cuffing season, which dating app to use, and who pays on a first date, the questions I’ve chosen for Questions of the Week—and start recording.
“Hello everyone, we’re back again with another episode of Tell Me How You Really Feel . I have missed you all literally so much. Today we’re doing something a bit different—Finn and I are recording our hot takes separately, then comparing, so get pumped to see how he really feels about all of your questions. There will be no walking it back when I raise my eyebrows at him this week …”
“Maybe I don’t want to know,” I moan from my pool float. I’m on a giant unicorn in the pool in my rental house’s backyard, and Sarah is on a flamingo, phone in hand. “You’re using your ‘bad news’ voice.”
Our episode aired yesterday, Sunday, at 12:01 a.m. After I finished recording, I sent Finn a terse message explaining what he needed to do for his half. Normally I’d be concerned about leaving him to record solo, but I’m sure Leo walked him through the entire process, or just handled all the equipment for him. I edited it alone, and Finn approved it without listening, which I know because he texted me back faster than it would take to watch the episode.
I know it’s not our best. It was decently entertaining. And Streamify has no approval authority over our episodes, so I hit Upload last night without a fight. But our spark, the chemistry that makes me laugh aloud while listening to us … it wasn’t there. We both sounded pressed, fake, as though we were recording under duress. Which we basically are.
On Friday morning the articles about Paul Myers’s deal dropped, so I’m sure he’ll get more listens than ever this weekend since he’s top of mind. I hate that during this first week of competition I know that our episode wasn’t that strong. Because this is now a clear-cut challenge. In the space of a week, Shazia renegotiated our contract to include a hefty sixty-nine percent bonus if we can overtake Paul Myers in the ratings for twelve consecutive episodes. He’s making one hundred million over three years, but with this bonus we’d overtake him. To get the network to close the updated deal, I also agreed to a minimum of one event or vlog per month with Finn. Just this morning I got the Docusign notification that the contract has been signed by all parties; so it’s official. I am now contractually obligated to act like I enjoy spending time with Finn.
I don’t like it, but if we want to hit this goal, we’d have to do that anyway.
And I desperately want to hit the goal. Because making more than Paul Myers would make me and Finn the highest paid podcast hosts ever, full stop. It would also make me the highest paid female podcaster ever, since even at my currently outrageously high salary, several other popular podcasts (including my favorite crime junkies show) have hosts that are paid commensurately. But the (co)highest paid podcaster would be a woman, for the first time ever. I’ve struggled with imposter syndrome my entire life, and it would feel good to have quantitative proof that I am the best at something, for the first time ever.
But beating Paul Myers for twelve episodes straight will not be easy. Especially with this start to the season.
Sarah doesn’t say anything, which means the situation is worse than I thought. “Just tell me.” She floats farther away, as though having an extra few feet of water will protect her from my feelings. “Well, technically, the ratings aren’t bad. A lot of people listened. You’re the number two–ranked show.” This makes sense. It’s our first episode back, after our first ever hiatus, and Finn did his job and promo’d it on social. Solo. “But the response … is not ideal.”
“They hate it,” I say flatly.
Sarah wavers for a moment. But she’s more logical than emotional, which is why she’ll be a very competent surgeon. “They hate it,” she agrees. “The general attitude is, What the fuck . PopSugar posted, wondering if it was AI generated. And The Paul Myers Show released a parody TikTok of you two recording with water guns to your heads. Fans want to know why you’re suddenly not, you know, doing your thing. Real talking about each other’s dates. About his breakup with Cassidy. Who you’re seeing. Whatever.”
“Fuuuuuck,” I moan. This has been my fear the whole time. That suddenly everyone will realize that I actually am totally average and not worth listening to. That this house, this life, this audience, and any potential for a solo show will all go away. Lately it doesn’t matter how many affirmations or meditations or therapy sessions I do. Even though I’m pushing forward, I just can’t shake these fears.
“It’s not that bad,” Sarah offers. “It’s only the first episode. You two could do the next one normally.”
I flip my tube under and hold my breath until I see stars. When I come up for air Sarah claps. “That was almost two minutes. New record. Desperation looks good on you.”
“Thanks.” I get out and wrap a giant towel robe around myself and pour an oversized glass of rosé. “Even if we record together, I can’t talk about Cassidy. It’s honestly even worse that he dated her just to dump her. Like, what, is no woman good enough for him? I can’t talk about us. About any of that.”
Sarah’s quiet for a minute, running her hands through the water. “I mean, Maeve,” she says finally. “That’s the show.”
“There has to be another way,” I mutter. I pull out my phone and start reading the comments on the Insta teaser Finn posted for the episode. He did a good job, playing up the gamified aspect of the recording style. But the comments are brutal. Girls say I was boring but that at least Finn was hot. I know I was a bit stiff solo, but it burns that even though I gave great advice during the show, they didn’t want it. I put real thought into what I said, while Finn joked around, clearly not having prepared at all. I expected him to put more into it. It’s almost like he’s trying to sabotage this format, since I know he wants to record together.
“Maybe they just need to get used to it,” I hedge. I don’t know what to do. I want to beat Paul Myers. I want to make a show that I’m proud of. But I really feel like recording with Finn will destroy me right now. I need more time. Maybe three years or so.
“Finn is not worth ruining all of this over.” Sarah gestures to the house behind me. She doesn’t say it, but I know she’s also thinking of the family expenses I’ve picked up: her tuition bills, our parents’ mortgage, the pageant dresses and soccer cleats. I’m happy that I’m able to help out, even if I had to switch the full family group chat to “Do Not Disturb” and make the new one with just my sisters because I was so tired of seeing my mom send photos of the dresses and soccer trophies instead of screenshots of my place in the podcast charts. “Why don’t you just go to the party and talk to him? See if he can make it five minutes without talking about the off-limits topics. Maybe you two can call a truce. I feel like if you recorded some episodes together, even if they’re about random stuff like this one was, they’d go over fine. And I’ll go with you.”
What Sarah doesn’t get is that even if he obeys Shazia’s terms and doesn’t bring up our personal lives … knowing he doesn’t love me like I loved him makes my insides feel like they’re being wrung out every time I look at him. Every time we talk and it feels like what we had before, it hurts . But she’s right. What else can I really do? “Fine, we’ll go.”