Chapter 8 #2
Alice’s reply comes in just as she’s fishing out a keto-approved fudgesicle from the back of her freezer, a remnant from a past diet she attempted.
I’m out to dinner with the boyfriend.
I’ll check on the report in the morning when I get to work. BTW, that episode was BONKERS, wasn’t it?
Boyfriend, right. With Alice Chu in a relationship and Cameron Wallace dating someone new, it feels like Barb may be the last single person in town under forty.
Younger people generally don’t move to Seaside.
They leave Seaside the first chance they get.
Alice is part of the influx of new residents the town is trying to woo with lower home prices and the promise of an easy small-town life.
Barb tears the plastic wrap off the popsicle and bites off the tip. The fudgesicle is made up of so many chemicals that it contains zero carbs, zero sugar, and also zero fucking joy, which probably would be the name of Barb’s own reality show if she ever had one.
“How does watching these shows serve you?” Dr. Leto once asked her.
They were discussing Barb’s obsession with reality shows and Trophy Wives in particular.
“How different would your life be if you could just let go of your resentment? Imagine what you could do with all that energy. You might actually have the time to finish your novel.”
What Dr. Leto doesn’t understand is that she doesn’t want to let go of it. At almost forty, she’s stuck in the same place she’s lived her entire life, in the same house she grew up in. She thought she’d escaped Seaside when she left for college, but then her mother got sick.
Barb was twenty-two and had just finished her final semester at Puget Sound State in Seattle when Becky Bonifacio was diagnosed with cancer.
The doctors were confident it was treatable, so Barb didn’t expect to be back in Seaside for long.
She’d already been offered an assistant editor job in New York after graduation, and they’d graciously agreed to hold her spot until Barb’s mother completed her radiation treatments.
During this time, Becky was still waitressing at Lucky’s, still on her feet, still doing okay.
But then came the early Alzheimer’s diagnosis.
Living alone and working at the diner was no longer an option for Becky, and that’s when Barb knew she wasn’t going anywhere.
She turned down the job in New York and got hired as a staff writer at the Seaside Chronicle instead.
It was far from her dream gig, but there weren’t many people in Seaside with a double-major degree in journalism and creative writing.
Greg was so thrilled to have her that he agreed to let her set her own hours and work entirely from home.
There’s a reason Alzheimer’s is called “the long goodbye.” For the next few years, Barb tended to her mother’s needs as the disease chipped away at her mother’s memories, her personality, her ability to hold a conversation, her bodily functions, her dignity, and eventually her ability to eat.
It was a consuming, lonely, isolating time, and other than writing for the Chronicle, the only other distraction she had was the television.
Together, she and her mom binge-watched House Hunters and Million Dollar Listing and Selling Sunset.
Then came The Bachelor, and then The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, and then all the Real Housewives franchises.
To amuse herself, Barb created an anonymous Twitter account where she traded snarky takes on the reality shows with other fans.
One of them was Glynnis Glenn, who’d just launched a gossip site called Reality Bitch.
She invited Barb to write for the site, and since Barb was bitching on the internet every day anyway, it seemed like a fun way to earn some extra income.
And then Becky Bonifacio died, removing Barb’s tether to Seaside.
Between the life insurance, the equity in the house, and some modest savings, there was enough for a fresh start.
Barb put the house on the market and started applying for jobs in New York City once again.
She wrote the proposal for her book about the Carnival Killer and came within a hair’s breadth of a book deal.
And then the world went on lockdown.
Alone and stuck in the house all day, all Barb could do was watch the one thing that had always provided her comfort: reality television.
While everyone else was baking and taking up a musical instrument and learning how to cut their own hair, Barb discovered a new show on Quan based in Toronto called Trophy Wives.
It was like Real Housewives on steroids, except for one key difference: One of its stars was someone Barb actually knew.
A small meow shakes her from her reverie, and she realizes that her furry houseguest has finally ventured out of his carrier and is hiding under the sofa she’s sitting on.
Reaching for a pouch of cat treats, she drops a fishy-smelling nugget onto the floor beside her feet.
A few seconds later, a lightning-fast paw reaches out and snatches it, and then she hears crunching.
Her phone pings with a notification. Her Trophy Wives finale recap is now live on the Reality Bitch site, and the first thing Barb sees when she clicks is the still shot of Cole Lennox’s champagne-soaked face.
Glynnis has turned it into a meme with the caption “You Can’t Handle The Truth. ” Barb barks a laugh.
She puts a “like” on the comment and thinks back to her therapist’s question: How does this serve you?
The answer, as it turns out, is not that deep.
It makes me feel better, Dr. Leto. That’s how.
The comments under her recap are coming in fast and furious. One in particular catches her eye.
@bad_samaritan_95: I think Cole knew EXACTLY what Jordan was doing. Kylie Kahl was the ONLY good trophy wife on this show. It’s so sad that she’s probably DEAD.
Barb sighs and puts a “like” on this, too. Not because she wants Kylie to be dead, but because it’s the only thing that makes any sense.
Where the hell are you, Kylie?