Chapter 29
TWENTY-NINE
COLBY
Josie’s wide, expectant, beautiful brown eyes are looking into mine after I just said there was something I needed to tell her.
And then followed that bombshell up by remaining totally silent.
My stomach is so tight I think I’m going to throw up.
I’m looking at those pale cheeks still flushed with sleep, the blankets tucked around her naked body, and when I open my mouth up to speak, I freeze.
“What is it?” she asks, stroking her thumb against my hand. “Whatever it is, you can tell me. I’m here, okay?”
God, this is so fucking hard. Why does she have to be so wonderful?
This would be a hell of a lot easier if she were a snappy, terrible human.
I exhale a shaky breath and twist the corner of the bedsheet in my palm.
“When Amelia died, I was so broken. I couldn’t accept that she was gone, that I’d never talk to her again, or listen to her voice or hear her stories.
And… I needed a way to connect with her.
I wanted to find a passion… a hobby… something that helped me forget that she was gone. ”
Josie nods, her eyes filled with understanding and confusion.
“Okay? I completely understand that. You lost your wife so suddenly that it makes sense that you’d seek out something to ease that pain.
I didn’t lose my wife, and I still tried every hobby in the world to replace the spark I was missing. ”
Right. Okay, this is good. My chest settles.
Maybe she can relate my need to do this podcast to how she described spending years searching for hobbies to fill the void of her father leaving the family.
“So, I searched and searched, and tried different things, and just wasn’t finding anything that made me keep her spirit alive.
” I swallow and go back to twisting the blanket.
“And, well, have you heard of how some writers have pen names?”
Her eyebrows scrunch together. “Ah… yes, of course.”
She looks confused. Never mind the fact that it’s six in the morning, she’s only been awake for a few moments, and everything coming from my mouth is nothing how I intended. “Why do you think they would do that?”
She hesitates for a long moment. “This is a really weird line of questioning.” She yawns into her shoulder and snugs the sheet a little tighter across her chest. “I suppose that they want to be private. Maybe it helps them be more creative? Or maybe their name is Mary Smith or something, and they think, I don’t know, Genevieve Gold McQueen sounds better on a cover. Why?”
I should tell her that I’m delirious with lack of sleep, don’t know what I’m saying, and we should just crawl back under the sheets and go back to sleep, because I don’t want to do this.
My God, I don’t want to do this. My hand shakes as I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear.
“I, um, in my day job, I actually use a fake name. For most all those reasons. I mean, I think Colby Jackson is a perfectly fine name, but I need some anonymity to be able to… spark… a certain level of creativity and freedom.”
Josie cocks her head, then slowly nods. “When you say you are a ‘digital editor,’” she says, air quoting the words digital editor that I’ve used before, “does that mean you make sex videos or something? Just so you know, there is no judgment here. Seriously. You do whatever makes you happy.”
The breath that leaves my body feels like the first full one I’ve taken for weeks.
Yes, of course. Josie is one of the most easygoing, nonjudgmental, open-minded women I have ever met.
I don’t know why I didn’t latch on to this right away.
God, this woman is amazing. “No, no videos,” I say with a quick grin. “But I do make content.”
“No way. Like what?” she says. “Feet videos? You do have freakishly cute toes, and I’m not even a toe person. I bet you could make a ton of money off of those babies.”
And now, I’m back to feeling like I want a crater to suck me in whole. I’m just stalling at this point and need to come out and say it. My insides are raging, my pulse so loud in my head that I feel like I can’t hear anything. “I make a podcast. I’m, uh, I host a podcast.”
Josie’s face flushes. A moment passes, then two, as she cocks her head.
“That’s so cool! Why wouldn’t you just tell me that?
Honestly. I used to love podcasts, I mean before that whole shitshow scenario.
Whatever, doesn’t even matter. Even if it is like a bunch of fandom Star Trek people, I wouldn’t care.
You know that right? This right here”—she draws a box around herself—“is a judgment-free zone. Unless it is about the dolls. Because those are seriously freaky. Actually, nope. You know what? Even with the dolls, you do you. I want to listen to it! What’s the name of the show? ”
I can’t look at her. I can’t look at her face, at her eyes, at the innocence that is surely flushing her cheeks right now, because she doesn’t get it.
I’ve withheld so much from her. She has opened up about everything, and I didn’t come out and tell her that last year, I caused her to go through the deepest humiliation she’s felt in her adult life.
My chin trembles. Tears well behind my eyes, and I blink them away.
“Oh shit. Colby? Seriously. You can tell me anything.” She tugs my hands from the death grip they are currently wrapped in on the bedsheet and squeezes. “It’s okay. Really.”
I gnaw on the inside of my cheek, then lower my chin. “I host the Love ’Em or Leave ’Em show.”
A quick smile, almost like she’s going to giggle, forms. I see it all pass through her sweet face.
The way her eyes dash between mine. The way she’s smiling, the way she clearly thinks I’m joking.
One moment, two, then three follow when her smile drops and she gulps.
She shakes her head. “No. No, that’s not true… There’s no… You? You’re Ruby Reanne?”
I swallow back all the shame and fear that’s been building in me.
My chest feels like an elephant is sitting on it, my neck feels like a boot’s pressed against it.
I can’t breathe. The air is so thick and heavy that I feel like I’m going to choke.
Please don’t leave. “I’m Ruby Reanne. I mean, it’s more like a character I play, but…
” I swallow a boulder lodged deep in my throat. “But yes. That’s me. Ruby’s… me.”
Josie drops her hand, slow at first. Hesitant. Then she rips it away, pushes herself back from me, and levels a gaze. She’s silent. She’s so freakishly, eerily, sickly silent that my face and body inflame. I need her to say something. Now, anything. Yell, snap, laugh, ask questions. Something.
“I’ve never told anyone this,” I say, wanting to reach out and touch her but refrain.
My stomach hurts, my chest hurts, my heart hurts.
The way she’s looking at me—squinted eyes, dropped mouth, the sleepy blush in her cheeks morphing to a dark red, makes me want to duck my head under the covers and never look up.
“So, I don’t want you to think that other people knew, or something, and I only didn’t tell you.
It’s this entirely private side of mine that literally no one knows about. I started it—”
A sharp gasp leaves her lips. “Oh my God, your wife, Amelia.” She brings a hand to her mouth. “You… talk about Amelia.”
Shit, shit, shit. “I do. I, ugh, it’s like it’s me, but it’s not…
” Ruby’s relationship with “Amelia” is the basis of my show, but it’s not the real Amelia.
Ruby isn’t real, either. It seems so very clear in my head, but I stammer trying to explain it to Josie.
“I channel her, kind of, I guess. That personality on there is hers, not mine, so I’m Ruby, but Ruby is actually Amelia, and—”
“You talk all the time about Amelia. About your marriage, how amazing it is, how she’s the perfect wife, how you are the imperfect wife but try to make her happy…”
The words are coming out in spurts, and she moves as far away on the bed as she can go.
And I can’t deny what she’s saying, or pretend that she has it wrong, because she’s right.
And even if I wanted to play it off, or pretend I haven’t spent the last six years talking about Amelia on every show, she could do an easy search and know that I lied. Again.
Josie is gnawing on her cheek so hard that I’m worried she’s going to draw blood. Her eyes bore into mine, and I feel that heat on my face spread to my chest. “Have you recorded shows since we’ve been together?”
I’m going to pass out. “Yes.”
Her eyebrows cinch together. “And do you still talk about your wife, Amelia? Do you still talk like you’re married to her?”
There is officially no air left in this room.
I hook my finger against the robe collar and tug on the noose.
The way she is asking me this, like she’s both furious but holding on to a linger of hope, makes my gut plummet.
The show’s always been a show, a characterization, fiction.
But there’s no way to explain this in a way that doesn’t sound truly awful.
“Yes.” I say this barely above a whisper, and now that the words have been released, I can only imagine the level of betrayal Josie must be feeling.
The way we’ve bonded, the way she’s shared everything with me about her past, and her father, and her relationships.
The way we share our bodies, and hearts, there’s no way to justify the fact that I’ve withheld this from her.
“I think… I think I need to leave.” Josie stands from the bed, dragging the sheet with her and holding it around her body.
Panic floods my system. “Wait. Hang on. Please just hear me out for a second.” She can’t leave.
We have to talk this out. If she leaves, she may never come back, and I cannot entertain a world where that happens.
“I’ve kept this private for a reason. And honestly, I think it’s okay.
A lot of people use stage names, fake names… ”