Chapter 9
Eve calls Clay to tell him she wants to move forward with the edited album.
They have to rerecord a few things, but now, with the suggestions of their algorithmic dystopian sidekick, they are inspired and clear-eyed for the first time in weeks.
Eve’s manager comes into the studio to listen to the latest cut of “Evergreen,” and she sits with her jaw cupped in her palms and her gaze fixed on the table in front of her.
It ends, and she says, “Again.” Eve and Clay glance at each other. They listen again.
“Okay,” her manager says then. “Well. So we have it.”
“It?”
“The big one.”
That’s how they start talking about “Evergreen.” How’s the Big One? Do you think we need to start teasing the Big One on socials? I am so tired of the Big One!
The day “Evergreen” is set to drop on streaming, Eve and Clay plan to meet in McCarren Park for a croissant. Eve’s Instagram post is scheduled; the single is queued; the teasers have trended. Now, all that’s left is to pray. And eat croissants.
Clay is late. Eve sits on a bench in the shade and waits.
She listens to Sunbeam, Baby in its entirety, watching the dappled light patter through the leaves.
It’s saccharine sweet, this album. There are no references to Paradise Lost or The Odyssey.
This is an album about falling in love, having sex, feeling light, being happy.
She knows what the critics will say: that it is dishonest. That’s what they always say about joy.
Joy is simple, and simplicity is dishonest. But Eve also feels this may be the most honest thing she’s ever written.
There is a line on the last song, “Mariana,” that goes: “Honestly, it’s just not that deep.
” That will be the headline that the critics use.
It will also be what her parents say, should they ever choose to listen.
Clay shows up thirty-eight minutes late. Eve knows this because that’s the duration of Sunbeam, Baby.
He looks vaguely concussed. He drops onto the bench next to Eve and pulls his Knicks hat farther down his head.
“Sorry I’m late,” he says.
“Are you okay?”
“Matthew broke up with me.”
“What? No. What?”
“He said I just didn’t have it. Like, the intangible it. Something was missing.”
“Oh my god. Clay, I’m so sorry. Did you see it coming?”
“I had no idea. Like, none. I thought we were great.” He pauses.
“We were a seventy. In Pattern. And we always kind of made fun of it, you know, privately. Like, oh, sure, seventy, but they don’t know that opposites attract and that we balance each other out and we’re going to be together forever.
But last night, he was like, ‘I actually just don’t think we’re that compatible after all. ’ ”
“Oh, Clay.”
“This is going to be the only time I say this, and you can’t repeat it. But just for my own peace of mind: literally, fuck Danny.”
Eve feels the words hit her chest like a physical blow. She pats Clay’s shoulder. She suggests they go get wine instead of croissants, but Clay says only competitive physical exertion will cure him. They end up playing pickleball on the McCarren Park courts.
“Whatever it takes to help,” Eve says, “but pickleball? Really?”
“It’s America’s fastest growing sport.”
Eve doesn’t check her phone most of the day.
When she finally does, it’s sunset, and she sees she has messages from Danny, Julian, Gigi, Shannon, Holling, her manager, assorted friends and distant relatives.
She has the sense something big is about to transpire, is already transpiring, but how do you prepare for something like that?
In a way, she’s grateful she and Clay spent the whole day talking about other things.
Clay hugs her, and they walk home in their separate directions.
Eve feels terrible for Clay, of course. But also, she cannot imagine being caught off guard by a breakup.
If she and Danny break up, she knows exactly why: because he will do something to make her doubt their relationship, like put his career above hers, and this will make her think of her parents and their retrograde gender roles, which will make her pull away abruptly, which will make him perilously anxious, which will make her retreat even further because she cannot bear the responsibility of making a man feel psychically whole.
It would be his fault for his dependency, but it would also be her fault for her unwillingness to communicate.
And then they’d be done. The thought makes Eve so sad her teeth ache. But it would not catch her off guard.