Chapter 27
Lucy
Things are finally back to normal. I'm on my last week of sabbatical and while I've made no final decision as to what I'm going to do, Noah's been spending more time with me, helping me weigh the pros and cons of picking up the mantle once more.
I still feel anxious about what to do. If I go online again, I worry I'll fall into the same old patterns, but the guys insist they won't let me drown. Noah and I talk about setting hours, something he struggled with when they first started their company. He said he and Silas would work all the time, well into the night and while their paychecks starting out were really good, it wasn't a healthy way to live. They now set the number of hours they work each week—Silas needing a creative outlet aside, because we catch him drawing character ideas at all hours of the night—but he reminded me that it's not just my work, all self-employed people struggle with setting boundaries.
So, we wrote out a schedule of what my day could look like, and I try to decide if I can maintain the same level of content within those parameters. I may have increased followers while I've been away, but that's because Delaney was perpetuating our drama. Now that she's stopped— finally! —my numbers will start to drop off, and rapidly. My window of opportunity is narrow, and I need to have a plan in place before the end of the week.
The girls are no help, as much as I love them. Portia and Mary-Anne think I should start up again, but with a shift in my platform, honoring more about my experience struggling with my mental health, dropping the fourth wall and resuming my perky role but with a ton more honesty.
Cara thinks I shouldn't change a thing.
"I'm just saying, like, I know this was all hard or whatever, but people don't want to hear about your stress. We have enough of our own."
She stuffs a bite of her gluten-free pancake into her mouth, her round, pale pink cheeks filling out like a chipmunk.
"Fair enough," I say. "But I don't think I can go back to that, even if that's what people would prefer."
"It isn't," Portia insists. But she doesn't know, not really. None of us do. Is my personality enough to keep people around if I start talking about depressing topics? Or will I lose everything as soon as I start back up? The number of mean comments since Delaney started shit-talking me have doubled, way beyond the normal number trolls that everyone online deals with. It's half the reason I don't open my accounts, I've been holding off until I decide what to do, because every time I log in, I'm bombarded.
I argue the points, when Mary-Anne says, "Well, if you're gonna lose it all anyway, why not go out the way you want? If you're prepared to walk away, then you're prepared to lose all your advertising. So, what's the downside?"
"She could make a fool of herself and make everyone hate her more than they already do," Cara adds.
"People don't hate Lucy!" Mary-Anne gasps. I appreciate the vote of confidence, but Cara won't meet anyone's eyes and honestly, I know what she's saying. Like all levels of celebrity, people love you and love to hate you. And even those who love you, many are jealous. Of your clothes, your fame, your charmed life, however real or fake it might be. Cara, harsh as she's being, is right.
Portia knows it too, which is why she doesn't defend me. She's got her own trolls she deals with. Mary-Anne's more a Martha Stewart type, she might be the only one at this table that doesn't garner any hate DMs and comments.
We finish eating in silence, the sounds of phones beeping not even registering on my anxiety radar. I really have come a long way—not just since that terrible night almost two months ago now, but before that too. I'm so much more in control and stable. Noah's half-convinced me to go back to therapy, too. I'm making real strides.
Portia reminds me we've finally got her rescheduled photoshoot, the one Cara practically dared her to set up, next Sunday after brunch. I don't know what she has planned, but whatever it is, it's in support of me going online and whatever pictures we take will be used in a handful of posts, if I decide to go back to work.
A tall figure looms over my chair from behind, casting a shadow across my plate. The girls sit straighter, Mary-Anne sweetly greeting my boyfriend. "Hi Mateo, so good to see you again!"
I look up, staring at the underside of his chin, grinning happily. He's never picked me up from brunch before. In fact, he's usually at work at this hour.
Portia and Mateo say hi, and after we sign our credit card slips, he pulls out my chair, but not before he sticks my fork in the last bite of my breakfast and finishes it off.
I giggle, pushing against his chest. "Look at you, you're actually human. Eating off my plate, out in public in the daylight, saying hello to my friends."
" Lo que tú digas ."
"I don't speak Spanish, as you know, but that sounded a bit sarcastic, mister."
"Whatever you say, my heart." He smirks, and this playful side of Mateo takes my breath away.
Wrapping an arm around my waist, he follows my lead as we all make our way out of the restaurant.
"Bye Mateo," Cara waves, her tight blonde curls bouncing as she turns away.
"Bye Cara!" I call out, since she only said goodbye to Mateo. She doesn't turn back, making Portia snort. We part ways and I curl into Mateo's embrace as we walk back down the sidewalk.
"So, what's the special occasion?"
"No special occasion. I just wanted to spend time with you."
I stop abruptly. "Mateo? Honey, are you okay?" I put the back of my palm against his forehead. Unamused, he grips my wrist, pulling both behind my back. Doesn't matter that we're on the sidewalk and in public. My pussy clenches at the way he so aggressively restrains my limbs.
"Very funny. Now, are you going to be a brat or just accept the nice gesture?"
I narrow my eyes. "Let me think about it."
He chuckles, releasing me and we keep walking.
"Seriously though."
"Seriously… I just realized you might go back to work in a week and we were both so busy before… I let things pile up between us. I don't want that to happen again. I refuse to lose you again."
"That won't happen. We were different then."
"It was two months ago."
"You don't think I've changed? Or that you have? I feel like all three of you have changed since we've been together."
He seems to think about it before acquiescing. "Alright, that's fair. Maybe we've changed. But I don't want to go backward."
"We won't."
He stops in the middle of the sidewalk. It's sunny and bright. People move all around us. We get clipped by shopping bags and business types and little kids clutching their parents hands. We stand there in the middle of it all, but it might as well be just us two, the way everything around us falls away. Mateo's hands clasp my face, and he leans down, forehead pressing to mine.
"Promise me, mi corazón . Promise me we'll never go back to that, that you'll never leave me. Promise me we'll always be together."
"I promise. From the bottom of my heart, I swear it. We'll never go back. Only forward."
He kisses the tip of my nose. "Only forward."