Page 11 of Somewhere in the Sunset

Gracie arches an eyebrow and there’s the briefest flash of sympathy in her gaze. “No one has called.”

Ouch. Charlottestillhasn’t called me back? It’s another punch in the gut. Trying to get through to Charlotte is like communicating with a brick wall reinforced with steel. But I can’t give up. I need my phone back immediately so I can keep trying.

“Can I .?.?. ?”

Gracie nods and makes for the elevator, still juggling the grocery bags in her arms as she reaches for the button for the fourth floor. Did I ever carry any of Charlotte’s bags for her? There’s a lot of things I didn’t do, and they all seem so obvious to me now.

“Let me take those for you,” I offer, holding out my hands as the elevator doors close.

Gracie eyeballs me, skeptical. “You’re just trying to steal my fresh avocado.”

“I don’t even like avocado,” I say, then lift the bags out of her arms. I stand by her side, both of us facing the doors in silence. Out of the corner of my eye, I can tell she doesn’t know what to do with her hands now. She begins swinging her apartment keys around her index finger.

The elevator doors open and we retrace our route from last night, only now we are sober. Her apartment is at the end of the hallway, right on the corner. Corner apartments are always the most expensive. She unlocks her door and I follow her inside.

“Just put those bags down there,” she says, waving a flippant hand toward the breakfast bar built into the kitchen. I do as instructed, then stand idle as I watch her navigate her apartment.

It’s huge. Like, over a thousand square feet, which makes my pathetic three hundred square feet of space seem even more claustrophobic than it already did. Gracie straightens out a crease on the folded blanket on the couch, then moves the potted plant on the coffee table one millimeter to the left. So particular.

“Can I ask what you do?”

She glances up. “What I do?”

“Yeah. For work.”

“I don’t. I just graduated from SFSU.”

“Okay, then what does Luca do?”

She stiffens, her hand on one of her birthday cards from yesterday. Her voice lowers. “You remembered his name?”

“The maintenance guy downstairs reminded me.”I couldn’t even remember yours.

“Nothing. He just graduated too,” she mumbles. In one fell swoop, she gathers an armful of birthday cards and dumps them into the trash.

“You’re both new graduates with no jobs andthisis your apartment?” I say in disbelief, shaking my head. “He’s a drug dealer, isn’t he? You should turn him in to me. I’ll get on it first thing tomorrow.”

Gracie laughs. It’s a gentle, uplifting noise. She steps beside me and unpacks the first grocery bag, waving a giant avocado at me. “He isnota drug dealer. We’re .?.?.” She blushes and tilts her chin down, her bangs falling in front of her eyes. “We’re influencers.”

“You’re what?”

“An influencer,” she repeats, shy.

“What the hell is an influencer?”

Gracie quits unpacking the groceries and crosses her arms, looking me up and down with furrowed brows. “How old are you?”

“Not as old as your tone is making me out to be. Twenty-three.”

“Then you should know what an influencer is,” she says. “You know, on social media?”

I shake my head. “I don’t use social media.”

Her eyes narrow. A pale blue, so much like Charlotte’s. My chest tightens.Why won’t she at least hear me out?

“An influencer is someone who has power over their target audience. We can sway their purchase decisions, for example,” Gracie explains, breaking our eye contact. After a beat, she sighs. “Let me show you.”

I don’t realize she wants me to follow her until she crosses the apartment and gestures for me to join. She pushes open a door, revealing an office. Iknewthis was a two-bedroom apartment. How much money does this girl make? A lot, apparently.

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