Page 110 of Gilded Fake

Of course I didn’t keep the baby. I couldn’t. I was a criminal with no home when I got out, nowhere to go. And worse, I knew I’d never be able to look at it and not relive that last year and how it came to be. I didn’t even want to know the sex, didn’t want to name it or keep in touch with the parents. All I wanted was to know it was safe and had a chance in life.

I chose a couple who seemed happy and middle class, and I hoped that it would be enough, that they would love the baby in a way I couldn’t, not knowing where it came from. I hoped they would give it a good life, that it wouldn’t have to struggle in poverty or be corrupted by wealth. I signed the papers, and then I cried for three months straight.

I don’t remember much of that time. I never left my bed except when I was forced to go to therapy or meals, and they had to heavily medicate me and put me on suicide watch when my mental health deteriorated. With a lot of adjustments of meds, a lot of therapy, and a lot more hard work, I crawled out of that place to reach the one I’m in now. I’m proud of that, even if it’s not much for a former prom queen with a scholarship to Yale.

I step out the doors and onto the curb, then stand in the stifling heat, breathing it in like I don’t walk the gardens every day. It tastes different out here, where it’s free. It smells like hot asphalt and exhaust, perfume, and possibilities.

“Gloria,” a voice calls, and I turn, locating the source of the perfume. Two pretty faces smile at me, both girls jostling each other as they hurry over, shoulder to shoulder, an impenetrable wall of togetherness and twinship bonds.

“Are you here to throw a bubble tea in my face and tell me I’m a disgrace to the family?” I ask, gripping my suitcase harder.

“No,” Everleigh says, looking wounded. She’s cut her hair to her shoulders, while Eleanor’s has grown out in the past year.

“We wanted a chance to say goodbye before we leave for college,” Eleanor says.

“Okay,” I say with a shrug. “Bye.”

“That’s it?” she asks, her eyes widening in disbelief.

“Hey, you both got into college. Good job,” I offer. “Glad that worked out for you.”

“It’s not our fault you ruined your future by running over a celebrity,” Eleanor says.

I snort. “Celebrity? Please.”

“She’s famous now,” Everleigh says. “She went on tour with that band Rylan formed with the other kids at that teen challenge ranch Mr. Montgomery sent him to. She made a whole blog about it, about the struggles of a new band trying to break out in the digital age.”

“I heard they were, y’know. Together for a while,” Eleanor says, giving me a meaningful look, as if I’m supposed to care where Rylan sticks his dick.

“Good for her.”

“She’s like a real journalist now,” Eleanor says. “She even texted us for a few months after she went on the road, until she got so busy…”

“After the blog did so well, she got hired to help do the publicity for Bathtub Burnouts’ comeback tour,” Everleigh explains.

“I heard,” I say. “Sounds like Dixie. Always chasing that fame.”

Eleanor giggles and glances at the building behind me. “I wasn’t sure if you knew. Did you get, like, internet and stuff in here?”

I roll my eyes. “Yes, Eleanor. Even prisons have internet access.”

“Well, Bathtub Burnouts is a legit band, so she’s at least semi-famous. Can you believe we know a famous person?”

“I’m happy for you.”

“What was it like in there?” Eleanor whispers excitedly, like we’re gossiping about some rich person’s house and not a court-appointed treatment facility. “Did you see anyone famous?”

I shrug. “If you really wanted to know, you would have visited while I was there.”

“We had school and cheer and everything,” Everleigh protests. “It’s not that easy to get away on a Saturday.”

“And yet, Harper lives in New York, and she managed to visit multiple times last summer, on fall break, winter break, spring break, and again this summer,” I say, counting off on my fingers. “Almost as if making time to see people you care about is a normal thing to do.”

“Everyone thought you went crazy,” Eleanor explains. “At the trial, all that stuff they said about you…”

“Including you,” I say, my voice hard. “You didn’t just align yourself with Dixie at school when all that shit went down. You testified on her behalf, against your own sister.”

“Because we had to,” Eleanor says. “Everyone was on her side!”

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