Page 19 of Perfect Praise

She shifts toward me and lays a hand over mine before I can register what she’s doing. It’s like a long drag of nicotine that goes straight to my head before I quickly yank my hand back.

Her face drops. “I’m sorry,” she says again, flustered.

“Stop apologizing. There’s nothing to be sorry for,” I tell her probably too harshly, but she doesn’t seem to mind.

“I know, I know. But it’s sad and beautiful.”

“It was a long time ago,” I say.

She smiles to herself. “I think I would’ve liked to see you as a child.”

“I’m sure I have a picture.”

“I meantknowyou. What you were like,” she clarifies. “Wh—”

Before she can ask a follow-up question about me, I’m already cutting her off. “What about your sister?”

“How’d you know I have a sister?”

“You posted a photo of yourself with a girl who looks just like you. I mean it’s a given, right?”

“She’s my doppelgänger,” she says, straight-faced. “I randomly met her at the grocery store.”

“So, your twin?”

“Actually, no,” she laughs. “Camille is eleven months younger than me. Also, she’s married with a baby on the way.”

The way she adds the last part makes me think she has to tell men that a lot. “My next question wasn’t going to be if she was single.”

Maren gives me an appreciative look and tries not to smile. “It’s okay if it was. I assure you we’ve been asked if we’re into threesomes more than once. As much as we look alike, she has always been the funnier, prettier, more confident, slightly better version of me. I came to terms with it a long time ago. I just want everyone to like me, so I try to blend in. Give everyone what they want from me.”

“You think it’s easier to sacrifice yourself?” I ask.

“Sometimes, yeah. Don’t you?”

“Not anymore. Someone will always hate you. It doesn’t matter what you do or say. One person will think something amazing about you and another person will think the complete opposite. You tell the entire truth to someone’s face and you will never be able to change their mind, so I don’t try anymore.”

“Anymore?” Marenquestions me.

I start slowly, unsure how much of myself I want to give to her, but a chuckle slips out first before I can stop it. This is why I’m trying to help her, so I may as well.

“I’m not immune to the internet. Always having it at your fingertips is a curse. Half of us admit it, but don’t do anything about it. Every article that was written about me, every video taken, even if I didn’t find it myself—and trust me, I found enough myself through Google or social media to last me a lifetime—someone texted one to me. I’d spend hours reading comments or watching a video of me where I was supposedly rude or tired. Every single person would analyze my body language or try to read my lips.

“And then I’d obsess—what could I have done differently, how could I make people happy. Then I’d try to change, be overly nice, but then I would still get misinterpreted as fake or rude, and no matter how hard I tried to change, someone always had something negative to say about me. The best thing I ever did for my mental health was put my phone down. Because I can’t control other people’s feelings. I know myself and am happy with myself. I’m not living for others. That’s all that matters. And for someone like me, it’s easier to keep people at arm’s length anyway.”

“For someone like you?” she repeats.

“Someone who’s…”

I try to choose my next words carefully, and I’m about to saya professional athleteuntil Maren turns toward me.

Her eye contact is surprisingly steady before she finishes my sentence like she read my thoughts. “Too much?”

Then Maren goes back to looking out the window.

When we walk intothe restaurant, Graham’s eyeline bounces between me and Maren before he stands to greet us.

He buttons his jacket and swipes a hand through his brown curls with his face full of hesitancy.

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