Page 12 of The Southern Thirst Trap

Just keep fucking telling yourself that, man.

“Where did you grow up?” I ask in her ear over the roar of the boat’s engine.

She turns her face to be able to shout her answer back to me. “Atlanta, born and raised. I moved to LA at eighteen to start my modeling career and that’s my home base now.”

“Are you telling me we grew up in the same city and I managed not to have found you before this?” I ask, tightening my hold on her waist and feeling incredulity settle over me. She was so close and I never even knew it.

“You’re like twenty-nine, right?” She waits for me to nod before she continues. “You’re five years older than me. It’s not like we would have ever been in school together, even if I grew up near you, which isn't likely, Mr. Moneybags,” she says playfully. “What makes you think that out of the six million people in the Atlanta metro area, we would have found each other?”

“We were destined to find each other, baby.” I deliver the words flippantly, but damn if I don’t believe them right down to my soul.

Yeah, I’m fucked.

seven

Harlowe

“Ugh,thisOlympusdatabreach is ruining your cooking segment coverage. The investigation and the news of their stocks plummeting and how that’s affecting the market are the only things the news is running with tonight,” Alicia says in a nasally tone that sometimes drives me insane. She called me to talk about my schedule for the rest of the week, since two more segments were bumped as more pressing news stories came through.

I roll my eyes at her lack of empathy. “I think a cyber attack and corporate sabotage is obviously a bigger story right now. If they want to focus on that, it’s warranted.” I’m not about to fight for fluff piece coverage when there’s serious shit happening around us, not even if it’s Zander’s company stealing my spotlight. “It’s just a cookbook and a few recipes I was going to share. I can do that any time.” I swirl the dregs in the bottom of a glass of red wine that I’ve been nursing since I got home from my downtown signing event and Hendricks went to bed. It was enough of a mess today to need a weeknight drink when I would normally save it for the weekend.

“We have to strike while the iron’s hot, honey. We can't let the momentum die when you have the Gourmet Network sniffing around looking for a possible new show with you at the helm. It’s everything we’ve been working for, and why this cookbook was so important after the success of your YouTube channel.”

Guilt pecks at me, knowing there is a game plan in place for my success, and it requires a hell of a lot of work and tons of appearances to keep my name and face in front of a larger audience. And yet, I can’t help but feel like it’s all for nothing, and I might as well not even try.

“Let me know if there are additional changes to the schedule. I’ll film an episode to upload this week, and I’ll post to my socials so at least I’ll have new content. My posting schedule has been weak since the book launched. I’m sure my subscribers would like to see new recipes.”

“You're bigger than YouTube, you’re going to have a major network show!” she says exuberantly, and a little too early for my taste. “I’m working with the publisher and focused on booking you more TV spots. We might be able to reschedule the spots that were bumped from tomorrow to next week, which would still be okay.”

“I always appreciate your positivity, Alicia. Thank you.”

“Night, honey!” she says, blowing kisses and disconnecting the call.

I turn the phone over in my hand a few times and consider calling Knox. He’s really good at cheering me up. He has this ridiculously positive mindset and is really great with pep talks. It must be the lifetime of football coaches pumping up the team that instilled that quality in him. My fingers hover, ready to hit his contact, when I decide against it. I don’t really want to be cheered up by him right now.

Instead, I open Instagram and post a thirst trap selfie of me in a skimpy tank top eating a creamy pasta dish that’s featured in my cookbook with a huge ass smile. I write a racy caption aboutcacio e pepethat sounds like the smut I like to read—I mean,creamy caciois just begging to be used sexually—and throw in some body positivity about loving yourself at any size and actually enjoying your food. It’s a hard-won lesson I will gladly share with anyone who wants to hear it, and if looking happy while eating pasta with my tits out drives that point home, I’m more than happy to do it.

I do this occasionally to remind myself, and my followers, that not only am I a foodie and a mom, I’m still fun. While I’m now aformermodel, I’ll be a catch no matter what size my jeans are or if I eat carbs. Even though it’s late for my normal commenting demographic, my notifications start ticking up right away, and my DM inbox numbers start increasing. Alicia will be happy with the engagement, even if I don’t interact with any of the comments tonight. I sigh and close the app. I don’t feel like talking to anyone else after such a wild day.

When I got home and the girls all left, I had to contend with letting down my son, on top of needing some major work done to my car. To say Hendricks was disappointed that he couldn't go to school is an understatement. His full bottom lip pouted out spectacularly, and he gave me these big, storm cloud gray puppy dog eyes that would melt the blackest of hearts. I’ve never met a four-year-old who loved school so much. I can distinctly remember crying when my mom dropped me off at school and fabricated illnesses to keep myself home with her instead of going to class. Not Hendricks. He’s such a good kid, who loves learning, and I hate letting him down.

“Mama? I can’t sleep.”

I turn to the doorway of the living room to see the tousled hair and sleepy eyes of the brightest part of my life. I set my wine glass on the coffee table and open my arms to him. “I was just thinking about you, and how much I could use one of your Hulk hugs right now. Can you come give me a big squeeze?”

Hendricks smiles and rushes over, blanket trailing from his little fist, and throws himself into my arms. I wrap him up and hold him close, breathing in his warm, sleepy scent, feeling him nuzzle into my neck, and sigh.

These hugs are magic. Just holding my baby boy, my child, makes the problems in my life seem trivial by comparison. I rub his back and hold him quietly, knowing he will talk if he feels like it, and sometimes just needs a hug to sort through his little boy emotions. He’s a sensitive kid, observant and smart enough to pick up what’s going on around him. I try to keep his world as simple as possible because he deserves to have an uncomplicated life.

My brush with celebrity and the path I’m on now writing cookbooks, posting my video content, interacting with social media, and encouraging body positivity, can be all-consuming. It’s a full-time job and more, since I don’t farm out my editing or commenting on the different platforms, preferring to do it all myself so my message never gets twisted by someone else. But that work means time away from my boy, or my attention split much of the time. The evenings are for Hendricks alone, and I’m usually pretty good at being present. Tonight, he must be feeling my anxiety and the stress of the day radiating off of me to be having trouble sleeping.

“Do I get to go to school tomorrow?” he asks in his sweet, clear little voice.

I lean back into the deep couch and look at him as his head rolls to my shoulder. “Yes, my love, you do. I’m sorry you had to miss class today, and I will do my best to make sure you never have to miss again, okay?”

He nods and blinks heavily. His soulful gray eyes, fringed by long, dark lashes, are a carbon copy of the ones that looked at me today on the side of the highway. His caramel skin, full lips, and soft brown curls are from me, but those eyes… they will always remind me of the father he’s never met. Will never meet, if I can keep him protected from the man who cut me out of his life so efficiently. I can be enough parent for Hendricks on my own. I don’t need a man interested in only his success, who refuses to give in to attachments and wants nothing to do with me to screw up the balance I’ve created for my son.

“I saw that sleepy look. How about I take you to bed and we can cuddle until you fall asleep?” I offer.

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