Page 83 of The Lodge

Miami and Philly were the band’s last stops before Boston—it makes more sense now, his disappearance. Why he left when he did.

When the chili is done cooking, we settle onto the living room floor with our bowls on the low, wide coffee table. There are at least three other spots in this place specifically designed for meals, but this one is the coziest, with the fire blazing and the view of the increasingly gloomy sky, the thick blanket of clouds growing darker by the minute. I can already see flurries on the patio.

I take my first bite of chili, making sure to get a little of the Greek yogurt and cilantro Tyler put on top—his bowl is also garnished with slices of fresh jalapeños.

“This issogood,” I say. “Honestly, I see why your mom was willing to cut ties with her entire family over it.”

“Fortunately, most of them came around in the end,” he says, grinning. He takes a huge bite with more jalapeños than seems wise, but doesn’t so much as flinch at the spice.

“So, your sister,” he says. “Is it always like that with her?”

“Yeah.” I sigh. “She leans on me pretty hard.”

I’ve wanted to say so many things to Lauren for so long, especially that I think our well-meaning mother did her a disservice by treating her like she might break for her entire life—really, though, it was only the first few weeks after she was born early that Lauren was particularly fragile.

“You’d think by now she’d be better at handling the hard things on her own—she’s like a magnet for drama. Honestly, though, I blame our parents for enabling her for so long.”

It isn’t Lauren’s fault our parents have always fought her battles for her. I try not to resent her for it. Meanwhile, I’ve worked so hard for everything I have, yetIam the sibling who’s treated like a disappointment with a questionable career. It’s frustrating, to say the least.

“Have you ever felt invisible?” I ask Tyler.

As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I have to laugh at the absurdity of my own question. No, Alix—a world-famous pop star will absolutely not relate to feeling invisible. Millions of people tracked his every move until he decided to make himself disappear on purpose.

“What?” he asks. “What’s funny?”

I gesture at his entire existence.

“You’re…you. I almost forgot what your life was like before.”

“You think famous people never feel invisible?”

My cheeks grow hot. “It’s hard to imagine, that’s all. The whole world knows who you are.”

“The whole worldthinksthey know,” he corrects. “But they never do. They know what they’re shown, and then they draw their own conclusions. They don’t know what’s going on under the surface, not really. So I think maybe it’s possible to feel evenmoreinvisible when you’re famous—everyone thinks they know who you are, but they really, really don’t. It’s disorienting. If I had to pick, I’d rather not be seen at all.” His eyelashes flutter as he glances down at his hands. “I guess, actually, I did pick that.”

I take in his words. What he’s saying makes complete sense.

“I know it’s not exactly the same, but I kind of feel like that in my own family,” I say. “It’s like no one sees me for me even though I’m right there—it’s like they seepotential, but I’m never quite enough just as I actually am. My family has always disapproved of my career. It’s not lucrative enough. Not stable enough. Not serious enough. I’ve worked so hard, but it’s just neverenough.”

I stare into the fire, collecting my thoughts.

“And now I’m writing this book, right? This major book. But I feel like they’d still disapprove if they knew about it, because the only books my parents and brother approve of are ones on the‘classics’ shelves”—I exaggerate my air quotes—“or ones that were written by dead guys more than a hundred years ago.”

Tyler’s eyes are wide.

Maybe I’ve said too much.

“You haven’t even told your family who you’re writing about?”

“I haven’t told them about the book deal at all,” I admit, feeling a wave of sadness. It’s the biggest thing to ever happen in my career—I think it might actually kill me to tell them my big news only to be met with their not-so-subtle disapproval.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, those thick eyebrows knitting together in concern. “About all of it. I still don’t know who you’re writing about, and I know you can’t tell me. But I can already tell it’s going to behuge. And that you’re amazing—the perfect person for the job.”

My eyes well with tears, I can’t help it.

“Thank you,” I say. “That… means a lot.”

His holds my gaze. His eyes are gorgeous—but I miss his real eye color, the one the whole world knows but has most recently been seen by me alone.

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