Page 46 of That Fake Feeling
Istep over a cable snaking its way across the floor as the photographer’s assistant winds the other end around his arm.
Connorsays nothing.
Outon the landing, the air’s a little easier to breathe—less heavy, less weighed down with whatever the hell the atmosphere was in there.
“Oh,Rose,” the wardrobe woman calls up the stairs. “Youcan keep those pajamas.You’reso cute in them.”Sheadjusts the heavy suit hanger draped over her arm. “Andthe dress from earlier is hanging in your closet.”
Idefinitely do not want that devil dress in my life.
“Oh, it’s okay, there’s no need,”Isay.
Shewaves her hand at me like dresses that cost four figures are an everyday occurrence to her.
“They’regifts from the designers.Theyget a credit in the photo captions.So, you know, everyone wins.”Shegrabs the handle of a wheelie case, spins around, and heads toward the front door. “Enjoy.”
Andthere she goes, moving on to her next assignment.She’llforget me the moment her feet hit the sidewalk.
Yup, we’re just products on everyone’s conveyor belt.
* * *
Littlewaves slosh asIlean forward in the claw-foot tub to run more hot into the cooling water.
Ithought lying here, doing my homework of reading up on how to give children clear and effective instructions, would help ground me back in reality.
Lordknows,Ineed something to get my head back from whichever fairy tale land it drifted off to during that kiss.
Thehot water stings my toes, soIpull them below the surface for protection.
Ofcourse, we only kissed because the photographer asked us to.Itwas purely for the camera.Buthow can something so fake feel so real?
Andit wasn’t just the kiss.
Thelaughs we shared over the fake croissant and the squirrel-feeding woman, they felt real too.Likewe connected a little—bonded, even—on a deeper level.
Thewarmer water flows from around my feet up my legs.
But, yes, it’s not real.Andthat’s just fine.
Ineed to shake off all this nonsense and focus on school.That’swhatI’mhere for after all, to earn the cash to pay for tuition and rent soIdon’t have to work a thousand jobs and can, for the first time, actually concentrate almost entirely on my studies.
Asthe warmer water reaches my belly,Ilean forward and turn off the tap.
Timeto get a grip and focus on this book.I’veso far read the same two sentences about fifteen times, andIstill can’t remember what they said.
Isink lower, the water lapping over my shoulders, and start over at the beginning of the chapter.Whenin doubt, go back to the beginning.
Myphone buzzes on the ledge beside the tub.Iput my book down and pick it up.
AUNTJEN(6:28PM)
LookwhatIgot!Ican flush with rainwater now! #waterwatereverywhere #flushedwithdelight #itsrainingjen
Attachedis a photo of her, dressed in an oversized lilacT-shirt, rolled-up jeans, a straw hat, and flowery clogs, with a giant smile on her face, pointing at a green rain barrel almost as tall as she is.Thatmakes it almost four foot six.
It’simmediately followed by another message.
AUNTJEN(6:29PM)
