Page 87 of For Butter or Worse
“Yes, thank the goddess for you. I love Johnny Cash, but this is that guy’s fifth in a row.”
“Lady Gaga?” Sophie asked her sister. “‘Shallow’? I’ll even be Bradley.”
“Fine, but only because you gave me that massage for free.”
“Yes, yes, yes!” her sister squealed. “You’re not going to regret this, trust me.”
Ouchwas the first fully formed thought that came to mind as Nina woke up the next morning. The hangover was not helped by the amount of light that poured in through the hotel-room window and onto the couch, where Nina was desperately trying to stay asleep. Aside from the bright sun, there was also the dull ache in her head, the sour taste of alcohol still in her mouth and the clothes from last night she hadn’t managed to change out of—not one of her finest moments.
When she’d blinked enough to feel awake, the brown eyes of an overly plump squirrel stared back at her from the balcony.
“Don’t start with me.” Her voice cracked from dehydration.
The squirrel’s tail fluffed ever so slightly in response.
She carefully sat up. Her sister was asleep in the hotel bed, on top of the covers and wearing a robe. She could get up and order them lots of room-service options to help cure their hangovers. She’d let Sophie sleep.
As she padded across the hardwood floor toward the bathroom to investigate the likely mess that was her face, hair and teeth, she spotted her iPhone charging on a coffee table.
All of the bad things that could happen already had—she didn’t need Twitter, IG and news notifications to confirm that—but she’d have to tune back into reality at some point.
Plus, there could be a text or voice mail from Jasmine about the restaurant...or from Leo. She missed him. She didn’t want to, but she did. The karaoke, drinking and wings hadn’t distracted her the way she’d hoped. And now that she was alone with her thoughts again, he’d crept right on in.
So she looked at her phone and saw the missed calls from Leo. Just two of them. One at midnight, when Nina and Sophie had already fallen asleep, and another just seven minutes later at 12:07 a.m. No voice mails. She licked her dry and cracked lips. Of course, he didn’t have to leave a message, because there wasn’t really anything to say. He’d lied, she’d ignored him—both things that really didn’t matter because they didn’t owe each other anything.
While she wondered what Leo was thinking, her phone began to ring: Tom.
She cautiously answered, keeping her voice low so as not to wake Sophie. “I should warn you that I’m hungover, so if you start to yell I’ll have to hang up.”
“I don’t yell. I speak sternly, like when I tell you that I’ve been emailing, texting and calling for the last ten hours to try and reach you. I would say that in a stern way so you know I’m not happy about it.” He paused, then added, “Where are you?”
“I’m with my sister. I had to get out of the city. I’ve been trying to ignore my phone.” Nina examined her face in the mirror. Her eyes were bloodshot, and some residual makeup had caked in certain spots.
“Lucky you. Some of us can’t avoid calls because all of the outlets want to talk to their client, and said client is nowhere to be found.”
“I don’t have anything to say about Charlie.” More like she was too hurt to say anything, really. She understood why journalists would want a comment from her, but she wasn’t about to give Charlie the satisfaction.
“I’m not calling about the show. I’m calling about Leo.”
Leo?Had the fans figured out their relationship was one big fat, phony lie? “So, the jig is up, then?”
“You haven’t seen his IG post.” Tom sounded concerned, which made Nina even more so.
“Looking now.” She put Tom on speaker and opened Instagram, where a new post from Leo popped up at the top of her feed.
The post was a photo of them—a selfie from their hike when they’d shared a first kiss. She was laughing at a ridiculous pun he’d made—these views are unbe-leaf-able—and he was looking at her like she was the only person who mattered. She hadn’t seen this photo. He must’ve kept it for himself until now.
There was a long caption. “Can I call you back?”
“Just remember that I know where you are, so I will drive up there if I don’t hear from you.”
“I’ll keep my phone on, promise.” Then she ended the call and began to read.
LEO’S INSTAGRAM POST
Nina Lyon, first of all I am so deeply sorry. Even though fans of our show have viewed me as the nice guy, we both know I’m anything but. Behind the cameras I went out of my way to be mean and make you feel like an outsider on your own show. I was insecure, jealous and, worst of all, I had feelings for you that I didn’t know how to deal with.
So instead of treating you as a valued coworker, I tried to one-up you. Instead of coming to your defense whenever a critic wrote a piece about our show and called you words like ruthless, bossy and harsh—thinly veiled sexist remarks—I looked the other way. I could’ve used my social platform to fight back when some “fan” in the comments attacked you, blamed you, or accused you of being a “diversity hire,” as one person put it, but I didn’t. I’ve compared your Instagram and Twitter mentions to my own, and there’s no comparison—I want you to know that I see the hate, body shaming and worse... I can’t forgive myself for not looking sooner.
