Page 155 of Begin Again Again

She shoved her Mac Air into its bag, humming to herself. She probably wouldn’t be able to hold a conversation for the next hour, but Byron would understand. He thought it was cute when her brain was fried. The wind blew, making her think of Auckland. She closed her eyes and saw herself running down the street with Ruben, screaming for no fucking reason. She saw the two of them bursting through the front door and finding their mum had bought frozen yogurt. She smiled. No one was more surprised than her to be enjoying these memories, but after months of estrangement, they had come calling. Small moments with her siblings, her dad, and even her mum, that she could treasure, like precious stones. Her phone chirruped. A DM from Dolly.

12 works. Send me the notes and I’ll look them over before we record.

Sending now, Beth wrote back.You’re *sure* you’re okay with the name?

They’d struggled a bit over what to call the new version of Wine Wives. They’d both wanted to emphasize sobriety without the sanctimonious ‘green juice and thin women laughing in hats’ vibe that seemed a staple of other alcohol-free podcasts. Beth liked ‘High Sobriety.’ Dolly wanted ‘Brine Wives.’

“Like water,” she said on the phone. “Because you’re sober and I’m pregnant and neither of us can drink.”

“I mean, sure. But brine is really salty?”

“You love salt!” Dolly sighed. “What about… ‘Nein Wives?’ I’m half-German!”

“I’m not sure we want to lean into that.”

“‘Fine Wives?’”

“Why are you so married to the rhyme, Dolls?” Beth had stared around her temporary kitchen and spotted a bottle of San Pellegrino. “What about ‘Cult of Pellegrino?’ Like ‘cult of personality’, but the sparkling water? Because we both like sparkling water!”

Dolly had hung up on her. Which was fair enough.

In the end they’d settled on ‘Undrunk Bitches,’ mostly because as soon as they thought of it, it was hard to think of anything else. Byron hated it, but he stopped complaining when Dolly pointed out he’d been on a football team named after the world’s ugliest fish. Beth adored their growing friendship. Dolly gave Byron constant, relentless shit and he got wound up in a way Beth never would have expected from her solemn, thoughtful lover.

A week ago, Byron had made Dolly laugh so hard at a meme she cried. Beth still didn’t get how that happened, but she was glad they liked each other. In fact, she and Dolly were trying to get Byron to cameo on future episodes and share his and Dolly’s straight man-wise guy energy with the world. Time would tell whether he’d agree. Beth’s phone buzzed.

I still think the name should have been ‘Undrunk Bitches Texting Your Dad at 3am.’ But whatever. Talk Sunday. Love you.

Smiling, Beth lay back on her towel. Undrunk Bitches were releasing new episodes fortnightly and their downloads and Patreon supporter count were climbing. They weren’t making much money yet, but she’d landed a sponsorship deal with Audible. With a little luck, Beth hoped they might be drawing a salary from the podcast by 2022.

Byron kept telling her not to worry, that he was happy to support her until she ‘made it,’ but it felt weird spending money without a steady income. There were days—usually when she spent hours editing recordings of her own voice and wondering why the fuck anyone let her talk—when she was sure she’d ruined her professional life. But those days were fewer and far between. Especially since she finally started recording her series on female friendship. It had taken hundreds of hours, dozens of interviews and too many late nights to count, but she’d done her due diligence and iHeartRadio had agreed to professionally produce the series. She didn’t want to count her chickens before they hatched, but there was a good chance ‘Girl Gangs—a history of female friendship in media’ could take off.

“It’s the best thing I’ve ever made,” she’d told Byron one night. “I can feel it. I’m so close, but I’m still so scared it’s too big for me to handle. Like I don’t have a right to be here.”

Byron kissed her cheek. “You have every right to be here. Keep going, baby.”

That was the best thing about having a boyfriend who used to play professional sport—Byron understood having impossibly high goals and always gave her one hundred percent support.

Beth yawned and reached for her phone. She opened Instagram and her eyes almost fell out of her head. It was Sal, kneeling on their bed in a glittery pink t-shirt. Beth squinted to read the words printed across their chest.

“You’re allowed to be sexual.”

-B Myers, 2021

“Oh my god!” Beth whispered.

“Oh my god, what?” Byron stood over her, windswept and perfect, holding two cans of Diet Coke.

Beth exited Instagram. “Hi!”

“Are you watching porn on the beach?”

“No!”

He raised his slashed eyebrow. The one he’d split climbing a tree when he was twelve.

“Seriously, no,” Beth said. “I just saw some of Sal’s new merch! They used a quote from me on a t-shirt!”

“That’s awesome.”

---