Page 34 of I'm Not Done with You Yet

“But we’ve got to go, babe. You’ve got a photo shoot withElle, remember?”

Thalia groans. “That goddamned photo shoot.”

“Excuse you, ‘that goddamned photo shoot’ took me months to arrange, so you need to move your ass.” Ani turns her gaze at me and regards me the way one would a particularly revolting insect. “How are we doing, Janet? Are you recovering well after your little”—she waves vaguely at me—“meltdown earlier? I’m fine, even though that was a really hard shove back there.”

I can barely bring myself to reply, her tone of voice is so caustic. Still, I only have myself to blame. She’s right; I did physically push her away. I should be grateful that she’s not pressing charges against me or making an even bigger deal out of it somehow. For Ani, this reaction is surprisingly understated. Pretty sure that Oxford Ani would have reported me to somebody, and the realization that present-day Ani isn’t doing that makes me swoon with relief. “I’m sorry,” I say, and I actually do mean it. “Idon’t know what happened back there. I, uh—I’m not great with crowds.”

Ani rolls her eyes. “Duh.” But when she next looks at me, I’m pretty sure she’s thawed a little bit. She seems less like she’s about to bite my head off. She turns to Thalia. “Let’s go.”

The look on Thalia’s face is yearning, I’m sure of it. The way her eyes widen and her mouth trembles. I know it because it’s mirrored in my soul. “Jane,” she says again, more of a whisper than anything. “Let’s have dinner. Yes? Skye Bar on East 75th at eight.”

I barely have time to nod before Ani and her agent/editor/publicist descend upon her and whisk her away, leaving me alone, the only person standing still in the throng of her fans. But for the first time in nine years, I am okay. I am alive. I have a dinner date with Thalia.

17

Nine Years Ago

Oxford, England

Thalia doesn’t waste any time. In the evening, she sends me a text:Thank uuu!

I look at those two words for a long time, tracing them with my index and middle fingers. I want to laugh and cry at the same time. Yay, my plan worked. Boo, my plan worked. I send her a thumbs-up emoji and it gets read, but she doesn’t send anything back and my heart rips open a little bit more. I put on Ani’s ring and look at it this way and that, admiring the way it catches the light before I put it in my underwear drawer and leave the room to go for dinner.

The rest of the night, I pace in my room. At the slightest noise, I jerk up and rush to my door. Is it Thalia?

It’s not Thalia. It’s never Thalia.

She spends the night with Ivan, and it’s good, it’s what we wanted. It’s just how we planned it. But I can’t help hating myself just a little bit more. I did this. I whored her out. I’m herpimp. The thought pushes a bitter laugh out of me and then the laugh turns into a sob and I bury my face in my hands, because I can’t stop imagining Thalia in bed with Ivan, slick bodies glinting in the soft glow of lights as he takes her from various positions. Their beautiful faces purring with pleasure as they fuck. Then my brain trots out images of Thalia with other men, just as Ani described, and god, I hate Ani, I really do, and I should’ve killed her. With any luck, she’ll choke on her own vomit. I didn’t see her at the dining hall, so maybe that happened. One can hope.

I’m awakened the next morning by a loud, insistent knocking. I stumble out of bed, open the door, and it’s Thalia. She’s radiant. More so than usual, which I never thought possible.

“Oh my god, Jane,” she says, rushing inside and throwing my curtains open.

I squint at the sudden flood of sunlight.

“He’s amazing—oh my god, he’s just—ahh!” she squeals and does a little hop. An actual little hop, like she’s a kid who was just told she’s going to Disneyland.

“Oh?” I perch on the side of my bed and rub my eyes. They’re still puffy from all the crying I did yesterday. Idiot. Stupid fucking idiot.

“I can’t thank you enough. I can’t believe you did that. After you and Ani left, I took Ivan around the city. We went to a couple of colleges—New College, Exeter—then we went to Blackwell’s, and the whole time we were talking so easily with each other like we’ve been friends forever. And then before we knew it, it was almost dinnertime. He tried calling Ani, but I guess she was still zonked out, so then we ended up having dinner with each other and oh my god, the dinnertime conversation—Jane, Iswear it was like we were just in sync and it was like I was having a mind orgasm.”

I look down when she says the O word. The thought of Thalia having orgasms of any kind with Ivan is like a drill through my head.

“He’s so brilliant, oh man. He knows everything about everything. We talked about politics, economics, philosophy, everything! We were so in sync—oh, I said that already.”

“Yeah,” I mumble.

“And he ordered this vintage bottle of wine—oh my god, I swear it was the best thing that I ever drank. After dinner, we were so full, we decided to have a walk, and our hands just kind of found each other’s and it was the most natural thing in the world. We were walking past the Radcliffe Camera when he suddenly stopped and tugged on my hand and kissed me, and oh,” she sighs, fake-swooning and flopping onto my sofa with a smile. “It was some kiss. My legs actually became all weak. Have you ever had that reaction from a kiss?”

I shake my head, but already she’s talking again.

“Then we kind of got carried away and hurried back to his hotel and...” She grins and wiggles her eyebrows at me. I feel sick. “I think he made me come like four times. I can barely walk this morning, holy shit.”

Stop talking, stop talking!I want to scream. I want to clutch at my head and shriek until the whole world falls apart. Instead, I yank at my wristband and let it snap back, hard.

I don’t understand this feeling myself. I don’t understand any of my obsession with Thalia. My feelings for her aren’t actually sexual, I don’t think. I don’t know. I love her body, but I don’t have fantasies of having sex with her. It’s just—I love thevulnerability of it, the sharp edges of it, the way that it’s like priceless art. Yes, that’s it. I want to just gaze at Thalia the way one admires pieces at a museum. And the thought of anyone having her, defiling that body of hers, is revolting.

Finally, Thalia notices something’s off. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

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