Page 103 of Untether

Even someone who I know has my back, who I’d consider a friend, sees me and Cal as a temporary fling at best. But Mara and Lizzy aren’t the kind of women whose hair you braid as you all sit around and discuss feelings over milk and cookies.

Nope. They’re both experts on messaging in their own ways, and it would be stupid to disregard their advice.

I lean forward and cover my face with my hands. Fuck, my head is sore. I need some painkillers. ‘Sheesh. Talk me through it like I’m five. Is a Happy Ever After not an optionhere?’ I don’t need to spell out thatherein this instance refers to the show and not my actual life.

‘Lay it on her, Liz,’ Mara says with the air of one who’s fatigued by my obtuseness.

‘This is your vision, Aida,’ Lizzy tells me more gently. ‘But you brought me here to keep that vision straight, and to make sure that the actual story we’re telling matches that vision.

‘This entire journey is about contrasts, right? Conforming to hetero-normative, patriarchal expectations of monogamy versus overturning said expectations. Responsibility versus liberty. Shame versus shamelessness. Settling for what you have versus demanding more. Keeping up appearances versus writing your own script. God, I dunno, fuckingmissionaryposition with your husband versus sex in a sex club with whomever the fuck you want.

‘Contrast is one of the most powerful tools we’ve got as content creators. You don’t need me to tell you that. Fuck, even the titles are contrasting.Paradise LostversusParadise Found. The first parts of every pair I just threw at you belong in theParadise Lostepisode. You know it. And you know as well as I do that when you lessen the contrast, you lessen the impact of the message.’

Silence, then Mara blows out a breath. ‘What she said.’

‘Old, traditional husband versus young, hot boyfriend?’ I offer weakly.

Mara doesn’t miss a beat. ‘Heteronormative monogamy with a privately educated white male versus heteronormative monogamy with a privately educated white male.’

‘Give me a break,’ I say. ‘You two are vicious.’

‘You know I’m in the school of tough love,’ she says, slapping her hand on the table so hard it makes me jump. ‘You know you don’t pay me to blow smoke up your arse. AndLizzy here has what you’re missing in buckets, my darling. That’s perspective.’

I turn to stare blankly at the screen. At the victorious face of the woman who’s made a bet and gotten one hell of a payout.

‘It’s not about what I want, is it?’ I mutter.

‘Nope,’ Mara says, at the same time Lizzy says, ‘Afraid not. It’s about the messaging. What’s the most helpful, most impactful message you can end with? What will resonate so much with the audience that you’ll have women turning it over in their minds when they go to bed that night?

‘That you can drop back into a relationship, even if you’ve gone about finding it in a slightly less orthodox one than your first one? Or that it’s okay not to have answers? It’s okay to have no fucking clue what the future holds—that the very uncertainty that lies before you is what puts the colour into life?

‘That the stability we’ve been taught for so many years to strive for, in our jobs and in our family life, is often pretty fucking overrated? So, no. I’m afraid, in this instance, it’s not actually about what you want. It’s about using your highly visible platform and your immense privilege to send a clear message, which is exactly what you chose to do when you signed up for this gig.’

I crawlhome via the school run with my head spinning. The headache is making it harder to think, and the thinking is worsening the pain. As luck would have it, Cal’s coming over this evening to meet the boys. My plans to cook are rapidly dissolving into nothingness. Takeout it is.

I should probably manage Cal’s expectations on my rapidly escalating personality failure.

You ok with a lowkey one tonight? I have a bad headache so I may not be much fun

oh baby. So sorry. Do you want to cancel?

No—the boys are super excited to meet my “fun friend” Cal. Come over. I’ll get takeout

I’m excited to meet them too. Not as excited as I am to see you…

I sigh to myself as I pull crumpled school pants out of Kit’s PE bag. He had games last period, so he’s still in his sports stuff and his uniform looks awfully like King Kong has sat on it.We’ve had infinite conversations about this, but it always comes back to the same thing.

Officially, the teachers don’t give them enough changing time to factor in the systematic folding of uniform before stuffing it in their bags.

Unofficially, Kit doesn’t give a flying fuck.

When I’ve laid the clothes out on the back of the couch in the hope that the creases will magically drop out all on their own, I pick up my phone again.

I’m excited to see you too xx

It’s true. More than true. I feel especially weepy and clingy this afternoon, a state I’m pretty sure is seventy-five percent PMS and twenty-five percent courtesy of Liz and Mara’s emotional battery.

I’ll sort dinner. I can pop to Sally Clarke’s. Do they eat lasagne?

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