Chapters (54)
Huda seems to have a particular stronghold in the industry right now. It makes sense, given how explosive her growth has been, that no one wants to be disloyal to her, or get on her bad side, by offering me an interview. And of course, my name doesn’t help. The fact that Magdelena’s investment loss was my fault isn’t exactly a secret, either. It doesn’t matter how much experience you have if the moment someone googles you, you’re associated with horrific crimes, whatever my dad says.
In the wake of these rejections, Odilie’s Instagram is beckoning me again, enticing me to lose hours to scrolling. And there’s the itch to know what happened to her face, to figure out why her looks changed so dramatically. So much to know about a woman to whom I’m so intrinsically tied, whom I never even met.
So that evening, after I’m done packing and have left my suitcases by the door, I don’t sleep right away. Instead, I bring up a bottle of wine, a glass and log on, darkening the room, so the only light is from my Mac.
The tab is still open, right where I left off on that picture of her with her contoured nose, her sparrow-like bones. Maybe it’s futile to try to find a sign, something in earlier photos or comments that I missed before, but I’m too curious. So I scroll back a few posts and inch up the screen, much more slowly than I did before. And I start reading the comments more closely.
And then, under a filtered picture of the beach, I see it. A comment I must have missed from a woman named Thelma Kay. “Loved our chat and drinks. Can’t wait to do it again soon! xx.” I click on her profile, but there’s almost no information; her profile picture is a silhouette of a woman. The account is set to private.
I switch back to Odilie’s profile and scroll back up to the initial photo, the one with her new face. There are fewer likes and comments on this photo, I realize, than most of Odilie’s previous posts. Fewer of her friends are impressed, showing their love.
It’s so, so late. And I want to get out of this house as soon as possible tomorrow morning. So I close the laptop, plunging my room into darkness, and slip under my mother’s ugly comforter for, I hope, the last time.