It’s funny, too, because I was just fantasizing about how perfect my friendship was with Aimee, and all the while it seems to be the kind of lived-in relationship I have with Kiera.

“It’s available to stream in ten minutes,” she says, shimmying into the shorts. “So if you’ve got some script you’re going to write out for me to read after, you’d better get started.”

“Oh, shit, I totally forgot. Yeah—paper and pen?”

“I’ll get them while you change. Shall I pour you some wine?” she asks, walking out of the room.

“Yeah, that would be amazing, thank you,” I call after her.

“You got it,” she says from the kitchen. She starts singing along with “The Big Sky.”

I put on a tank top, as I’m a little warm, the humid and rainy air feeling different now that I, myself, am dry and have built a fire. I flip more carefully through the clothes here, looking for familiarity. It’s strange. There are few things I know—things I would never throw away and have in my other life as well. Some well-worn cast T-shirts from high school. An old Jungle Book nightgown I bought when I was unquestionably too old for it at age sixteen when my mom and I went to Disney World. My dad’s old Levi’s jeans from the nineties.

I touch the old, faded denim and shake my head at the bizarreness of it.

Seeing these things reminds me that I had meant to call my mom today in the waking hours. I consider doing it now, but I have to see Brilliance. I send her a quick text instead.

sorry about the early call!

I mean, at this point it seems pretty confirmed that these people fully know me and that no one is playing a weird, elaborate prank on me. Still. Calling my parents, having them explain in more detail what my life has been like up until now—it’ll make it feel more legit.

“Eight minutes ’til showtime, and you’re not saying a word or having the light on while we watch, so you’d better crack on.”

I laugh. I love the way Kiera is willing to commandeer what is not her home for the sake of a TV show. I’m the same way. Whenever a new episode of something like The White Lotus is on, I need everything to be perfect. Snacks, drinks, vibey lighting—it all has to be just so.

“Thanks,” I say, seeing the Moleskine journal on the table with a Pilot G2 pen. “You know, this is my favorite pen in real life too.”

“This is real life to some of us, love, but yes, it’s a very good pen.”

I give an apologetic smile and she cheerfully blows me off.

I open the journal. “A whole new journal? Are you sure I should write in it? It feels sacred.”