The summons to appear at the Gold Coast house was for that evening. It wasn’t much notice, and I still looked a mess, but I knew I had to present myself. And strangely, I felt less anxious about my disheveled appearance than I usually did. Maybe I didn’t have the energy to feel otherwise. Maybe I had no fucks left to give. Either way, I only swapped out my pajama pants for the jeans I’d gotten back from Justin and called it good.
Luis greeted me with his usual enthusiasm, and I gave him the requisite kiss on the cheek, but he must have sensed I wasn’t in the mood for talking, because he let me keep my sunglasses on and stare out the window for most of the ride. As we approached Dearborn Street, he only asked, “Is there anything I can do for you, Clementine?”
“No, thanks, Luis.”
“You don’t look so happy tonight, honey.”
“I’ll be okay, I promise.” I forced myself to smile at him in the rearview mirror.
My grandparents were both in the upstairs parlor when I arrived, with a third empty chair placed in front of them. It was one of the stiff Queen Anne chairs that no one usually sat in and it gave me the feeling that I was about to be interrogated. The first traces of panic trickled through my veins, but I refused to give in. So I greeted them both in the usual loud tones and took the seat that had so obviously been intended for me.
My grandmother broke the ice with a seemingly innocent question. “Clementine, it was such a surprise to see you at the gala on Saturday. Why didn’t you tell us you were going to be there?”
“I didn’t realize you would be there,” I said. “I was there with a friend.”
“The one we met,” she said.
This was such a familiar gambit. They knew all this information already. We’d had this conversation at the gala, for heaven’s sake. I’d chalk it up to a growing forgetfulness with age, except that I’d been through this so many times as a child I knew it wasn’t anything new. I was well aware of my part. I was supposed to answer each question as it was asked and not get caught in any lies. But my patience was, as I’ve said, a bit thin by that point. Worn to a tiny pebble by the last few days. So for once I cut to the chase.
“His name is Justin. We met at the airport. You might recall that I told you I’d misplaced my phone. And I did. But I didn’t mention that I’d accidentally swapped it with someone else’s. It was Justin who had it.”
“How could you be so careless?” my grandfather said. “What kind of trouble have you gotten into now?”
I closed my eyes briefly, deliberately clearing my mind of that day in Daly Tower and the pictures of my body on display for everyone in the room. “I’m not in trouble!” I said, a bit too defensively. “It was a simple mistake and nothing happened. You have nothing to worry about.”
“How can you be sure about that? What do you even know about this Justin? Didn’t you say he works for one of our magazines? You should know better than to get involved with anyone from the press.”
“He writes about trampoline parks and sunscreen!” I protested. “He’s not some gossip columnist.”
“You can’t be too careful, Clementine. Not everyone will be satisfied with a check and a new phone like that last boy of yours.”
“Justin isn’t like that. Trust me.”
“We’d like very much to trust you,” Grandma let that sentiment hang in the air. She didn’t need to add But we can’t.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to shout that I wasn’t a naïve nineteen-year-old anymore. That I had proven myself perfectly capable of handling a digital existence without embarrassing myself or the family. That I was never going to have a normal life if they didn’t even let me try.
Instead I gritted my teeth and hid behind closed lids for the space of two breaths, willing composure. When I thought I could speak without tears or screaming, I opened my eyes. “Well, you don’t have to worry about it. It’s over anyway.”
“I hope that means you didn’t give him any of those pictures of yours, or it might not be as over as you think.”
Heat washed up the back of my neck. “I didn’t.” I said each word as clearly as I could, hoping the anger didn’t bleed through too badly. This conversation was about to take a turn, and I didn’t want to lose control. “I wanted to tell you I’ve gotten a job offer. And I’m going to accept it.”
My grandfather’s expression brightened considerably. “Have you now? How did this happen?”
It was time to come clean.