Lady sat in her bed, propped up against pillows, this little white poodle in her lap, and she talked. Mia rubbed her feet just outside the frame and listened. Bell listened. I listened. Lady was easy to listen to—she talked well. She storied well. She got so invested in her own memories, you could almost see the scenes playing out in her pupils. People were obsessed. There were more people subscribed to the Big Fans page than had gone to see my new Bond film on opening weekend. The page crashed from traffic every time I uploaded a new segment, and then Twitter crashed from the discourse following the segment. For just a minute there, for one single day, we ran the internet.
Everyone was waiting for the grand finale, and that was the part of our plan I was most worried about. Lady’s stories were easy—they’d already happened. The grand finale of Ma was her death. The grand finale of Gary was a breakup. But the grand finale of Lady’s time at the Hop? The whole world was desperate to know, and they’d learn how it went in real time, along with the rest of us. I breathed along to my Breathe app just to make sure I was still doing it. A couple of Bunnies joined in and we exhaled in time. It felt good, that we were all in this together.