The name sounds familiar—one of the cast of characters Hannah sometimes mentions—but I can’t place her.
“Should I know who that is?”
“She’s an influencer. Here in Atlanta. I’ve sent you some stuff from her ‘Like to Know It’ page.”
“Oh, shit. The blonde in the goofy Little House on the Prairie dresses?” I ask, as I pull her up on Instagram and confirm that I have the right suspect.
“Yeah. She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”
“Yuck. No,” I say, scanning her feed with disgust. “She’s fake as fuck. A plastic Barbie doll…although that’s an insult to Barbie.”
“She’s twenty-four,” Hannah says.
“And? So? Who the fuck cares how old she is?” I ask. “She’s a dumb whore.”
It’s not the way I usually talk. I never slut-shame anyone, and not only because of my own lifestyle choices.
“Do you think he’s in love with her?” Hannah asks.
“Oh, please, Hannah. He’s not in love with her.”
“What if he is?”
“Well, it doesn’t really matter, does it?”
“It matters to me,” she says.
I cast about for the right words, wishing Summer were still with us. She would know what to say. She always knew what to say.
“Are you sure about this? Maybe it’s just a rumor—”
“It’s not a rumor, Lainey. I saw them.”
“Okay. But what did you see, exactly?” I say, imagining a lingering hug in a parking lot. Something shady but explainable.
“I saw them in bed. Having sex,” she says, then starts to cry again.
My jaw drops for the second time. “Oh my God, Hannah! You should have started with that! What happened? You busted them? How did they react?”
“They didn’t. I just left.”
“But they know you saw them, right?”
“No.”
“Wow,” I say, wondering how she could have such superhuman restraint. I would have castrated him on the spot. In fact, all I want to do is change my flight from L.A. to Atlanta and go do it myself. With a pair of kids’ craft scissors.
“I know, Lainey. I know I’m pathetic,” she says, sobbing again. “I didn’t know what to do.”
“It’s okay, honey. It’ll be okay. I promise,” I say, feeling desperate for her. “Just take a deep breath.”
She keeps crying, saying she doesn’t know what to do.
“Okay,” I say, gathering my thoughts. “For starters, you need to tell him you know. That you saw him.”
“And then what?”
“And then you dump his ass.”
“Oh, my God, Lainey,” she says. “I can’t believe this. I have to start over. I’m thirty-two.”
“Thirty-two is young—”
“Not when it comes to having babies—”
“You’ll have a baby, Hannah. I know you will.”
“But I put everything into that relationship. It’s all I have.”
“It’s not all you have. You have me. And Tyson,” I say as adamantly as I can.
“My mother is going to lose her mind,” she says. “My life is seriously over, Lainey.”
My heart skips a beat, wondering how she could think such a thing, let alone say it aloud. “Don’t say that. Don’t you dare say that,” I say, thinking of our pact. A promise to come together if any of us ever hits rock bottom. I’m pretty sure this qualifies.
“Have you told Tyson?” I ask.
“No. I can’t bother him with this. He has a big trial next week—”
