Any tips on how to hide a body?
Asking for a friend.
It’s me. I’m the friend.
And the “body” will be that of YOUR friend.
I’m primed to send a reply, urging her to not get worked up over it. To assure her Dubs is a good guy and she should put him to work because he’ll do whatever she needs without complaint. That’s just the kind of person he is.
Before I can sendthatmessage, another one comes in.
Bri
Also, what runaway bride?
I toss the phone aside and bury my face in my hands. My lofty hopes that Bri hadn’t heard Dubs’ comment crash to the wet tile beneath my feet. For as little as Dubs knows about my one night with her, my family knows even less.
Because I told them nothing.
Dubs seems to think finding Hannah is as easy as walking out the front door andpoof, there she’ll be. But we didn’t exchange numbers, I don’t do social media, and even if I had the information to track her down—and I probably could—she had her reasons for sneaking out of bed that morning. I may not know what those reasons were exactly, but I can make an educated guess.
Her mom. Her ex-fiancé.Our absolutely abysmal timing. My job that took me everywhere else but here.
Hannah chose the endingshewanted, and I have to respect it.
I was lucky to find her once. My only regret is that I couldn’t keep her. And I doubt I’m lucky enough to find her twice.
6
thorny privacy hedge
Hannah
You knowwhat’s worse than a sexual harassment fiasco with a Fortune 500 company last week? A petty social media post by a beauty influencer directly insulting the largest brand she’s contracted to work with this week.
Happy Thursday to me. A day I’d slotted to spend entirely on hashing out details for the children’s hospital fundraising gala—the job I’d much rather be doing at the moment. Instead, I’m running interference between a cosmetics company (i.e. my client) and a snooty twenty-year-old who, unfortunately for me, has half-a-million followers who care greatly about her opinions on lip gloss. The number of fucks I absolutely do not give about lip gloss would probably get me fired if my client ever found out.
But this is the job, I remind myself. Protect my client’s brand, spin the narrative.
It’s been hours. Zoom calls, an inbox flooded with emails, impromptu meetings with our in-house social media team to hash out content ideas for my client to offset the non-brand-friendly mayhem currently trending.
My butt is growing into this desk chair, I’m convinced of it.
The purse at my feet chimes. I retrieve my phone to seeMomflashing on the screen.
Since our brunch on Saturday I’ve tried my best to respect her wishes. We’ve spoken on the phone every day, but I haven’t asked for an update on her pain level. I demanded to spend the evening with her a measly one time in the past four days and her answering scoff was only half serious.
I know she’s calling to discuss my blind date tonight which is the last thing I want to talk about right now. Or ever. But I need a break from anything lip gloss or lip gloss adjacent.
“Hi, Mom.”
She’s halfway through this conversation in her own head when she starts in. “Don’t forget to wear the sundress.”
“Hello to you too?”
Mom tsks. “Hi, Hannah.Blah, blah.How’s your day going?Blah, blah, blah, blah.Have you been outside yet? It’s really hot.More blahs.I had a bagel for breakfast, thanks for asking.Blahbity, blah, blah.Wear the sundress!”
“Maybe you should marry this sundress.”