“Your response is a little cold,” Mara comments.
“Maybe,” I say, nodding. “Maybe it is. But it’s true, isn’t it?”
I wrote
Dakota: Do what you have to do. Protect your company and I’ll protect mine.
“I don’t know, hon,” Mara says quietly. “I think you care about him more than that message would indicate, honestly.”
She’s right. Her words hit me hard. But at the same time, I’ve got to be mature about this.
“I have to focus on this stream,” I say. “I can’t think about anything else.”
“Okay, but?—”
“Please don’t tell me to breathe again,” I snap.
She looks hurt. Probably because I’m being a bitch. I rush across my living room and pull her into a hug.
“I’m sorry. You don’t deserve that.”
“It’s okay.”
“No.” I look into her eyes. “It’s not.”
She smiles, squeezing my hand. “So, what’s the plan?”
“I need to get ahead of this,” I tell her. “If I miss even one stream, the trolls will smell blood in the water. That’s what they want, these losers online, these lowlifes who think being with a man,choosinga man, means I’m either a whore or some silly brainwashed victim. I need to make the world understand,Ichose this, for better or for worse.”
“Till death do you part?” Mara says, a teasing note in her voice.
I flash her a look, but she doesn’t let her smile falter. There’s something lighthearted in her gaze, like none of this is a big deal, that has me laughing hysterically. She laughs with me, asking in the chaos of it, “What are we even laughing at?”
“Nothing.” I gasp for air. “Everything?”
Once we’ve recovered, Mara helps me choose my outfit for the stream. “This is important,” I say. “If I dress too provocatively, they’ll think I want to be known for my body, not my personality and my gameplay. I mean, Mara, I’mgreatat the game.”
“I know, hon,” she says softly, squeezing my hand. “You don’t have to prove yourself to me.”
In the end, I pick a casual shirt, leaving the top two buttons undone. Not overtly provocative, but not too modest either. Mara sits beside me, but out of view of the camera, as the minutes count down to my regular stream time.
“I’m going to keep this short,” I say, attempting to slow my breathing.
“Show them you’re not intimidated,” she replies. “And remember, Dakota, you’ve gotthousandsof real fans, people who tune in for your humor, your house builds, your commentary on the game. Everybody else is a distraction.”
“Look at how many people are waiting for me to go live,” I say, turning the screen.
She gasps. “Whoa. Is sixty-two thousand viewers normal for a Thursday stream?”
“Not even close.” There’s a pit in my belly. “I don’t know if I can…”
On the desk, my phone vibrates. I’ve limited notifications on all my apps, only getting texts and calls. It’s Jack.
Jack: You can do this, Dakota. YOU have the control here.
A warm glow fills me. I show Mara the screen.
“See,” she says. “He gets it.”