"Lena—"
"You should eat. And I should probably try to sleep. It's late."
"Wait. Don't—can we talk?"
"I don't think I can do this on the phone, Rhonda. I don't think I can do this right now."
Something in me pulls tight.
"Okay," I say.
"You should eat," she says again. "You need to take care of yourself."
"So should you."
"Yeah. We both know that."
"I miss you," I say.
There's a long pause.
"I know," she says. "I miss you too."
"Will you be okay?"
"I don't know. Maybe."
"Goodnight," I say, and my voice cracks on the second word.
"Goodnight, Rhonda."
CHAPTER 15
THE CONFESSION
I sit at my desk and stare at the numbers.
The fan account is open on my phone, tucked under my desk where nobody can see. I haven't posted in months.
I open the account now. The last post is a Riley fill breakdown from months ago—the cross-sticking analysis, the way she rotates her wrists. Riley herself left a heart emoji and I felt that heart emoji like validation.
A new practice video dropped two days ago. Riley in her home studio, working through a four-on-the-floor pattern.
I start a new post. I type:The grip shift at 2:34 is perfection.
I delete it.
I type:New Riley practice video and it's everything we needed.
I delete that too.
I close the app.
On Sunday, Jani calls.
“Rebecca found this nice currywurst down the street, so we had that. Anyways how are you?”
"I'm fine."