I pop up off the bed, grinning, and fix his hair. At the closet, I hurriedly browse through my things. Finn gave me half the space, but it’s cramped. We had to put our summer things in a bin under the bed. I haven’t been to a wedding in ages, but luckily I have no shortage of little black dresses. I pick the simplest one and pair it with heels, jewelry, tights, and a clutch. I come out of the closet a new woman. Well, as new as I can become in five minutes. Okay, eight.
Finn’s waiting for me in the entryway.
“Well, well,” he says, smiling. “You’ll get me in trouble for showing up the bride.”
I roll my eyes. No amount of primping could erase a full day at work. “Thanks for letting me come. It means a lot.”
He takes my hand. “Don’t think I won’t put you to work.”
It turns out the bride and groom are over-the-top welcoming and not the least bit old-fashioned. I try to make myself invisible by shadowing Finn, but they insist we sit at the table and partake in grilled salmon and expensive wine. Finn gets up every few minutes to capture speeches and candids. Watching him work in this capacity is like seeing him through new eyes. He’s overdressed, and ridiculously handsome, but it’s his focus and skill with the camera that keeps my attention.
“What kind of lens is he using?”
I turn to find that Eric, the groom-to-be, has taken the seat next to mine. “Um. I’m not sure.”
“I thought you were the assistant.”
“I mostly just hold things.”
He laughs. “Sounds like my impending position of husband.”
“I also have to tell him how great he is or he gets cranky.”
“Same with Elyse,” Eric says. “You’re writing my job description right now. More wine?”
I’ve already had a glass, but tonight, we’re celebrating—Eric and Elyse. Finn’s birthday and his burgeoning career. My big decision to come out and one-hundred K. I slide my wineglass over for a refill.
Elyse walks up, waving an envelope. “For this weekend,” she says, sitting on the other side of me, in Finn’s chair. “Your boss won’t take it until the job is done, but I just want it gone. All the outgoing envelopes of money are giving me anxiety.”
I smile, slipping the check under the table and into his camera bag. “I’ll hide it from him until Sunday.”
“So do you guys do many weddings?” she asks.
The answer is no. In fact, I think this is Finn’s first, but I don’t want to ding his credibility. I drink Pinot Noir while thinking of an answer. “I’m new, so no,” I say. Not technically a lie. “I’ve never done one.”
“Done one what?” Finn asks, planting his hands on the back of my chair. I look up at him, and he winks.
“Wedding,” I answer. “As a photographer’s assistant.”
“That makes two of us,” Finn says.
“Really?” Elyse looks surprised. “I wouldn’t have thought so. I guess I should’ve asked.” She laughs. “Luckily, we’re easygoing.”
“Who was it that recommended you again?” Finn asks. “I didn’t catch the name when we were on the phone.”
“Oh, well, actually . . .” She lowers her voice, leaning in. “That’s not true. I was a little embarrassed to say, but,” she and Eric exchange a glance, “we found you because of your other photos.”
Wait. Other photos? Mine?
My jaw drops. I’d wondered fleetingly whether they’d nosed around Finn’s website and found the link to our account . . . but this! A real-life encounter with our followers.
Finn laughs stiffly. “And your first thought was wedding photographer?”
“We’re a little non-traditional if you can’t tell,” Elyse says. “We were so sick of fake smiles and tears, awkward prom poses. At the last minute, we came across your work and decided to scrap our other photographer. We want something more original.”
I look up again, but Finn’s stepped back, outside my line of vision. “Wow. I’m glad,” he says, although he doesn’t sound glad.
Oh my God.
This couple, sitting next to me?
They’ve seen me half-naked. And they liked what they saw. Enough to hire Finn for the biggest day of their lives.
Did they like what they read too?
I take a fortifying sip of wine. It leaves a film that has me smacking my tongue against the roof of my mouth. “How’d you find the account?” I ask, trying not to sound as eager as I feel.
“I don’t even remember. Do you?” Elyse asks Eric. “Was it Sharon?”
“I think so,” Eric says. “We have some friends who are obsessed with the latest social media and they’re always unearthing these amazing sites. How’d you get started with that, Finn?”
It’s making me nervous that I can’t see Finn. It could be my imagination—it must be—but I think tension is rolling off his body. “It just kind of happened,” he says.
“And how involved is the model, really?” he asks. “She can’t really be that hot and articulate.”
Elyse reaches across me to slap Eric’s arm. “Hey.”
“I just know what a rare combo it is,” he backtracks, “since I’m lucky enough to have found it in you. Clearly.”
I want to squeal. Kick up my feet. Invite the whole dinner table into our conversation. He’s talking about me. Me. I’m sitting right in front of them, and they have no idea.
“She’s very involved,” Finn says. “All the writing is hers.”
“Can you give us a hint?” Eric asks. “Is she famous?”
I swipe my clammy palms down the front of my dress, then pick up my wine glass. I can’t not speak up. This is a sign—I was right earlier. It’s time for me to come out. I stop trying to suppress my smile. “It’s me,” I blurt. “I’m her.”
Both pairs of eyes turn to me. Probably Finn’s as well. “Halston,” he says under his breath. His hands return to the top of my chair, but I don’t look up. I don’t care if he’s mad. This is my moment. My heart might be racing a mile a minute, the inside of my elbow might be burning, but it’s liberating to say the words to someone other than Finn.
“I’m Anonymous,” I say.
“No shit?” Eric asks with an open-mouthed laugh. “Seriously? Anonymous is coming to our wedding?”
“Well, no,” I say. “I wasn’t planning—”
“You have to come,” Elyse says. “My girlfriends will die. They’re huge fans of you guys.”
“As are my friends,” Eric adds with a snicker, then seems to remember Finn is there. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—are you two a couple?”
“They’ll go ape shit, my friends,” Elyse continues, ignoring her fiancé. “They’ll probably want your autograph. Unless—oh, shit. We can’t tell them who you are, can we?”
Finally, I turn in my chair to check with Finn. He doesn’t look happy. “Unfortunately, no,” he says. “And Halston actually can’t make it tomorrow night.”
My excitement falls. After all the ways I’ve supported him, and even all the ways he’s encouraged me, he’s taking this away from me. I turn back to a crestfallen Elyse. “I think I can get out of my plans,” I say. “What would it hurt for a few people to know?”
“Halston,” Finn says through his teeth. “I need to get some shots of the décor in the front room. Can you help me set them up?”
“She’s really your assistant?” Eric asks.
“I admire your willpower,” Elyse says. “If I were Instagram famous, I’d be blasting that shit everywhere.”
My body thrills from fingertips to toes. Famous. Us. Are we? I hadn’t even considered we might be, but then again, we’re going to hit a hundred-thousand followers tomorrow. Last I checked, we were only five hundred away. I’ve been keeping the sexiest photo we have as our ace in the hole. My pink lips, wrapped around Ken’s thumb while his other hand fists my hair. Once I post it, I know we’ll hit our goal. We have to.
“Hals? Need your help.” Finn puts a hand on my shoulder. “And yes, we’re together. S
he’s my girlfriend.”
It takes me a second to realize he’s talking to Eric.
“Oh.” Eric nods. “I figured.”
Elyse claps her hands in the following silence. “Go get your shot, then we’ll do dessert. The bakery made us something special for tonight, so I want to get a few pictures of it.”
“Of course,” Finn says. “We’ll only be a minute.”
Finn helps me scoot out from under the table. I pick up his camera bag, putting it over my shoulder. He waits for me to walk through the glass doors of the dining room and into the restaurant’s dim entryway. Tiny tea lights illuminate the area, and Eric and Elyse’s guestbook sits open on a pedestal. Other than that, I don’t see much decoration.
“What was that?” Finn asks.
“I know. Incredible, right?” It isn’t what he means, but he has to be excited about this too. Just a little. We’ve worked hard to get here. I should be able to enjoy our success with him, not from the shadows.
“We decided revealing your identity wasn’t a good idea.”
I turn my back to the floor-to-ceiling glass looking into the dining room. I don’t want to be watching a bunch of happy people while we argue. “You decided that. It’s only two people.”
“And their friends who’ll be there tomorrow night. You know Elyse is going to tell—that isn’t the point. You did something I asked you not to.”
My throat closes. That sounds familiar. Too familiar. My fingertips tingle, like they’re trying to warn me. Since when does Finn order me around? Have I made the same mistake with him as I did two years ago with Rich? Do I subconsciously choose my father on purpose? “I’ve done everything else you’ve asked,” I say. “You wanted my words, I gave them to you. You told me to stay anonymous, I agreed. You wanted me, I broke up with my boyfriend.”
Finn’s eyebrows shoot to the middle of his forehead. The shadows on his face make him look angrier than he is—or at least, I hope so. “I don’t even know where to start with that. How did I tell you to stay anonymous?”
“You suggested I keep my identity hidden.”
“Only because you wouldn’t let me use your journal otherwise.”
My last few gulps of wine are kicking in. I don’t remember the specifics of that conversation right now, but I do know I never would’ve gone down this path if not for him. And now he’s acting as though I’m just some model like Eric thought I was. It dawns on me that maybe Finn wants me be to that. “Do you not want people knowing who I am?” I ask.
“We’ve covered this.” He glances over my head. “People are looking over. We’re making a scene.”
I reel back, crossing my arms. “Is it because I’ll get the credit I deserve?”
Finn’s nostrils flare. “Are you seriously suggesting, after months of trying to get you to see your worth, that I don’t want you to succeed?”
That’s one explanation, but another possibility hits me right in the chest. What if Finn’s coaching hasn’t been entirely innocent? Maybe he recognized early on that he needed me for this business to work. If I come out, he’ll be the one in the shadows, or at least forced to share the spotlight.
Oh God.
I need something, and I need it right now. Anything. Coffee, cigarettes, wine, I don’t care. This edge is too sharp for me to balance on without something to dull it.
“This isn’t the time for this conversation,” Finn says. “But you bet your ass we’ll pick it up as soon as we get home.”
“Fine.” I start to turn. “I’ll be outside.”
“No. It’s cold, and I’m afraid you’ll take off. Stay and be mad, but don’t go without talking to me first.” He squints at me. “And maybe take it easy on the wine, all right? You know I don’t care if you drink, but we are working.”
He goes back inside. That’s such a Dad move—tell me what not to do, then walk away before I can argue my point. Is it me? Do I bring out that side of men, turn them into domineering assholes? That’s what Dad and Rich and Doctor Lumby have been telling me all along, isn’t it? That I need to be on meds for myself and the people who love me?
I’m not even allowed to go outside by myself for fuck’s sake. I should leave. It’d serve him right. But that afternoon I ran away from the museum, nothing felt right. I walked for hours, sick over how I’d thrown a tantrum and run away. I needed that alone time, like I do now, but I didn’t handle it right.
Taking a lungful of air, I go back into the restaurant. Elyse leads Finn to the kitchen, presumably to photograph a pastry. He glances over his shoulder, and we meet eyes right before he passes through the swinging aluminum doors. I’m glad, because I don’t want him to see how I’m unraveling. I head straight for the restaurant’s bar. Fortunately, it’s off to the side, somewhat separated from the main dining area.
The bartender tosses a coaster in front of me. “What can I get you?”
“Anything. I was drinking Pinot Noir over there.”
“You with the wedding party?” he asks, getting a wineglass from the back of the bar.
“Sort of. Photographer’s assistant.” In a way, that’s what I am. “Any chance you have a cigarette? I’ll pay you for it.”
He laughs. “You must be desperate. I’ll get you one.”
I drink my wine. My mind buzzes from our argument. Finn knew me before he even met me. How many couples can say that? Did we move too fast, thinking we were invincible because we were meant to be? It was exciting, exhilarating—fucking and sharing feelings day in and day out while I led a double life. At work, I was a version of myself, but to Finn, I was just me.
I wonder—who said it was even a good thing to be your true self? To have no boundaries with or secrets from the person you love? Isn’t that dangerous? I thought diving in headfirst was romantic. Thrilling. Looking back, I should’ve been more wary of the red flag, like when Finn threatened to delete the account if I didn’t stop going through the messages and comments. And he was so insistent Ken sign a non-disclosure. I thought he was protecting me, but what if he’s been monitoring what I see and who sees me?
That’s not all.
Even after a few months together, he continues to pretend Marissa doesn’t exist in our relationship. I barely know a thing about her. And, he has access to my finances, but I know nothing about his other than what he’s told me. He didn’t trust me about the birth control until three months into our relationship.
I rationalized all of it. Love is blind, they say, and it’s true. Being madly, deeply in love is like allowing the sun to blind you just because it also keeps you warm.
“Another?” the bartender asks. I look up. I’ve finished my glass. He passes me a cigarette and a book of matches.
I shouldn’t. I feel good, though. Angry and hurt, but also lightweight, nice. Blunted like a pencil that’s been pressed to the page too hard. “Sure. I’m just going to run out and smoke.”
He nods, and I pass back through the dining room to the exit. I don’t see Finn, but I’ll only be a minute. Outside, cold air nips at me as I light the cigarette. I take my first drag and manage not to cough. I don’t like smoking, but sometimes it feels just right, like now, when it goes straight to my head.
I get out my phone. Seeing the numbers rise—followers, likes, comments—it soothes me. It makes me somebody worth listening to and looking at and that’s hard evidence nobody can take from me. I was saving our last photo for tomorrow, but I decide to post it now. So we’ll hit our goal a day early—even better. It probably won’t technically happen until after midnight, and then I can show it to Finn in the morning for his birthday.
The app takes a few seconds to load before it crashes. I open it again, and the login page pops up, even though I never sign out—I haven’t even used my own account in months. I type in our username and password, but I get an error message, so I try twice more in case the alcohol’s making my fingers fat. It’s not that, though. The password’s wrong. I haven’t had to use it in a while, but I would never forget
halstondecember.
Did Finn change it?
My hand begins to shake. I try halstonjanuary, halstonfebruary, and finally halstonmarch.
Nothing. I was online in the cab on the way over here, so I know it worked before dinner. Which means . . .
He locked me out—of our account.
I’m not sure I really believe Finn doesn’t want to share credit with me, but here’s my proof. He’s gone out of his way to make sure I don’t reveal my identity tonight.
Nearly vibrating, I shove my phone in my purse and stamp out the cigarette. Whipping open the door to the restaurant, I head for the dining room. My eyes laser onto Finn near the bar, where he’s talking to the bartender. Probably trying to find me so he can tell me how to live my life just like everyone else. But it’s far worse when he does it. At least Rich and my dad didn’t pretend to be something else to get me to trust them.
“What did you do?” I ask, my heels clicking the wood floor faster and faster.
Finn turns around. “It’s just temporary, until—”
“So it’s true? You changed the password?”
He glances behind me. “Only to prevent you from making an irreversible mistake.”
“A mistake.” The word makes me shudder. “Don’t you realize that makes you sound just like them?”
His face falls. He doesn’t need me to elaborate. He knows the them I’m referring to. “I’m not trying to hurt you,” he says. “This is for your own protection.”
I snort. “My dad thinks I can’t take care of myself. Is that what you think too? That I need to be monitored and manipulated and closed out of something I built.”
“Of course not.” His eyes dart over my head. “Please, Hals. They can hear us.”
“You know how important this is to me.”
He steps forward. “And that’s why I’m trying to keep you from ruining it. If you go public, it changes everything. People know who you are and how to find you. People will be looking at you.”
“Newsflash: they’ve been looking at me. You didn’t seem to mind when praise for your work was filling up your inbox.”
Slip of the Tongue Series: The Complete Boxed Set Page 102