arms over the towel.
“Tell me how much you need.” I pull out my phone and tap a few keystrokes.
“Thirty thousand dollars.”
Her young, makeup-free face scrunches, and I blink at her. “Lil, in what world is that small?”
“It is compared to the GDP of even the most emergent national economy.” Defensiveness accompanies the folded arms.
“What do you need thirty grand for?”
“My scholarship for the fall is gone.” The words are so low and miserable I barely make them out.
Horror slams into me. “How? You crushed your finals in April. You have one of the best GPAs in your program.”
“I was so focused on my exams I missed the email reminding me to file my end of term paperwork.”
Unbelievable. Lil’s always been the brain of our family, but when her head’s not in a book, it’s in the clouds.
“Call the financial aid office. Talk to them.”
“I did. I explained what happened. They wouldn't reconsider.” Her eyes are big and round like she knows she fucked up. “I’m sorry.”
I don’t even know who she’s apologizing to. “It’s okay. I’ll figure it out.”
It’s one more weight on me on this already critical day, but I feel partly responsible.
Vi, Lil, and I might be sisters, but we were always distinctive. Vi was the popular one. Lil’s the smart one.
After Vi up and left in college with zero notice, my parents were as shocked as I was, only they blamed me, deciding I must have done something to drive her away. As a result, Lil got shortchanged, dealing with the awfulness plus my parents’ disappointment and distraction.
I’m trying to make up for it. When Lil finished her first year at Columbia, I suggested she live with me. I don’t charge her rent.
As I rummage through the front hall console table, Lil asks, “What’re you doing the spastic gopher for?”
“My bracelet. I can’t find it. I don’t want to pitch without it.”
Even though my sister left, I kept the one thing we always had in common—the matching Tiffany bracelets Vi got us when we were eighteen. She saved an entire summer for them, which was so unlike her I never forgot it.
“Did you have it after brunch?”
I frown. “I don’t remember.”
“You seemed weird when you got home,” she goes on.
I give up, reaching for my black strappy heels.
She moves between the door and me. “Did something happen at brunch? Like the waitress dropped her tray because she was checking out Logan again? You need to let me hang out with your friends.”
Lil might be so focused on one thing she misses all else, but she will dig until she learns the truth.
I answer as honestly as I can. “Ben was nominated for this big award and asked me to be his date for the gala next month.”
Lil’s face slackens. “Bougie crowd, uncomfortable shoes, pretentious types… but good arm candy.”
“He wants me to pretend to be his girlfriend.”
She grabs my arms, a dreamy smile spreading across her face. “You have to do it.”
That stops me.
I think of how persistent he was yesterday, how stunned when I’d said no.
None of it matters. I’m trying to put boundaries on our relationship—boundaries that are long overdue, especially if I’m entertaining the idea of an actual relationship with someone else—not get in deeper.
“You realize if you don’t do it, he’ll get someone else,” Lily points out as I reach for the door. “He’ll smile at her and kiss her and grab her ass—”
“There won’t be ass grabbing."
“All new relationships involve ass grabbing,” she calls after me as I start down the hall. “It's a well-documented fact!”
The entire way to the office, I try to focus on my pitch, rubbing my hand over my wrist where my missing bracelet goes.
Getting to the office always comforts me, because it’s mine. I created it from nothing. Sure, the building was here before, but all the activity in it started with me.
Occupying a suite on the second floor of a converted warehouse in SoHo, Closer helps customers with relationship products, everything from online dating to sex toys to lingerie to—if I can land this Vane account—couples’ resorts. And I want to expand to help other companies improve the relational aspects of their businesses. Technology helps but can make people feel disconnected rather than connected if the creators aren’t intentional.
I want to be intentional.
Plus, I love that I've built a team of more than a dozen account reps, designers, and communications experts who are not only savvy businesspeople but amazing individuals. I consider all of them family,