Chapter Text
The ding of the “seatbelts” light on the plane wakes me up. I wipe a bit of drool from the corner of my mouth and look down at the stanzas I’d been scribbling in my notebook. Mechanical bird, marienette. The ceaseless cover of clouds I’d grown accustomed to has transformed into an endless scape of rooftops, lazy smoke stacks. Rivers curling around industrial flat tops. I check my phone and am not surprised that I have service now.
I’m not one of those people who utilize 'airplane mode'. I figure, if the plane is that delicate, who am I to avert Death? Are all of us passengers just offering electronic tithes to Him? Small moments of disconnection, of inconvenience as sacrifice to spare us oblivion. Perhaps the request is more rooted in obedience. I, for one, have never been considered obedient. I'm not going to start today.
There’s an open text from Mom that brings me out of the spiral.
Mother Dearest: 12:43 pm
Rain in Tulum! Mexico misses u already :) I miss u too. have fun this semester, don’t let ur Dad convince u to change majors
I smile. She’s a lot but she’s mine. We've done some major relationship-repair with our extended vacation. New York starts to materialize around me in earnest and I already have a headache. Well, I’m back.
Father is waiting at the gate for me with a sign, 'Hola Emily!' in script that's clearly not his own. For an architect, his calligraphy sucks. He looks uncomfortable, public gestures aren't his forte. I briefly wonder if Marla put him up to this. Her's is twirling and delicate, hopeful. I half-hug him while balancing bags on my shoulder and a rolling suitcase with a broken wheel.
“Can we go?”, I interrupt the hug.
“Yes, of course. Your carriage awaits.” He’s a nerd but he’s mine. I mean, he’s Austin’s and Lavinia's as well, but Austin rarely needs him like I do. Lavinia caters to him, I challenge him. I’ve been dreading this flight and subsequent destination for 6 months since I took a semester abroad with my Mom. Seeing him helps.
Their divorce was finalized only 7 months ago and so... we packed out bags and left. It didn't matter where. Austin was in Amherst already but I doubt he would have taken the leap with us anyways. He’s too focused on the family firm and appeasing whatever Father wants. Mom, after years of playing the Long Island house wife, is experiencing a renaissance of her own with several Mexican gentlemen. She wears bathing suits all day, smiling it's a good look for her.
Father, on the other hand, took the divorce to mean: 'Logically, it is time for another wife' and moved my new Stepmom Marla into the Hampton house along with her adult god-daughter. I have to assume the god-daughter is defective or something, 22 and living with Marla? Like some sort of ward. Maybe she's sickly. Oh, better yet, maybe she's deranged. That might be fun.
Before I can decide what must be wrong with her, we’re pulling off the parkway.
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I wish it was night when we arrived. Night would have felt much more dramatic as I’m essentially arriving to the funeral of my childhood. I should be wearing a veil, but no. It has to be the early afternoon. It has to be humid, bright, the birds all screaming some domestic bliss loud enough so that we all believe it.
We roll into the driveway to the Hampton house. I might not need to mention but-- my Father is super rich. Old money rich. He’s made a small fortune himself but the Dickinson name is well known around here. He designed this house and I grew up in it with Lavinia and Austin. And Mom, clearly. I hadn’t prepared for the feeling of being here without her and it's sickening. Worst yet, two new presences. Walking those halls. Wiping their feet on the mat.
The strangeness, entwined and in-veined. Lack within, lack without.
I see Death in all changes.
It would have been much easier if I could have just scuttled off to my room, taken time to breathe and write a little. What people don’t understand about writers is that, when we aren't able to purge our stanzas, it hurts. Physically hurts. I imagine tiny ants in my finger tips, multiplying and searching for ground soft enough to burrow. Ground. Paper. Whatever.
Father's car door slamming is the only thing that rouses me from my rumination.
“I’m just going to go upstairs and put my stuff down”, maybe I can get out of this meeting. I can fake being tired for 30 days, right?
He clears his throat and glances around, “I believe Marla had set a lunch that should be starting soon. I know she was expecting you.” A mixture of concern and confusion, his standard tone.
“Fine. Let’s get this over with”, I huff.
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The kitchen has always been too much. White and marble everywhere, it’s gauche. Like if a science lab fucked a greek veranda. I’m typically more eloquent than this but I really hate this kitchen.
Marla is bustling around and throwing random green things into a pan. When she turns, I immediately dislike her less. She has a warm face, tanned from the Sun, and a jade pendant hanging from her neck. The look of someone frequently outdoors who actually enjoys it. Father is seated at the island. I throw myself into a chair and move it slightly closer to him as a slight. He notices me and closes his book.
“Emily, I’m glad you’re here” he starts, attempting to make his voice light. It's like someone once taught him- 'this is how normal people talk.' I respond, instantly, as I typically do but with a tad more kindness.
“Yes, of course. I’ve heard legends about this lunch. You couldn't keep me away, really”, I turn to Marla now. “It’s just wonderful to meet you.”
“Emily! I’ve heard so much about you." She seems relieved, I wonder if Father warned her about me. People tend to handle me gently. Not as much like a ticking bomb but more like a grumpy cat. I'm all claws and hiss and curling only on deserving laps. I sense the presence behind me crossing the threshold into the kitchen before I have a chance to turn.
“Sue, come meet Emily. I mean, you're family now.”
When she enters my vision, I can’t help but stare. She’s not what I expected… she’s brilliant. She hasn’t spoken a word but it’s the only thing that comes to mind. Brown hair pulled into a messy bun, a yellow cotton shirt hanging loosely around her thin frame. Like if late summer were a person, if sunflowers had a face. She’s a lot smaller than I imagined. And I’d be lying if I said she wasn’t beautiful too. Objectively, of course.
She’s also familiar. Wait, I think I know her. Why is she so familiar?
“I’m Sue”, and her confidence radiates from every word. It’s clearly not natural but something practiced, it fits her like a suit tailored but for someone else. I can sense something that I can’t put my finger on. I know this person.
“Hey. I’m... Emily. How are you?” Sometimes I wonder how I’m so adept at writing but so socially awkward. I sound like an interviewer. It’s a weird thing to say, everyone in the kitchen trains their eyes onto me.
Sue gives a short laugh in response. “I’m good, thank you.” She purses her lips but a small smile tugs at the corner. Oh. I know what this is. Condescending with a splash of polite. I don’t like her. I really don’t like her. This girl, whoever she is, is clearly as fake as her confidence.
“Since I’m a literal adult and already have a decent sized family, the standard 5.5. Marla as the .5, of course." I glance at Marla who nods, "I’d like to think of Sue and I more as co-dwellers in the same cave for the next month.”
“Emily. That’s a bit rude, don’t you think? It’s been wonderful having Sue with us for the summer” Father interjects, a hint of a warning. “In fact, I’m glad you’re both here. I have something to share.” Sue glides over to the chair across from me, moving effortless.
“I know Emily is getting ready to return to her studies at New York University.” He continues. Okay, weirdo. No one calls it New York University, Father. “And she plans to move into the Townhouse with you.”
Yes. The Townhouse. A beaten up property in the West Village that Father acquired with the hope of continual renter income. It had been vacant for the last few weeks and, according to our agreement, I’d be moving in with a friend or two once the semester starts. I still needed to find that friend or two, but that’s doable, right?
Father continues as much as I wish he wouldn’t. “Sue is also returning to her studies in August. And, we were all thinking, it doesn’t make sense to have her rent when we have two open bedrooms”, What? No. “Sue will be moving into the Townhouse with you. It is fiscally responsible and you might have time to, er, become friends.”
“That wasn’t our agreement. What? No, I mean, with all respect Sue, you seem fine. Renting is great in New York, I’m sure Sue doesn’t want to share space with me. I’m disgusting, truly. I hate recycling, I’m filthy. Bring on the roaches. I… smoke cigars. Inside. It’s horrible. All my friends steal, constantly. Is that what you all want? Someone to steal Sue’s kidneys as she sleeps, safely in her bed?! Look at her, the girl needs her kidneys. She's wasting away as it is.” I’m grasping for straws at the moment. Something about living with Sue instantly feels dangerous. My stomach is in knots even thinking about her being in my space. All the time. Everywhere. Her all over.
Father is unphased by my apparent confession. “This isn’t a discussion, I’ve— we’ve, made our decision.” And with that, he glances in Marla's direction, picks his book up again and pretends to pick up where he'd last left it. Eyebrows rising like the random print is oh so interesting. Sue’s giving that tight-lipped trace of a smile again when she turns to me.
“I’m clean enough for the both of us. And quite adept at recycling. My kidneys are in prime working order. If it happens once, we’ll revisit that conversation.” Condescending wink.
Oh yes, I definitely don’t like her. And she’s too familiar.
I definitely know this person. So I stomp out of the room, towards my desk and my papers, still trying to figure out exactly who she is.
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I relax into the wood swing, watching the water. It’s nearly 2am and I’m sneaking around like a teenager, having spent the last few hours having an internal meltdown in my room. I wish Lavinia was here to make a joke and distract me with her exploits but she’s currently hours away at college. Hanging with her friends, getting turned out I’m sure. Based on the tinder screenshots I’ve been receiving from her, she’s quite popular. I’ve got half a joint smouldering between my knuckles, large inhale and exhale. The swing creaks with every movement.
I missed the hum of the cicadas in the Hamptons. Peaceful and uncomfortable, a shoe I've outgrown.
A branch snaps behind me and I throw the joint as far as I can before turning to look. It’s Sue, standing 5 feet away, clearly as surprised to see me as I am her. She silently raises her own unlit joint. That annoying smile again.
“I didn’t know the swing was taken,” she says.
“The swing isn’t in the will so… you can join if you want.”
“I didn’t know you knew about this spot,” She half laughs.
In unison, we both respond.
“It’s the only place the security cameras can’t see.” She invites herself to sit down next to me. I can’t help but notice she smells like a mixture of oatmeal and lavender.
“I want you to know that I still hate you, I’m just too high to care right now”, I throw out flippantly.
“I didn’t know we were on the 'hate' basis, I actually think you're pleasant, cheerful even. A bundle of joy. I just need to be high right now”, she retorts quickly as I had, the sarcasm dripping from her voice. A piece of hair tumbles in front of her face, almost black in the darkness, as she leans down to light her joint. The way the flame flicks and casts against her cheekbones… I feel like writing again. I shift in the swing slightly.
“So today was really weird. Are you... ok?” She’s being nice. Normally I’d respond well but I can’t stop thinking about us coexisting for the foreseeable future. I wonder if she showers in the morning or the night. I mean there’s two bathrooms but I still don’t want to share water pressure. And I definitely don't want to be naked while she's naked, even if it's a floor apart.
“Well, my entire next year is going to be vastly different. I’m not in Mexico anymore. There are strangers in my house. How do you think I’m doing? You wouldn’t get it. That's no slight to your emotional intelligence or anything, it's just different for me.”
“That’s assuming of you. For what it’s worth, my Mom died a while ago. Dad left when I was 8. He ran off, started a better family. They go to church every week, they vote red. I’ve had strangers in my house before. I've lived in stranger's houses. And for what it’s worth, it’s a big house. It’s not like we’re on top of each other. Edward showed me the Townhouse too... it’s huge. We don’t have to even see each other. I just don’t want to live in a crumbling tenement in Brooklyn.” Her smile isn’t as light this time, she adds a layer of sarcasm to match mine. “You wouldn’t get it."
“That blows. About your Dad. And Mom”, and I do mean it. I forgot Sue was an orphan and had lived with Marla for the last few years after being bounced from relative to relative. I have a pang of guilt, I’ve been so consumed by my own mind that I hadn’t taken a pause to realize that other people are also... real? Sometimes my brain is so loud, I can’t think over it.
Dome’d, hollow’d, the knock reflects and
doubles back.
"I think you're really pretty," I offer. Sue half-smiles and looks down to her feet with a nod. I don't know what pushed me to say it but I've been on a self-help kick. Saying exactly what you mean the moment you mean it.
"I think you're really pretty too," she says. I have an urge to explain myself and my conflicting messaging.
“I'm not good with people. Not everyone, some people are great. Excellent. But I don't like them being in my space. I'm a writer, that's what I do. I write and I write and sometimes it's too intense for people. Sometimes that intensity spreads out and infects everyone around me. Disease.. everywhere."
She kicks my foot with hers in reassurance. This is strangely intimate. She looks up under those long, brown eyelashes and responds,
"I don't think you're too intense so far. You're definitely interesting. Maybe I'm not intense enough.. It's like-- I'm two different people but both of them aren't real. Like, I feel things but then I think, what good does it serve? So I un-feel them."
"I wish I could un-feel things. Everything is always high amplitude, I don't know. Sometimes I think I'm too raw for this world, like I was born with a sunburn. Everything is so much." I'm half rambling, it occurs to me that I've never said that out loud before. Sue doesn't respond, she just stares at me through those goddamn eyelashes. She wants me to continue so I do against better judgement;
"And I've never actually said that to anyone. Sometimes when I say things I've never said before, I get really scared." I'm wringing my hands. Blame it on the weed. She's still quiet and I think, she reminds me of an empty opera house. Beautiful, echoing from its lack. No, not empty... just with all the things pushed to the corners. "I get really scared because suddenly I don't own those thoughts anymore and you own them and I don't know you. Or what you'll do with them. So it makes sense to be scared and I don't actually think you're an empty opera house."
For the first time in my life, she understands exactly what I'm trying to say without clarification. I feel a confusing surge of affection, the need to reach out and grab the silence she's created. Cradle it to my chest. This feels dangerous.
"Anyway, I’d prefer if we try to stay out of each other’s business” I say and hope she reads the subtext. No group taco nights. No braiding each other’s hair. This is supposed to be my year of renaissance when I can finally compile enough for a collection. From there, I imagine I’d be published and super famous within months. I can drop out, move to a cabin somewhere in the woods. Sometimes I think I want fame just so I can throw it away.
“I can try.. but I tend to cross over into other’s business. We can be friendly though, I won’t bother you.”
“I appreciate the effort… but most people bother me.”
“I think you’ll survive, Emily” and she emphasizes my name before getting up and walking towards the house. I’m a little stunned with the speed of her retort, the warning it holds.
I don’t like her. And she’s still so familiar. I need to figure this out.
----------
The next morning, we've all collectively dragged ourselves out of bed and into the kitchen. I'm resting my cheek against the cool granite when Father picks his glass of orange juice up and carefully contemplates his next words. Staring into the pulp as if it were tea leaves telling the future.
"Emily, I think you should consider another major. English and Creative Writing are great hobbies but they aren't very, er, sustainable, are they?" he says, completely unprompted.
I don't have the energy to raise my head. It makes my words come out all muffled, "I'm a writer, Dad, I don't care about being sustained. Let me starve." The dramatic flick of my wrist.
"Maybe you could take a page out of Sue's book. Sue, you're majoring in Mathematics, correct? Or Neurology. Science and hard facts. What do you think about English?" he seems set on his viewpoint. I'm interested in what Sue will say and raise my head just enough to see her. She looks nervous before responding--
"Mathematics and Queer Studies."
Oh. Wow. Okay. Perhaps we have more in common than I thought. It wasn't like I was ashamed or anything, I'd just never decided to come out. Besides, I'm attracted to minds and not genitalia. Although some genitalia is vastly more attractive than others. Sue takes a moment with her next words, choosing carefully. "And I think English is a wonderful language but yes, not exactly lucrative."
What's this? I see Sue's eyes hesitantly check my Father's for approval. He merely nods into his juice, clearly pleased with her answer.
"You're both nerds and I'm not switching majors. Whatever." My eyes are shooting daggers at Sue who conveniently avoids mine. She's a good girl, she's exactly whatever anyone wants her to be. The effort of it must be exhausting. I don't feel overly compassionate about it. Any progress we made is gone, eviscerated.
If you ask me, Sue can go fuck herself.
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I'm on the swing again and it's not surprising when the branches rustle and Sue emerges, brushing dirt from her tight shorts. For someone who plays the obedient daughter role so well, she does like to show a fair amount of skin. Even in the dark, I find myself staring at the freckle on the inside of her thigh.
"Oh hello, it's the Mathematician! Gracing us with her functional knowledge. Here to shit on my career again? Or maybe it's my hair. Do you hate my hair?" and my voice feels venomous. Sue looks away before sitting next to me.
"I'm sorry about that. I didn't know what to say, I think English is cool, really."
"But not as cool as Math? Or Queer studies? Yeah, you're real cool with your pythagorean's theory. Lots of money in that, can totally buy a house made of... binomials or something."
Sue meets my eyes at that. Questioning, daring.
"I didn't think you'd have an issue with queer studies, Emily."
"And why wouldn't I have an issue? I'm not sure I'm following, Susan."
"Because you're really, really queer." And the matter-of-fact way that she says it digs into me.
"What? I'm queer?" And I totally am. But she doesn't know that, she can't know that.
"Are we playing that game, then? Okay. You're completely straight. You stare at my ass in a very platonic way."
"I do not stare at your ass. Actually, it says a lot that you'd think that. Little obsessed with yourself, then."
And Sue doesn't answer. She smirks before taking my joint out of my hand, dragging deeply, and staring out at the water. I let her take it and try to ignore the tingling in my hand where she'd touched it. There's something about Sue that makes me feel so seen, so vulnerable.
"I study math because it makes money. That's what I do, I survive. I can't just.. do whatever I want like you can. I don't have a back-up. I can't want things unless they'll keep me alive."
I have to break the silence.
"Why do you look so familiar? Have we met before?"
"We met in the kitchen like 2 days ago so I'm going to say yes."
"No, I've met you before that. I just don't know where," Sue is bracing herself with two arms, getting ready to head back into the house. It strikes me that she might have come out only because she knew I'd be here.
"Don't think too hard, Emily. I wouldn't want you to get any wrinkles on that pretty face." And then she's gone before I can control the blushing heat that creeps into my cheeks. Pretty face. Cool. She still didn't say anything about my hair though.
----------
Father calls out, to no one in particular, "Why is the car so dirty? Did someone take it out today?"
Sue responds, from another room, "I think I saw Emily leave earlier."
Traitor.
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"Emily, must you wear pajama pants everywhere? It's nearly 10am, you should get dressed. Sue, you're always so put together. Perhaps you could give Emily some tips?", Father speaks from under another book.
I groan in response and throw the spoon into my cereal bowl, resulting in a loud clatter.
"I could help you do your hair, Emily. It's so beautiful when you wear it down," Sue offers. I can't help but stare at her, dumbstruck. The absolute gall of this woman.
"No thanks, I think I'm good. But appreciate you, Sue." I throw an overly sweet smile in her direction.
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My hands knock against her door and she answers too quickly. I push my way inside, past her, and sit in her computer chair. Posh, of course, her entire room. She's barely decorated but it's enough to portray a vision of a completely normal young woman. I'd spent the previous few hours furiously googling. Sue’s familiarity had gotten under my skin and I had to know. Was she a murderer? Or worse, a Tik Tok Influencer? But no. I did it. I found her. And it’s much, much juicier.
"Emily", she doesn't seem surprised to see me.
“Here’s the deal, I came across something interesting… a website. Sex stuff. Have you ever heard of OnlyFans?” I’m trying hard to mimic concern but we both know what this is. For perhaps the first time, I see a hint of fear cross her face. If she wasn’t annoying as hell, I might think it was beautiful. She doesn’t feel like the same person, she’s dropping her mask. I continue before she has a moment to respond. “See, it’s a thing where girls show off and people pay them. So, a friend sends me this link… and I click. And what do you think I see?” I pause only for dramatic effect. “Other than you. So me, assuming best intentions, look around a bit more... and the things I’ve seen”, I exhale and shake my head, “Wow. Just wow."
And what I don't tell her is that I've known of OnlyFans for a long time. I wouldn't consider myself a consistent viewer but there's something about watching another person. Watching the mask fall, the bodies bend and obey to a force nearly holy in the way it possesses them. And I've seen her videos more than once. Carefully cropped to show just enough of her chin and mouth for me to have full assurance that Sue is the girl in the videos.
“Emily, what are you getting at?” While it was there once, there’s no fear on her face anymore. It’s stone-serious and staring back at me.
“I think you know exactly what I’m getting at. So... you are going to start looking for an apartment as soon as possible. You won't be moving into the Townhouse in August. We’ll coexist for the next few weeks. You won’t say anything about me, none of that pretentious sarcasm better-than-thou bullshit. And in return? My silence. My father and Marla will never see these videos. They’ll never know what you do. She'll never know what her perfect god-daughter gets up to in the dark. Got it?”, I spin in the chair, trying to hold back the excitement of finally having one-up on Sue Gilbert.
Those brown eyes turn hard, almost feral. She smiles in a different way this time. It's so unlike anything I've ever seen before, the "good girl" facade fully abandoned. The blood rushing through me runs cold. She feels dangerous again. Cornered animals often do.
“Blackmail isn’t a great way to start a relationship, don’t you think?” She’s playing along.
“I wouldn’t call it blackmail. Think of it as encouragement backed by… evidence?”
“Evidence. Funny word choice. Are you finished?” and it’s the tone of a scolding teacher. I’m a bit surprised she didn’t even deny it. Based on her large fan base and pure volume of videos… she must know she’s caught. But she isn’t falling to her knees and begging me for my silence. Bending to my will as I'd thought she would.
She continues, “Good. Here’s another deal for you. I won’t stand here and say it isn’t me. I’m not ashamed. However, I do know the security surrounding my site... I know someone needs to be a member to access. As the admin to the site, I can find out exactly what’s been viewed and how many times. Someone exposing a pervert would only need to view one video, right?” Condescending teacher voice again. An undertone of equal venom.
My jaw hits the floor. This heat inside of me… Am I turned on? Jesus, that’s twisted. And then the sudden fear turning that heat to cold. This isn’t how this was supposed to go. Am I trackable? She's bluffing, surely. Right? Oh god. She stands from the bed now and walks towards me before speaking directly to my core.
“Here's your scenario, you tell Marla and Edward. You show them the videos, wouldn’t that be fun to sit through? Then, you have to answer how you found them. You’re smart, you might come up with some reason. I hope the credit card you used isn’t connected to you at all... because then I show them what you watched. I tell them how you tried to blackmail me. Do you need me to keep going or?”
I'm suddenly aware of the pressure in my legs, she advances towards further me and continues, like a predator.
“I then proceed to show them my current thesis, 'The Psychology of Sex Work and Male Domination in a Queer Lens', 36 pages long and counting. I admit to them that.. I’m alternative with my sexuality. They already know I’m queer." A smile crosses her face while she imagines it. "I can see your Dad bumbling over the words. His brain might explode. Marla would be uncomfortable, sure, she might not look at me the same but she’d understand. She might even be proud. Feminist. Sex positive.”
“You... wouldn’t”, My mouth is dry. My body, humming with electricity. I can feel the pink in my cheeks.
“But I would. Here is the new deal: I am moving into the Townhouse whenever I choose. You can move in, I don’t care. Even bring a friend. Basement office is mine to do with what I please, it’ll be locked at all times. I’ll say what the fuck I want about you when you’re being an asshole. I don’t need you to love me. I don’t think I can accurately explain just how much I don’t give a fuck what you think. I do, however, care about Marla. I told you that I survive, Emily. In exchange, we both keep our mouths shut.”
I’m speechless at how quickly she managed to completely turn the situation in her favor. I've never seen this side of her before. It's not like I know her well but.. how could someone have this hidden inside of them? Maybe Sue truly isn't an empty opera house. A hallway of mirrors perhaps, reflecting what everyone wants to see. A crystal clear pond that runs too dark and too deep.
“Between us, there’s only one way you found those videos. Oh, last thing. You really shouldn't come for me again. You saw the videos. I break girls like you for fun.”
And with that, she leaves me in her bedroom, dumbstruck. Who is this? Who am I about to live with? Why does my entire body feel as though it's in flames? The doors closes and she’s gone again. Sue is very good at dramatic exits too.
Who the hell am I about to live with?