One Night to Risk It All

“Alana probably a little.”

“Alana?”

“My friend. The one I was in Corfu with. The one who encouraged me to go and talk to you. She was my maid of honor along with Leah, actually. Well, she would have been had I gone through with the wedding.”

“And she knows you?”

She winced. “Mostly.” Alana had been there for the wild past. They’d passed a liquor bottle back and forth between them in her Mercedes. They’d cleaned up their act together. But Alana didn’t know that Rachel felt like she was suffocating beneath her skin.

She shopped with Alana, she talked shallow crap with Alana. She and Leah had warm chats where Rachel felt obligated to seem stable and to give advice. She and her father had a similar relationship. She always felt like she needed to seem happy, so that he wouldn’t worry that something was wrong again. That she might be sliding back into her old ways.

Then there was Ajax...and with him she had to be...well, calm and fine and...and...things. With Ajax she was the woman she pretended to be for the media. Poised and steady. She could never do anything that might point in the direction of her very covered up, fairly sordid teenage years. She could never flail or cuss.

She did both of those things around Alex. With alarming frequency. And she wasn’t sure why. Maybe because he’d seen her naked. Or maybe because she’d been naked since she met him. Metaphorically.

“I’ve just never... Everyone has their expectations. And what they need from me. You, on the other hand, well, I don’t need to be a certain way around you because I don’t even like you, and also we’re stuck together, so what you think about me or want from me doesn’t really matter.”

His eyes went blank. “I don’t really know what it’s like to have someone have expectations of you.”

“Oh. Well, it’s not bad. I don’t really mind it or anything. It’s just that...it means that I make sure I behave a certain way in certain company is all. And yeah, I don’t go around saying weird things in public or around people who wouldn’t get it. So I’m...restrained in certain settings and...”

“Fake,” he said.

“What?”

“You’re fake. And that’s okay, I am, too. I mean, I know how to be. Witness how we met. And how do you think I survive a week of meetings like this? I don’t go in telling them where I’m from. I make sure to temper my language. I’ve learned how to dress in a way that reflects who I am now, and what I do now, not in a way that reflects who I was. Or where I’m from.”

“I’m not fake.”

“Don’t look so upset.”

She realized she was frowning with great ferocity. She didn’t bother to stop. “How can I not be upset when you’re telling me that I’m fake?”

“Because it’s a life skill. Chameleons do it. It’s how they survive. It’s how we survive. You don’t want to walk around showing the wrong colors, so to speak. You have to learn how to blend in.”

“Deep, man.”

“It’s the truth is all. And you do it, so you obviously, instinctively, know the benefits of it, whether you like it or not.”

“It’s...being appropriate in your surroundings. It’s not fake.”