Chapter 2

"Press is coming tomorrow. Camille's moving in."

Julian throws my stuff into boxes. Doesn't look at me once.

"Three years' rent, paid up front. Water, electric, everything covered. Two-bedroom, shops downstairs, you'll be fine."

He leans over to buckle my seatbelt — takes him three tries before the click catches. Adjusts the seat to where I like it. Lays the blanket over my knees, same as always.

This car. He emptied his savings for it back when I hit a hundred and eighty. Sold two watches because the old sedan's seat was too tight for me.

I used to complain about the heat — he cranked the AC until it ran like winter inside. I used to feel squeezed — he widened the passenger seat until it fit me like a glove.

"If you can't get thinner," he'd said once, hand on the gear shift, grinning at me, "I'll just keep buying bigger cars."

I come back from the memory and realize — we're not heading toward my apartment.

"Camille's got a cocktail party tonight," Julian says. Flat. Like he's reading off a schedule. "Swinging by to pick her up."

I go still. My fingers curl against my knee.

"You and her… it's really just publicity?"

"Of course." He doesn't even hesitate. "You're not useful anymore, but I still love you."

The words come out generous. Like he's handing me something I should be grateful for.

"If the press isn't around," I say, "can I come back and stay for a few days?"

He doesn't turn his head. "The apartment's forty miles out. Why would you drag yourself all that way in this heat?"

"It's not that far. Two hours on the subway."

Nothing.

He doesn't answer. Doesn't blink. Doesn't move.

I look up. He's already got his headphones on.

I say his name. Twice.

Nothing.

The car stops. Camille pulls the passenger door open herself.

"Josie — hop in back. The bags'll crush her dress if she sits in the rear."

I open my mouth. My throat feels stuffed with wet cotton.

I unbuckle the seatbelt. Give up the seat.

Camille takes a tissue out, wipes down the entire passenger side. Then pulls out a deodorizer spray. Sprays it twice. Three times. Only then does she sit.

My spine goes rigid.

"God, it's freezing." She hugs her arms. "Turn the AC down?"

Julian obeys. Instantly.

"There's a blanket back—"

"That'll wrinkle my dress." She curls her lip. "No."

"But I'm burning up."

Julian's eyes flick to the rearview mirror. Irritation. Clear as day.

"Then take something off."

Within minutes I'm down to a tank top. Sweat soaking through front and back. I can feel it pooling in the crease under my chest, sliding down my spine.

"What is that smell?" Camille presses her hand over her nose. "Julian — do you smell that?"

Something inside me clenches. Like a fist closing around my lungs.

Julian looks away from the mirror. Doesn't say a word. Just switches the AC to recirculate and clips an air freshener into the vent.

Ever since the weight came, the sweating never stopped. Every pore leaking something oily. Something sour. I shower three times a day and strangers still wrinkle their noses when I walk past them on the street.

Nina's the only one who ever leaned in close. Really close. Sniffed on purpose, taking her time about it.

"You smell fine, Josie. You smell like you."

But it doesn't matter anymore. The reflex set a long time ago. Someone twitches their nose near me — anyone, anywhere — and my lungs just lock. I can't breathe. Can't think. Can't do anything except stand there and wait for it to pass.

The car brakes hard. I slam into the seat in front of me.

"Paparazzi up ahead!" Julian's voice cracks. Full panic. "Josie — get in the back. Behind the third row. Now!"