Page 115 of Famous for a Living

She waves a hand, seeing my obvious state of shock. “I know. You should’ve answered your phone.”

“I don’t answer once and so you fly across the country to check on me?”

“I told you not to ignore me.” She gives a shrill laugh. Then, seeing my expression, she adds, “I’m kidding.” I don’t laugh, because I’m still not so sure. “Obviously. But it was six. Six times you didn’t answer your phone, for the record. I was beginning to think you were dead. Shall we?”

I open the door and she makes as though to breeze past me, but her coat gets stuck between the doorframe. The polyester scrapes across the jamb as she moves. We follow her into the living room, clicking on lights behind her.

She makes four strides into the room and turns. Pinches the bridge of her nose. “I have two things to tell you, Cat. But I just went through nine of the worst hours of my life beside a woman who sold Mary Kay. First give me all the aspirin and coffee you’ve got.”

I’m never going to sleep.

I’m going to drink coffee until I die.

I move to the kitchen. To both my disbelief and absolute expectation Mina has left a pot of coffee on in the corner, along with a Post-it note saying: For the inevitable nightcap. XOXO.

That’s it. She seriously is the best roommate ever.

Serena waits until she’s finished her first cup (which takes about ten seconds—nobody can down a cup of coffee like Serena) to speak. Meanwhile, I stand over her, tapping my foot impatiently. Zaiah sits on the couch.

Other than the snoring coming from Mina’s room, the air in the room is saturated in serious anticipation.

“What’s your news?” I take her cup the millisecond she’s finished and fill it again.

This has to be about the lawsuit. She often hears things one step ahead of me.

That has to be why she’s come.

Good news.

Here to be the first to celebrate with me.

That has to be it.

Unless it’s bad news.

So bad that she decided she had to come and tell me herself. Be a shoulder to cry on.

I hold my breath as I watch her pop the aspirin in her mouth.

Searching for clues.

Is this an “I’m so sorry to tell you this, but your life is over” way to down an aspirin? Or a “We are about to celebrate bigger than that New Year’s Eve party back in 2022” aspirin throwdown?

“They found Bobby.”

I nearly drop the coffee cup. “Where was he?” I say, images of men in official jackets leading him in handcuffs through Caribbean airports.

“The idiot ran out of money and was squatting in his own apartment. Some Realtor was bringing in a couple to see it when she found him watching Netflix on his phone in the bathroom.”

I sink down onto a chair.

“And while he doesn’t have a cell in his brain, he does seem to have a fleck of decency, because he confessed that you had nothing to do with all of this.”

My shoulders drop forward. I exhale until my forehead rests on the kitchen island.

I can’t believe it.

Bobby confessed.