None of that seems to bother Brooke in the least. At least not anymore.

It's a little bit after ten and she’s back from yoga, where she is undoubtably the largest person there. She’s smiling and invigorated just like she usually is after a hard workout.

When we were growing up, I was able to confide in Brooke about how I felt about my body, but recently I just feel embarrassed about not loving myself enough. She is all about positivity and acceptance. Somehow being unable to accept myself makes me feel worse.

Brooke’s two-bedroom apartment is a few blocks from the water, near Montana and the Promenade. Her street has a number of boutique eateries, little cute clothing shops, and even a cycling store. Santa Monica doesn't look like a very high-end city, at least that's the image that it cultivates, but this two-bedroom costs our dad close to $4,000 a month. I don't think that she contributes much to the rent, but we have never really talked about it. The one thing that she knows is that I don't take any money from our parents.

“Okay,” I say, finally caving to her demands while we eat a lush breakfast of pancakes and maple syrup. “We can go to the beach if you help me do some research on D. B. Carter first. It's really stressing me out, the fact that I have to turn in something on Monday and I have nothing. If I don't get the story right, she's probably going to fire me.”

“She can't fire you over one story,” Brooke says.

She is well aware of my relationship with Corrin and everything that has happened, but it doesn't seem like she is fully comprehending the extent of the situation.

“Corrin has been looking for a reason to get rid of me for a long time. If I can't deliver the story or at least show her that I have done a good amount of work on it, then she is just going to fire me and say that it's because I've been so preoccupied with my wedding.”

Feeling flustered, I shovel a pancake into my mouth and try to make the woes of my failed relationship go away through food. Brooke gets on the computer and does some research. She counts up all of the publications that D. B. Carter has on Amazon and delivers the verdict. 152 books.

“How long has he been publishing?”

“She,” Brooke corrects me. “Listen, this is a woman and you better accept that.”

“Okay, she. How long has she been publishing?”

“It looks like it has been seven years. So, not too bad. At first there were some thrillers and more standard fantasy. Then in the last couple years, she has mainly been focusing on urban and epic fantasy,” Brooke says.

I open my computer and we try to balance both laptops and our plates on the small marble table in her kitchen. After a few moments, I give up and place my MacBook on my lap. I check the messages that I have sent to D. B. Carter asking to meet. They all go unanswered, but perhaps not unread.

“Listen,” Brooke says, the sun just coming out and her pointing to the few rays of sunshine peeking in through the blinds. “Let's take advantage of this and get some nice photos on the beach. I promise I'll help you do some more research when we get back.”

“No,” I say. “You go. I'll just stay here.”

“Come with me. It will do you some good to get some fresh air.”

She's right.

I want to fight her on it, but I can’t.

I don't have the energy.

I head to the guest room and slip on a pair of pants and a hoodie over my T-shirt. It's in the mid-60s, but the wind can be brutal so I don't risk it. Besides, with the hoodie wrapped around me, it gives me a little bit more opportunity to mope.

We walk to the beach and Brooke starts taking a few outside shots of whatever's in front of her. There's a bread store that puts out fresh baked loaves in the window. They look so delicious that my mouth actually waters looking at them. Brooke snaps a picture of them and then one of her pointing to them in a selfie for her Instagram stories.

“You seem to like taking photos a lot,” I say. “Have you ever thought about doing something in photography?”

“Actually, I have. A friend of mine asked me to photograph her wedding. The only problem is that I don't have a good camera. Those Cannon ones go for a grand.”

“Did you ask Dad?”

“I did. He said to ask him again after the engagement party. Apparently, he spent a lot on it.”

I roll my eyes and she laughs.

“You know that I had nothing to do with that party, right?”

“Of course! You don't think that I know you? That old party was just all about Mom and Lindsey celebrating themselves. You were the guest of honor, but no one gave a damn about what you wanted.”

“Yeah,” I say quietly. “If they did, then there wouldn't be any toasts and I wouldn’t have to announce to 200 people that my fiancé is a fucking cheater and a liar.”

“I'm really sorry about that,” she says, taking my hand in hers and giving me a squeeze.

When we get to the beach, we walk past the monkey bars. There’s a ridiculously hot guy with eight pack abs doing upside down crunches. This is a change from the usual when there are guys with only six pack abs doing pull-ups.

Brooke points to him, but I have my eye on someone else. It suddenly occurs to me that since I'm no longer engaged or even in a relationship that these men are an actual option for me.

Brooke continues to take selfies of herself in various poses. She brought a few changes of outfits in her oversized tote bag and layers them one after the other, removing the one underneath to vary the shots. Underneath it all, she’s wearing a two piece.

“You mind snapping a few pictures?” she asks, forcing me to look up from my Kindle in the middle of a very exciting part in the story.

“I don't really want to,” I say.

“Come on, please,” she begs.

I let out a deep sigh, scramble up to my feet, and take her phone. She tells me exactly where to stand and how to shoot it. Then she points her face, tilting her chin and maximizing her eyes. Her elbows are in opposite directions and her body is curved to minimize the waist and accentuate her breasts.

I can't help but admire her confidence. It seems to come so naturally to her, almost like breathing and no matter what I do, I can’t make myself feel that way.

After I hand her back her phone, a smile comes over her face as she looks through the pictures and then she lets out a squeal.

“He texted me back!”

18

Emma

As soon as Brooke shows me the phone, it takes me a few moments to realize that she’s talking about Liam from the party.

Immediately, I feel annoyed.

It was nice to meet you yesterday, Liam texts. Brooke shows me the phone and squeals giddily.

Yeah, me, too, she texts back.

She waits for him to say something else, but he doesn't.

We walk back from the beach and my skin feels salty from the air.

She asks me how I feel about her possibly asking out Liam and I, of course, tell her that that's totally fine.

“I just know that you two talked earlier in the night and I wasn't sure if you…”

She lets her voice trail off.

I shake my head vigorously.

“I'm not into guys, right now. Maybe not ever.”