If the scandal has taught Gina anything, it’s that social media can take down anything and anyone. The smallest things can trigger a backlash, an uproar. Companies used to fear external events, such as supply shortages or new technology that would render them obsolete. Now, the biggest threat to a business is the mass hysteria born out of woke culture. Twitter has become a kangaroo court, a twenty-first century version of a bloodthirsty town-square eager to flog offenders who’ve committed no real offense. Gina fears for the direction the country is headed in.
“I understand,” Gina says. “It’s fine. This too shall pass. Everything does.”
Bobby squeezes her shoulder. “That’s my girl.” And then, softly, “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
They hold each other’s gaze for an extra beat. The creases around his eyes deepen as he smiles. She’s gotten used to his wearing contact lenses, but sometimes she misses his old look. The glasses made him seem older, more dignified.
“Do you want to get a cup of hot chocolate from Rocky Mountain?” he asks.
“Yes. But let’s get them to-go. I still have four items on my to-do list for the day.”
Keeping busy. It’s something Gina wishes more people would do. The world would be a better place if people spent more time crossing items off their to-do list, and less time on social media.
Interview with Missy Stevens
Member of the Alma Social Club—Third Generation. Enrolled in 1978
We were so consumed with keeping tabs on Bobby and Gina that none of us thought to pay attention to Tish. When I look back on those months, it’s almost like she wasn’t there, though of course she was. We would’ve noticed her absence. What we didn’t notice is that she started keeping a low profile, even though that was very un-Tish-like. The woman loves a spotlight!
It’s impressive, don’t you think? Her ability to command or deflect attention at will. Say what you will about her—and people have been saying a lot lately—but that’s a talent. No wonder she’s a politician.
Don’t give me that look. Presiding the ASC is absolutely a political role. It’s an elected office!
And speaking of politics, it all makes sense now, her announcing her resignation from the ASC. We should’ve known it had nothing to do with supporting Gina.
There’s a lot we should’ve known.
Forty
Nick
Friday, November 1st
The cathedral takes up an entire city block between 50th and 51st Streets. It’s massive, with rising spires, built of brick clad in marble, and decorated with sculpted artwork. Nick has been inside a handful of times throughout his life, always in moments of great significance, and always in secret. He isn’t sure what it means, his coming here in moments of turmoil. He doesn’t think of himself as religious.
Today he’s standing at the back, a lone figure staring at the stained-glass windows. There’s a smattering of people around him, mostly tourists. Nick can tell by their practical outfits, by the way they keep their mouths slightly parted as they take in the space’s neo-gothic features. He wonders what they make of him. Does he look pious, repentant?
He should look repentant. He should feel repentant.
It’s one of the Ten Commandments: Thou shall not covet thy neighbor’s wife. Bobby isn’t just his neighbor—he’s his brother, his twin, which means that Nick might as well make peace with the fact that, if there is a hell, that’s where he’s headed.
In his defense, Gina first caught his eye a full year before she even met Bobby. He had been a junior at NYU when he decided to enroll in the Women’s Studies class. It seemed like a good opportunity to both get an easy A (since he knew women well) and meet chicks. When he first saw Gina, he noticed two things: she had that wide-eyed freshman stare and the longest, fullest hair he’d ever seen. Sure, she was pretty, but not as pretty as Carmen, the curvy Venezuelan student who was sitting next to her. He had been disappointed when he and Gina—rather than he and Carmen—were assigned to the same study group.
They made plans to meet at the library the following day. When he realized that the two other people in their group, Rita and Mackenzie, were late, Nick tried to start a conversation with Gina, but all he got were one-word answers. Nick didn’t like to brag, but he was something of a legend at NYU. Girls hit on him all the time, especially freshmen. But not Gina. She was more interested in reading The New Yorker than in talking to him. Nick was intrigued. He enjoyed a challenge.
He spent the next weeks trying to pique Gina’s interest. He complimented her outfit. He initiated conversations about some of the books she carried. But all Gina did was nod and edge away. One day, he flat out asked her on a date, but she claimed to be too busy to date. Nick was dumbfounded and began forming theories that would explain her indifference towards him—a lesbian, in a long-distance relationship, a member of some ultra-conservative religious cult.
One day in October, Nick walked into Third Rail Coffee and spotted Gina at a table with a group of girlfriends. He did a double take—she’d cut her hair. It was now short, like a boy’s. Her neck was exposed: swanlike and sexy. The women were gushing over her new look, calling it a pixie cut and noting how it made her cheekbones pop. Nick watched as Gina blushed and chatted animatedly with her friends, bearing no resemblance to the quiet, reserved girl he knew from class. After a few minutes, he walked up to their table and complimented her new hairstyle. He could feel the other girls’ eyes on him, their mouths agape.
“Thanks,” Gina said, barely looking at him.
“Do you want to sit with us?” a red-haired girl asked.
“Sure.” Nick gave her his winning smile.
“Aren’t you Nick Dewar?” said a girl with freckles all over her face.
“I am,” Nick
