“That’s crazy.” Mackenzie isn’t sure what to say or ask. “So, were you scared at all? Was he scary?”
“No. I’m going to go back and see him again,” Bunny says, matter-of-fact, testing Mackenzie’s newfound loyalty. She goes to pour another round of shots, hands Mackenzie another glass. “Here, on the count of three—one, two, three—” She throws it back, slams the glass down on the table.
Mackenzie leaves half of the shot in the glass.
“So do your parents know about Marty?” Bunny asks.
“No, definitely not,” Mackenzie replies.
“Why do you say it like that? Like it would be the end of the world if they knew?” Bunny asks, fishing for racism.
“Uh, I mean… I think they’d be fine with it. I mean, Marty’s applying to all Ivy Leagues, so—”
“What’s that supposed to mean? Like he wouldn’t be worthy if he wasn’t applying to Ivy Leagues? Because he’s Black?”
“No! No, I didn’t mean it like that.…”
“Then what did you mean?”
“It’s just… Okay, you really can’t tell anyone this, you seriously can’t, because I mean, I love my parents.…”
“I swear I won’t say anything.” Bunny squirms closer to her on the couch.
“There was this one time when my grandmama was really sick with lung cancer and she was in one of those homes, you know, where you basically go to die, and anyway, when my parents and I were there with her an… African American nurse came into the room and my father was, like, super aggressive with her. He was like, ‘Who are you, why are you in here,’ and the nurse was like, ‘I’m here to help Mrs. Wallace with her medication, sir,’ she was the nicest woman, and my dad was a total dick, he was like, ‘I need you to leave immediately and get someone else in here.’ And the whole thing just felt so fucking—”
“Racist.” Bunny cuts her off.
Mackenzie is visibly ashamed. “Yeah.”
“I get it, it’s super fucked up.”
“It’s so fucked up,” Mackenzie echoes, picking at the back of her head unconsciously, triggered, pulling out a strand of her hair.
“This is one of the reasons I went to the jail.” Bunny blows smoke to the side, considering. “There was this one time I was with Audrey, I had taken my dad’s Audi to pick up a dime before one of Stan’s parties, and we got lost off of I-395 and ended up in some neighborhood in Southeast, it was still light out, maybe around four in the afternoon and we came to a stop sign, had our windows down, Audrey vaping, me smoking, and there was a few Black kids standing on the corner with their backpacks on and one of them shouted, ‘Nice car!’ And Audrey yelled back, ‘Work hard and you can have one too!’ and just before she rolled up her window, one of the boys yelled back, ‘Yeah, right, your daddy bought you that car!’ And Audrey gave him the finger. And then I stepped on the gas, afraid they would jump us. And you know, that kid was fucking right. He was probably, I dunno, twelve years old. I mean, it was my dad’s car. He was right. And I felt disgusting. It was just a few weeks after that that Audrey died.”
Mackenzie gazes at Bunny, but Bunny can’t tell if she’s listening or if she’s dissociated—or if she’s staying silent because she isn’t sure how to respond and doesn’t want to say the wrong thing.… A few seconds later, Mackenzie asks, “So do you think one of those boys murdered her?”
“Noooo,” Bunny replies, frustrated that her point isn’t resonating, a stark reminder of what it is she is beginning to see and can’t understand why others might not see it too. “It’s just an example of our white privilege, and because Audrey didn’t see it, she got angry about it.”
“But if you do work hard you can have a nice car—I mean, isn’t that true? That’s what my dad always says.”
“Your dad the racist?” Bunny says.
It stings Mackenzie, hearing it come from someone other than herself.
Bunny pulls back, remembering she came here to get an ally not a frenemy. This complicated need to be heard—she’s unsure if she’s willing to accept the cost of it, and what would it mean to challenge her? “I just mean, we were born into everything and those kids saw it, like they knew it just from looking at us, and it makes me think about why this guy would want to murder Audrey’s family. Why would he torture them first? I’ve seen too many movies, and you need a motive. And… maybe the Bankses were racist. Maybe they were terrible people.”
Mackenzie thinks for a moment, a look of uncertainty across her face. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you murder someone for it! And if he didn’t do it, then who did?”
“That’s what I don’t know.…” Bunny says.
They stare ahead, a black-and-white portrait of Bunny’s great-grandmother looking down at them from across the room, her hair swooped up into a bun atop her head.
“Do you love Marty?” Bunny asks, switching the subject back.
“I—you can’t tell him.”
“You totally love him, I can tell.… Don’t worry, I won’t say anything.”
“What’s your Insta handle?” Mackenzie asks, hoping Bunny will follow her back.
“It’s bb_queen.”
“I’m Mackattack1.”
Bunny takes out her phone and opens the app, pauses on Mackenzie’s profile for a moment, unsure if she wants to follow her, before impulsively hitting the Follow button.
“Oh my God, look at what Haley just posted, my little sister.”
