All that really matters, p.33
All That Really Matters, page 33
He peered at me quizzically.
“I’ll do a livestream if you call your brother’s mentor. Two hard things for the price of one.”
Our standoff lasted all of ten seconds before Silas said, “I have a stipulation to add.”
“Shoot.”
“Do the livestream from here.”
“From Fir Crest Manor?” I nearly choked on the words.
“Yes. I’ll even volunteer to be your cameraman.”
I tilted my head as irony smacked me square in the chest. “But doesn’t that break like every social media rule you have?”
“Some rules are worth amending.” He stood, offered me his hand, and pulled me up from the floor. “And I want to be a part of this.”
I immediately wrapped my arms around him and pressed my cheek to his chest. I’d been wrong. It wasn’t Silas’s office that provided the much-needed respite I’d come to count on in the last couple months.
It was Silas.
After taking a few moments to compose my thoughts and send up a silent prayer, asking God for strength and direction, I finger combed my cropped hair one last time, took a deep breath, and then nodded at Silas. With my phone in his right hand, he nodded back and then pointed at me as if he’d done this a thousand times before. A role reversal if there ever was one, as I felt like this was my first time ever on camera.
In a way, I supposed it was.
“Hello, friends. It’s me, Molly, with Makeup Matters with Molly.” I smiled, twisting my hands in my lap as I watched the tiny notification bubbles float across the screen in Silas’s grip. “I know it’s been a while since I’ve done a live on any of my platforms, but . . . ” I swallowed, watching several comments and emojis slip up from the bottom of the screen, all mentioning my hair with exclamations. But I couldn’t stop to reply to any of them. Instead, I focused my gaze near the top of the display, catching Silas’s steady and reassuring gaze. “But I wanted to hop on tonight and say hello.” Only, that wasn’t exactly true. “Actually, I’d like to say a bit more than a hello. A tough habit to break for someone who’s on camera often is the desire to want to polish up every word and make it sound as pretty as possible . . . but I’m realizing that some words are just meant to be spoken raw. And that’s what tonight’s video will be. A raw, unfiltered, unedited version of me, just Molly.”
I chuckled a bit and glanced down at my hands, working to rein in my thoughts. “In the three years I’ve been recording and posting these videos, this is the first time I’ve done it without a plan or a script or a product to discuss.” I tucked a short piece of hair behind my ear. “I’m not totally sure who this might be for tonight, but whether you’ve been following me for one or all two-hundred-plus videos, I want you to know that the Molly you’ve subscribed to on Makeup Matters is not nearly as authentic as she’s led you to believe.” I released a deep breath. “Or even as she led herself to believe.
“Though I’ve loved the fashion and makeup world since I was a teenager, and though I’ve had every intention of becoming a positive and honest voice in the beauty industry, there’s been something missing for a while. A lot of somethings, actually.” I pointed to the screen, at the image reflected there of this new self with the short hair and the natural face. “Over the last couple months, as I’ve worked with some pretty outstanding people at a transitional home to equip young adults for the future . . . I’ve learned a lot of hard lessons. Most of those lessons have cumulated into a complete rewrite of the old narratives I’ve believed about myself, my worth, and where my hope for the future comes from. I’ve had to face the truth about the ways I’ve isolated myself from the real world and from the real people who are in it.” My heart pounded in my chest as I implored viewers on the other side of that phone screen.
“But what I want you to see, to know, and to hear tonight is that no matter how much you strive to make over the outside with the products I’ve endorsed, none of them holds the power to make over what’s on the inside. And I’m realizing more and more just how much I’ve neglected the most vital parts of who I am, of who I’m meant to be. When I’m focused inward, I miss out on divine opportunities to bless others—to serve, to help, to protect, to befriend. To love beyond my own capacity and capability.” I laid a hand to my chest, glancing for half a second to Silas’s face. “This heart makeover is still a work in progress.” I closed my mouth, rubbed my lips together. “But in the end, the condition of our heart is all that really matters. I pray that the same grace that’s been extended to me as I’ve begun this heart work will be extended to you, as well. Until next time, good night and God bless.”
I reached forward and tapped the screen to stop the video, and Silas placed the phone on the side table, his eyes a bit glassier than they were at the start. As were mine.
“A heart makeover,” he said.
“Yeah,” I said. “It was the only way I knew to describe it.”
“It was the perfect way to describe it.”
Though we were sitting three feet away from each other, his words were an embrace so real my lungs fought to take in a full breath. “Thank you, for everything you’ve done for me, Silas. I’m . . .” My throat closed around another swell of emotion. “I don’t deserve someone like you.”
“I was thinking the same about you.”
No matter what came of this raw livestream tonight, I wouldn’t second-guess it. Instead, I would fall asleep knowing that I took the next right step in a journey I was only just beginning. And tomorrow, I would take even more.
Starting with a long overdue phone call to a friend I wasn’t willing to lose.
33
Molly
My alarm sounded different this morning. Not the usual crescendo of violins and piano, but a ringtone I hadn’t heard in quite some time. Too long. I fumbled for my phone, glanced at the screen, and then shot straight up in bed, hastily brushing at the hair poking into my eyeballs.
Val.
I swiped right to answer the video call.
“Val!” I blurted, a mix of groggy morning voice and overzealous enthusiasm at seeing the face that topped today’s personal to-do list, or rather, my to-call list. “Hi—how are you?” I barely knew how to start this conversation. It was as if the culmination of the last eight weeks was perched on the tip of my tongue, and I had no idea how to hold a single thing back, because all I wanted in this world was to keep her on the phone for as long as possible.
“I’m sorry if I woke you.”
“No, no. I’m good. It’s good. I’m totally awake now.” I rubbed at my eyes, waiting for the blurriness to clear, but even as it did, the moisture I thought I’d seen on Val’s cheeks was still there, still glistening in the recessed lighting above her kitchen table. The place she’d so often videoed me from.
“Molly.” She released a sound similar to a laugh and then patted her face with the sleeve of her purple Alaskan Frontier sweatshirt. “I just watched it, your video. That was . . . I mean, I don’t even have the right words yet. I just had to call you.”
Tears blurred my vision again. “I’ve missed you so much.”
“I’ve missed you, too.” She peered into the phone, her eyes shiny and bright. “Your hair.” She breathed. “I could hardly believe it was you at first. But it is. You really cut it off.”
My haircut was the least of all that had happened over our time apart. I pinched a wonky piece tickling my earlobe, and reality set in afresh. My long, billowy hair that was a signature to my brand was no more. And I was okay. Better than okay. “Yes, I really did.” Quite literally.
“What you said, about the heart makeover and about authenticity . . . it was beautiful. I’m not surprised at all to see what’s happening with it. And don’t worry about the naysayers . . . you know there are hateful people in every crowd.”
“Wait, what are you talking about? What’s happening with it?”
Val’s shocked expression was almost comical. “Molly, your video’s been shared over ten thousand times already. Even Felicity Fashion Fix posted it to her page! It was very inspiring. I was inspired.”
Felicity? I fought an unexpected rush of emotion at that. I’d sent Felicity a one-sentence apology DM after what went down in Malibu, hoping she could read between the lines of everything I couldn’t say, seeing as I was still contractually bound to her ex-talent manager and boyfriend. I honestly hadn’t expected to hear from her again.
I opened my mouth to respond to Val’s shocking pronouncement, but I had nothing to say. The very idea of a post featuring my naked face, my self-cut hair, and my unpolished words going viral on a platform that promoted just the opposite was . . . nothing short of mind-blowing. Maybe Silas had been right. Maybe last night had been the beginning of something new.
“I’m proud of you,” she continued. “I just wanted you to know that. I’m not even sure what all is different about you, but it’s clear that it’s more than just your hair. It’s deeper than that.” Regret shadowed her delicate features. “I should have called you sooner. I wanted to so many times, I just . . . I didn’t.”
“No.” I shook my head. “I’m the one who should have called you. You were absolutely right to make the decision you made. It’s what was best for you and Tuck. I can see that now.” Her face fell, and my stomach dropped several floors. “What? What’s that look for?”
She tried to pull her smile up to her natural dimples again but couldn’t quite make it. “Nothing. It’s just so good to see you. It’s made me nostalgic is all.”
“Val, please. Tell me. Is everything okay at home?”
“Yes, Tucker is great.” She pursed her lips, and I watched a silent battle wage behind the screen of her amber eyes. Val never wanted to be a burden; it was her Achilles’ heel. “I’m just not sure I did make the right decision.”
“To take the promotion at Cobalt?” I scooted to the edge of my bed. “Why?”
She gave a single nod. “I promise this isn’t why I called you. I didn’t want to dump my problems on you, I just—”
“We’re friends, Val. We can share our struggles and our victories. I promise I care equally about both.”
“Something’s going on there,” she said. “At Cobalt. I’ve been uninvited to several meetings in the last few days.”
My eyebrows furrowed. “What kind of meetings?”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out. I’m not sure, but I think they might have something to do with Makeup Matters. Ethan doesn’t trust me. He’s made that clear by limiting my access to anything involving you or your team.” She blew out a deep breath, an indication that there was more news to come, something unpleasant by the crease in the middle of her eyebrows. “And I’ve heard some rumors lately.”
“About what?”
“That Ethan’s been entertaining other talent. Other fashion industry influencers, specifically. Courtney, one of the admins in his office, told me he took a big rising name to lunch the other day.”
Heat fumed from my cheeks at the very idea that Ethan would try to replace me. Too bad for him we were still legally bound to each other by contract until December. “It doesn’t really matter who he’s trying to woo,” I said. “Cobalt can’t acquire two beauty endorsers at the same time. It’s a conflict of interest. My legal team has already examined our contract thoroughly. Neither of us can break without severe penalty until our contract is up for renewal.”
Her eyes grew wide. “You have a legal team?”
No, I had Silas Whittaker. And he was better than a team. But Silas was a conversation all on its own, one I’d be telling Val the details of shortly.
“Is Ethan paying you what he promised? Is your job still secure?” I asked, rerouting the conversation temporarily.
“Yes, but—”
“Good. That’s what matters—that you’re taken care of until something better comes your way.” Which I certainly hoped I could be a part of in some capacity.
Val’s frown melted into a smile. “I think I’m gonna pour a big mug of coffee so that you can tell me everything I’ve missed.”
“Only if you agree to do the same with me.”
“Deal,” she said, pouring her vanilla creamer into a steaming mug. “But, Molly?”
“What?” I made my way to the kitchen, taking Val’s suggestion of coffee to heart. Whatever was waiting for me in my email inbox, private messages, and comment notifications could wait. This morning was about my best friend.
“Let’s agree to never not talk to each other again,” Val said. “That was brutal.”
“You might live to regret those words after I fill you in with the longest catch-up session in history.”
She shook her head, tears glistening in her eyes again. “I promise, I could never regret you.”
“Same here.”
34
Silas
For twenty-one years, I’d been the older of two brothers in the Whittaker family. It was a role custom fit for me from the first day I walked through their front door as an emergency placement, carrying a trash bag over my shoulder with every earthly possession I owned. Four-year-old Jake’s affinity for Tonka trucks and sliced apples that he chomped like a horse won me over within minutes, and I wore my new big-brother label with pride. The invisible name badge paved a clear and definitive path to other titles I’d collected over the years: Silas the Caretaker, Silas the Teacher, Silas the Protector. At six years my junior, Jake had accepted my authority and brotherly advice without hesitation or pushback. To him, our birth order was as concrete as our parents’ signature on my adoption decree.
And yet the blood in my veins knew otherwise. Remembered otherwise.
That I’d once been the younger, the weaker, the needier of two brothers. That I’d once had someone I looked up to more than any person in the world.
Molly McKenzie
Are you there? What’s happening?
I pulled into the warehouse lot and located the rusty blue truck Pastor Peter had described before I parked and sent her a reply.
Silas
Just pulled up
Molly McKenzie
👏😀😬🙏😘
Silas
Is there a sentence for me to decipher in all that?
Molly McKenzie
Yes! It reads as follows: Yay! I’m so happy for you! And a little nervous, too! So I’m sending you prayers and kisses!
My chest expanded with the same intoxicating sensation I’d begun to identify with all things Molly.
Silas
Thank you
Though I could just have easily texted I love you. In fact, it was becoming increasingly more difficult not to text that to her. Or to say it whenever she was near. But I didn’t want to pressure her. Nor did I want to assume she felt the same way about me.
Molly McKenzie
Call me later ❤
Silas
Of course
And then before I sent it off, I scrolled through a keyboard entirely unfamiliar to me and found the same matching symbol to punctuate the end of my text.
After all, Molly had been the tipping point in this endeavor. The final prodding I’d needed to make the call to my brother’s sponsor. To read the entire box of letters my mom had ferreted away with a hope I hadn’t held until recently. To see my brother face-to-face for the first time since I saw him hauled away in handcuffs.
My brother’s life was a revolving door of addiction, incarceration, and probation. A cycle he described in horrifying detail throughout the forty-two letters he wrote like an autobiography. And while I’d been cynical at best, unwilling to take him at his word, Peter had confirmed it all on the phone to me: the prison ministry Carlos had attended for two years, the halfway house he lived in now, the job he’d held for nearly three months without incident.
The echo of my pulse pounded in my jaw as I exited my car and walked through the lot with a heightened awareness of my surroundings. A dark memory of a parking lot not unlike this one called me a fool as I stepped past a row of empty delivery trucks and handcarts, all lined up at the front of an open storage warehouse. The place was nearly deserted, save for a driver who tipped his chin to me as he climbed into the cab of his semi and pulled off.
The instant the cloud of exhaust cleared from the opening, I saw him. Mi hermano. Only not as I remembered him at all. This version of Carlos wasn’t wearing a buzz cut to his scalp like I’d seen during his arraignment. And his state-issued jumpsuit had been swapped for a blue vest with the words May I Help You? stitched on the back. But it was the tune he whistled that struck the loudest chord of surrealism—a melody Devon played often at the house during D&D nights. The arresting lyrics spoke of a Miracle Worker and His transformative power to bring the lost home.
“I was just as lost as your brother, and you didn’t turn me away.” Molly’s words circled in my head as I listened to the chorus, my throat as tight as the pressure in my chest. Because I had turned Carlos away. With every letter I refused to open. With every collect call I refused to answer.
I’d withheld the same grace and hope I’d been shown without reservation. The same grace and hope I fought to offer every resident who entered The Bridge—the very program my brother’s poor choices had inspired without him ever knowing it.
“Carlos,” I called out with a strength not entirely my own, walking toward him with caution.
He tensed, turned, his mouth still shaped in a soundless whistle. The moment he registered my presence, he was in motion, his face lit by a sequence of emotions I’d never seen him wear—not rage or anger or resentment, but joy, peace, and maybe even . . . love.
At the sight of his focused, sober eyes, I could no longer swallow down the ache in my throat. The malicious countenance my memory had assigned to him for so many years had been replaced by a luminosity not even his most eloquent letter could have described.
“Brother.” A noun that spoke of so much more than name or blood.
His thick, tattooed neck depicted a history I’d only recently read, outlined on college-ruled paper. A life of choices and outcomes I could only relate to from afar. And yet, when those same inked arms crushed me into an embrace, my mind was far from our differences.
