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Chapter 14: Bristol

 Yesterday, I told Jared about my family and my friends. My therapist always tells me I need to trust people more.

My therapist is also a man, so I don't think he really understands, but still. I hope he's happy that I told Jared all of my family lore during our long car ride to a charity event. I told him about how my dad saw my mom in France when she was just 18 and somehow convinced her to come to the U.S. with him. And how my mom has always valued beauty and youth, starting her own organic granola bar company and using my dad's ideology of "Hire slow, fire fast." She tried to raise me and my brothers the same way, to have a take-charge attitude and claw our way to the top of the corporate ladder, but only Andrew managed to do that. James and I never had quite that level of aggression.

"What do your brothers do?" Jared asked me in the car.

"James plays violin for the New York Philharmonic. He's really good, because he went to Juilliard. And Andrew is an 'influencer' or whatever. He does YouTube. But he also has his own brand and stuff."

"So, your family is rich," Jared concluded.

"Yeah. I mean, not as rich as you, but we're good," I said. Jared laughed at that.

"You're lucky you have so many people who love you," said Jared. He hesitated for a moment. "But why..."

He didn't have to finish that question. I knew what he was going to say. Why did I get with someone like Maven, who didn't give two fucks about my well-being?

I guess people are just never satisfied with what they have. I had a wonderful family and so many friends, but I wanted something different. I craved someone who wouldn't be nice to me. At that time, I was constantly busy with modeling and law school, always thinking about so many things, so I wanted someone who could just take over my life for a while. Someone who could give me a break from making my own decisions. I didn't want freedom, because I've always had all the freedom I wanted, growing up in the heart of New York City.

That's what I like to tell myself. That's the version of me I've created in my head, the Bristol who had a perfect childhood and was never not happy. But I just came back from a therapy session, and my therapist was saying things about me that were uncomfortably true, and now I'm drunk in the safety of my living room, half passed out on the couch. And I'm thinking about the question that Jared was about to ask but didn't. Only when I'm drunk do I confront this part of me, these memories that still affect my perception in ways that I hate.

I sigh and pour myself another glass of wine. My wrist shakes, spilling a few drops onto the side table.

My parents were always the cool parents, always calling me out of school whenever I wanted, which wasn't often, to be fair. I was a good student. When your mother is a former French swimwear model, she lets you do anything. My friend Emily was always a little jealous that I was allowed to get my bellybutton pierced and go to parties in Brooklyn when I was only 13. Even when I was younger, around seven or eight years old, my parents' philosophy was independence, letting me take walks around the neighborhood as long as I brought a friend with me.

I sink down farther into the plush couch. I can still remember everything. I can see Annelyse's bright smile and her baby face, my best friend since the day we got screened for private school kindergarten. How ridiculous, I almost laugh now as I swirl my wine around in its glass. Annelyse has two dads, and the tall one with the ear piercings brought her to my house one day when we were eight, saying to my mom, "Are you sure they can be left alone, Brigitte?"

My mom laughed elegantly, tossing back her strawberry blonde curls. "I'm sure they'll be fine, Michael. Our girls are smart, you know."

And that was all the convincing he needed. He shrugged and got back inside his Mercedes, where his driver was waiting.