Page 12 of Lovers Like Us

I find a pen in the binder pocket. “No problem.”What the fuck am I about to write down?Being kept in the dark—not my favoritefeeling.

But you knowthat.

I rest my elbows on the counter. “Are we planning a funeral, a trip to Jupiter, or the reinvention of the InvisibilityCloak?”

“She said ‘important’ things,” Farrow says and puts his frying pan in thesink.

I give him a look. “So funerals aren’t important to you? Great. Never planmine.”

“We’ve been through this. You’re not dying before me,” Farrow says matter-of-factly. He grabs his bowl of scrambled eggs and sidles next to me. “Give up thatdream.”

“No,” I say, voicefirm.

A smile edges his mouth, but we both fixate onJane.

She cups a mug between two hands. “I told my brothers and Sulli that you and I don’t want our friendship to change, but inherently, the media and paparazzi will put pressure on us to split apart. And how do we stay the same,Moffy?”

I gesture to the door like the paparazzi are on the other side. They’re not. But somewhere in Philadelphia, they wait like desperate vultures. Hungry for our carcasses. “We ignore them,Janie.”

“Can we?” She sips her coffee. “Every time we’re together, they’ll be in our faces. I don’t care what they think, but they’re gnats and we’ll both crave to swat them away. To do that, all we have to do is add distance, stop being seen out together, don’t look at eachother—”

“No, fuck no.” I shake myhead.

Janie startssmiling.

Realization sinks in. “You have aplan?”

* * *

“This is insane,”I mutter, still staring at the binder. Now crammed full of notes, some of which are lyrics to aSemisonicsong. Farrow apparently shelvesnoteswithrulesin the “fuck it”category.

He leans against the island. Eating his eggs slowly. “You agreed to this insaneplan.”

“It took me thirty fucking minutes.” I glance at the doorway, but Jane left to tell Charlie, Beckett, and Sulli that Iagreed.

“All five of us are going on tour,” I say aloud. Letting this reality sinkin.

No, it’s still a-hundred-million-percent bizarre. All five of us together. Sleeping on a tour bus with our six bodyguards. A total of eleven people on one bus. Driving acrossAmerica.

How’d I agree to this fucking mayhem? I skim mynotes.

The plan: book meet-and-greets at various cities. People will pay to take photos with us and get autographs. Television actors do convention circuits all the time. I even jotted downshort Q&A panels.The whole FanCon will be run by H.M.C. Philanthropies. All proceeds go tocharity.

I’ll be working, but that’s not exactly why Iagreed.

Farrow swigs a glass of water. “You’ll be out of Philly for awhile.”

I nod. I was never planning on isolating myself at the lake house forever. Eventually we’d have to deal with paparazzi in Philly, but it’ll be easier dealing with cameramen on the road. Not all of them will want to followus.

Our parents still live inPhilly.

Our parents are still more famous than us. Many cameramen will choose to stay in the city withthem.

People always say,just leave if you hate the media that much.I always reply,my family and my work are here, and I don’t hate the paparazzi. Wecoexist.

Since I was born, I’ve dealt with their sometimes friendly and sometimes frustrating presence. I don’t even know what it’s like for cameramen not to trailme.

I take a bigger breath. It’sstillsinkingin.