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Margo had assumed Becca was coming home from NYU for the holidays, so when she didn’t hear from her at Christmas or New Year’s,

she inwardly felt snubbed, though she tried not to dwell on it. But three days after KikiPilot, and two days before Margo

was supposed to leave for Vegas, Becca randomly knocked on their door. The timing was so weird; Margo thought maybe Becca

had come because of the KikiPilot video, but that turned out not to be the case.

After the flurry of hugs and the admiring of Bodhi, whom Jinx then graciously, wordlessly took from Margo, Becca and Margo

found themselves alone at the dining table drinking tea Jinx had made that smelled strongly of hay. Becca looked exactly the

same. She was wearing knee-high black leather boots that looked ridiculous in a California January and a kind of artsy black

velvet blazer. Her face (that of a chubby Reba McEntire) was the same too; even the zits on her chin were in a familiar constellation.

She smelled the same, though Margo could never have named the smell. It evoked cloves and the interior of cars, the sweetish

acrylic odor of Halloween costumes.

One look and Margo loved her again, and she could see that Becca loved her too. They were helpless to stop themselves, even

if they both would have liked to hold on to their hurt a little longer. “Dude, you’re a mom!” Becca said. “I don’t think it

was real to me until I met him. Like real-real. And your dad is here! I did not see that one coming.”

“I know, right? It’s all very weird.” Margo realized as she took a sip of her tea that she would have to make a conscious

choice to either tell Becca or not tell Becca about her OnlyFans. On the one hand, Margo felt honor bound to start telling

the truth. And if Becca didn’t know about the KikiPilot video, part of Margo was proud and wanted to tell her. But Margo also

dreaded having to navigate whatever bullshit reaction Becca might have.

“But is it okay? Being a mom? You seem okay.” Becca reached out and grabbed Margo’s forearm, squeezed the meat around the bone.

Margo tried to figure out how to answer this question. “I think I’m okay? In some ways, I’m totally overwhelmed, but in others

I think I may be doing better than I ever have?”

Becca smiled. “No, I can tell just from looking at you.”

“What about you?” Margo asked.

“I’m... okay,” Becca said, laughing nervously. “School is a little yucky, not gonna lie. I didn’t get cast in any of the

shows, which, like, last year I was a freshman, so I didn’t expect to be, but I guess I was hoping as a sophomore? And it’s

fine. It’s a change, though, to go from being cast in every show because you’re a senior to suddenly you don’t even get to

act anymore when that’s the whole thing you came there to do.”

Margo nodded. She had not realized Becca was that serious about acting. She’d acted in high school, but Margo thought that

was purely for the social scene.

They talked on this way for almost an hour until their barnyardal tea was cold, and gradually Margo got the picture of Becca’s

life in the city: hookups with a guy studying jazz saxophone where she got her feelings hurt, doing blow with a girl she didn’t

like very much in the East Village, spending half her food money on vapes and alcohol and making up for it by eating nothing

but on-sale vegetarian hot dogs on Wonder bread. The grades she’d gotten weren’t as good as she’d hoped. Some of her classes

were easy, some of them were hard, and sometimes her professors were kind of mean. Or rather, they did not see Becca or care

about her or feel any kind of native sympathy for her.

“I don’t know why I’m crying,” Becca said. “I’m not sad! What time is it? I didn’t even mean to talk this much. I came here,

actually, because Angie Milano is having a party at her parents’ house. Wanna go?”

“Oh,” Margo said, taken aback. “Gosh, no!”

“Seriously?” Becca asked. “Too good for your old high school friends?”

Margo didn’t know what to say. But yes, the idea of spending time in Angie Milano’s parents’ darkened living room making small

talk with people she went to high school with sounded terrible.

“Sebastian will be there,” Becca sang, trying to tempt her.

Margo still felt some tenderness toward Sebastian. But seeing him was the last thing she wanted. She felt so far away from who she’d been and with no easy way to explain who she was now. Jinx appeared with Bodhi. “He’s getting fussy, would you mind nursing him?”

Margo took him and whipped out a boob without thinking about it.

“Oh, wow,” Becca said. “You’re not gonna go in another room?”

Margo stared at her.

“No, it’s fine!” Becca said. “Sorry, I was just surprised.”

Without a word, Jinx tossed Margo a swaddling blanket to use as a cover-up. She draped it over Bodhi as he nursed, though

of course he continually tried to claw it off. Who wants to eat while being smothered by a blanket? It occurred to her that

Becca had not asked a single question about Margo’s life. She didn’t have to lie about OnlyFans because Becca hadn’t even

asked what she was doing for work.

“Come on, I know you wanna go,” Becca said. “And if it’s boring, we can ditch out.”

“I don’t want to leave Bodhi,” Margo said. “And I don’t know, the idea of drinking, like, Smirnoff Ice and asking people about

college, ugh.” Margo actually shuddered.

“What, like college is so terrible to hear about?” Becca asked, clearly offended now. All the warmth between them evaporated

so quickly, Margo could still sense it as a vapor in the air.

“I just feel like, you know, I’m on a different track now.”

“Why, because you’re a mom?”

“Well, yeah.” Margo shrugged.

“You think you’re so fucking special,” Becca said with a venom that surprised Margo.

“Becca,” Margo said, exasperated. “It’s not about being special, it’s literally that it’s painful for me to hear about college.

Do you think I didn’t want to go to NYU? Do you think I wasn’t jealous?”

“You didn’t even apply!”

“Because I couldn’t afford it!”

“You could have gotten financial aid. You chose not to go. I begged you to apply with me,” Becca said.

“What I could have gotten was thousands of dollars in debt with no way to repay it. How would I have even gotten to New York? You think Shyanne would buy me a plane ticket? I mean, honestly, Becca, do you not know? Like after all this time, do you not know?” Margo was aware of Jinx listening in the living room. She didn’t care.

“Know what?” Becca snorted.

“Your parents are rich. That’s the difference. That’s why you went to NYU, and I didn’t.”

“The reason you didn’t go to NYU,” Becca said, “is because you were too chickenshit to go to a big city where you might not

be the big fish in the little pond anymore. You wanted to stay where you could pretend you were better than everyone. Like,

‘Oh, my professor is in love with me, oh, he thinks I’m so special! I’m gonna have his baby!’ You think he picked you because

you were special? He picked you because he knew you had fucking daddy issues!”

“Hello,” Jinx said, “excuse me.” He was standing by the table and smiling. “Please leave.”

“Are you kicking me out?” Becca asked.

“Dad,” Margo said.

His eyes flicked to her, obedient and detached.

“It’s okay,” Margo said.

Jinx shrugged slightly and walked away, down the hall. They heard the sound of his bedroom door closing.

“I think you should probably go,” Margo said softly.

“Just so you know,” Becca said, “getting knocked up by your professor and living with your pro wrestler dad is fucking trashy.

Like, everyone is grossed out. They all talk about it, and I’m like, ‘I don’t know what’s going on with her.’ Lenin Gabbard

said he saw you on OnlyFans, and I had to spend, like, twenty minutes telling him he had to be mistaken.”

Margo froze. Bodhi was asleep in her lap now, her nipple still clamped in his mouth. She couldn’t breathe, it was like her

lungs were stuck in the fully open position.

“Oh my God, it’s fucking true,” Becca said. “Are you serious right now?”

“Please leave,” Margo whispered.

“I didn’t believe it. Like, everyone knows your mom was a slut, but you? I thought, Margo would never, she’s only ever slept with, like, two guys!”

Jinx moved across the room so quickly, Margo barely registered him before he took Becca by both shoulders and steered her,

gently but authoritatively, almost like she was a moving dolly, toward the apartment door, saying in that low, calm voice,

“And you’ll be leaving now.” He opened the door, shoved her through, closed it softly behind her, and snapped the locks shut.

They could both hear Becca’s voice in the hallway, tiny, saying, “Unbelievable. Fucking unbelievable.”

They listened to her boots as she stomped down the echoey stairs.

Margo was shaking. She pulled her nipple out of Bodhi’s mouth and tucked her boob back in her bra, which was a relief. There

had been something especially yucky about having her boob out during all that.

“I feel,” Jinx said, sitting down with her at the table, “as though maybe ice cream is in order.”

“Large quantities,” Margo said. “Disgusting amounts.”

They laughed and then a silence fell, tender and swollen. “I felt so ashamed,” Jinx said, “when you were talking about college—”

“It’s fine—”

“The truth is, I don’t think I could afford full-time tuition at NYU.”

“Oh, I know,” Margo said. She knew this was not because he didn’t have the money, but because the money was already being

spent on full-time tuition at Barnard, and weddings, and on things for his real kids.

“But a plane ticket, or help moving, or a few thousand here or there, you can always ask me for those things.”

Margo was going to cry if he kept talking, both because it was too nice and because it was still not enough.

Ever since the KikiPilot video, Margo’s phone was constantly vibrating with notifications, so it took her a while to notice that this time all the notifications were coming from Facebook, her personal account, which was weird because she hardly ever went on there. She was cuddled up with Jinx on the couch, stuffed full of ice cream, watching old WCW matches. She clicked, only mildly curious.

An account named SlutSleuth had posted ten screenshots of her OnlyFans content, the naughty parts blurred, on her Facebook

wall. Some of them already had more than fifty comments, and they’d been up for only an hour. She scrolled through, reading

bits and pieces of the comments in her panic. Mostly they were shocked emoji, or embarrassed emoji, or exclamation points,

or jokes about how this must be why she dropped out of college. Or: I guess now we know how she wound up pregnant! She deleted the posts from her wall as fast as she could, though she knew the damage was done. She had seen Shyanne’s name

in the comments. She had written, I have never been more ashamed than on this day. Kenny had liked the comment.

“Oh God,” she gasped. She left Facebook and opened her Instagram. In her personal account, SlutSleuth had tagged her in the

same screen captures. Even worse, they had found her HungryGhost account and under her latest post left a comment: @MargoMillet, this you? Now all her HungryGhost Instagram followers had a direct link to her personal account. She deleted the comment.

“You okay?” Jinx had paused the match and was looking at her.

Was she okay? She was sitting on a couch, safe, with her dad and her baby. But also, maybe her life was ruined? Or ruined

more than it already was?

“Tell me,” he said, and she handed him her phone.

Margo wasn’t sure she could have gotten through that night without Jinx. He was instantly pragmatic. He told her to delete

her personal accounts on both Facebook and Instagram so that SlutSleuth couldn’t repost. “Who do you think did this?”

“My guess,” Margo said, “is that Becca went to that party, and they all got drunk and did it together.”

“Makes sense,” Jinx said, and she was relieved he didn’t seem to have plans to put on his leather jacket and head on over

there.

They went into Margo’s HungryGhost Instagram and blocked every single person Margo could even remember from high school, as well as the SlutSleuth account.

“Do you want to close down the HungryGhost account too?” Jinx asked.

She didn’t. She really didn’t. Since the KikiPilot video she had almost thirty thousand followers on Instagram, and it was

frankly addictive. Earlier she’d posted a picture of a dang smoothie and it got six hundred likes. Plus, money and blah blah

blah.

“I mean, my hope,” Margo said, “is that they did this drunk, and in the morning, they’re gonna feel a little gross about it

and probably not do it again.”

Jinx thought about it. “That’s possible,” he said. “The main thing I worry about is if they post in the comments of your OnlyFans

account. That’s what you don’t want, them posting your real name and address where those guys who want to melt you in acid

can find it.”

Margo had not even thought of this and logged in to her OnlyFans with her heart pounding. There wasn’t anything yet, everything

looked normal. Or as normal as it ever was. Since the TikToks took off, the comments and messages had gotten a lot more fun.

I want you to take me to your planet and feed me shards of metal and plastic. Another one said, Would you consider a threesome with me and Rigoberto?

“Jesus,” Margo said, suddenly realizing. “The custody thing! If they didn’t know about the OnlyFans before, they certainly

do now.”

“Oh man,” Jinx said. “Well, I mean, does he follow you?”

“I blocked him way back when.”

“So there’s a chance he didn’t see,” Jinx said.

“Fuck, this is so fucked,” Margo said.

“Who did that girl say it was? Who saw you on OnlyFans?” Jinx asked.

“Oh, Lenin Gabbard.”

“If he’s one of your fans, block him.”

“I guess I’ll look, but most of them don’t use pictures or real names.”

Around midnight, she got a text from Shyanne.

I have never been more ashamed in my life. Please don’t come to Vegas. I don’t think I can stand to even look at you. Kenny saw those pictures. I had to look him in the eye and say yep that’s my daughter. And that I had known you were doing it and hadn’t told him, and I told him you promised you stopped and that you lied to me, but he was furious and now he is sleeping in the rec room and I will never forgive you for this, Margo. I never will.

Margo peered at her phone, dazed. “What is it?” Jinx said.

“Nothing,” she said. She didn’t want to talk about Shyanne with Jinx. She also did not want to examine why, for some reason,

her main emotional response to this text was relief at not having to go to Vegas.

“Try to sleep,” Jinx said. “You can find Lenin Gabbard in the morning.”

Margo nodded in the darkened living room, lit only by her laptop and phone screen. “I will,” she said.

But she didn’t. She stayed up until three looking through her fans, trying to find him, as though finding him and blocking

him would make her safe again. Except she had no idea which account was his and eventually she gave up and fell asleep, dizzy

and screen blind.

The next morning, Margo called Rose to tell her she’d been doxxed.

“What a shitty thing, sweetie. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. I mean, I’m okay. It’s weird, though. It feels unsafe to have so many people mad at me. I don’t know how trolls

do it. Or heels in wrestling—like, what is it like to have a whole stadium of people booing you?” She didn’t mention that

her mother was one of those people, or that she’d been disinvited from the wedding, or that Mark was suing for custody, or

that Kenny had slept in the rec room, or that the Virgin Mary had been raped.

“There’s a kind of freedom in that, I bet,” Rose said.

“How so?”

“Like how comedians have to bomb. If you don’t learn how to bomb, then the audience has you on such a tight leash, you’re

stuck saying only the things you think they’ll like.”

Margo was frozen looking out her window, her phone pressed to her head. She had not associated freedom with being hated before. It made perfect sense.

“I’m sorry, what did you just say?” Margo asked when she realized Rose was still talking.

“I asked if you wanted to take down the Hungry Ghost TikToks,” Rose said.

“No,” Margo said.

“You want to keep going?”

“I do,” Margo said. “Like, more than ever. I edited everything we shot on Monday and put it in your Dropbox. Take a look when

you have a second.”

After Christmas and New Year’s, true to his word, Jinx made an appointment with a custody lawyer. Michael T. Ward, Esquire,

was dark haired, clean-shaven, and fat in a way that suggested he’d played high school football. He used a lot of spiky gel

in his hair even though he was in his forties at least, and he smelled strongly of cologne. I was prepared to dislike him,

but then he offered us Nutri-Grain bars in the best flavor, strawberry. They were in a little wicker basket on his desk, and

all three of us took one like they were cigars. I fed Bodhi tiny pinches from my fingers.

“So why don’t you give me the general situation,” he said, waving his hand around. He was tilted back in his desk chair. I

oddly felt I could tell this man anything. As I told the story, I handed over the relevant documents: the NDA, Bodhi’s birth

certificate, the restraining order against Jinx, the paternity papers I’d been served.

“Can he even do that, request full custody?” I asked.

Ward scoffed, a small crumb of Nutri-Grain bar flying. “I mean, he can try, but he’s not gonna get it. California courts prefer

fifty-fifty custody both legal and physical.”

I crumpled my wrapper into a sweaty ball in my fist. “I don’t understand—like, it’s my baby, he didn’t want anything to do

with him. How does he suddenly have a right to any custody at all?”

“Well, he’s the child’s father. I mean, that’s another thing—is there any chance he isn’t?”

“No,” I admitted. “But can’t we use the NDA as proof that he didn’t want Bodhi? That he gave up his parental rights? I mean,

can I even respond without violating the NDA and jeopardizing Bodhi’s trust?”

Ward shrugged. “I mean, this NDA is so broad it’s practically unenforceable anyway, but no, it can’t be used to claim Mark

gave up his parental rights. You can be disinterested for fifteen years and suddenly decide you want a relationship with your

child, and the State of California recognizes your right to that relationship. But tell me more: what do you do for work,

what does he do for work, what’s the grandma’s angle, give me everything you’ve got.”

I explained the OnlyFans and the doxxing but clarified that Mark’s family might not know about it because I’d blocked him

on social media.

Ward fiddled with his ear, squinting. “Yeah, I don’t know. That’s a tough one.”

“But hopefully they didn’t see it,” I repeated.

“I don’t think you should hide it,” Ward said.

“Even if they didn’t see it?” Jinx pressed.

“Maybe they saw it, maybe they didn’t,” Ward said, “but if you hide it, she looks unemployed—also bad, possibly worse. California

law is really explicit about finding custody arrangements that are in the best interest of the child, and it’s better to eat

and have a mom selling nudes than not eat. Selling nudes isn’t illegal. I don’t think it’s going to be a problem. I mean,

is there drug use?”

“No!” Jinx and I said at once.

“Then I think it’s better to be forthright. I mean, the courts deal with it all the time: Mom strips, Mom does cam work. This

is more of the same. If it’s just that and only that, no judge is going to refuse you partial custody. It’s a job.”

“But what about full custody?” I asked.

Ward sighed. “I mean, there’s nothing you told me so far that would cause a judge to deny Dad fifty-fifty custody. Maybe you

could get a temporary order while he’s still so little. Does he nurse?”

I nodded.

“I have to warn you, though, the courts frown on one parent trying to prevent the other from having a relationship with the

kid. It’s a big red flag.” I must have looked upset, because he said, “And hey, I know it feels unfair, but wouldn’t Bodhi

be better off knowing his dad? I mean, if his dad wants to be part of his life? Dad’s not abusive or anything, right?”

“No,” I said. I did not know how to explain that Mark was simply a gross person, the kind of man who fucked his student, the

kind of man who slept with his wife’s sister on their wedding night.

“I mean, it’s his kid too,” Ward said, licking the sweat off his upper lip.

Was Bodhi Mark’s kid too? Mark had not risked his life to bring him into the world, literally split himself open and been

stitched back together. Mark had not stayed up nights nursing, lying in bed, tiny pinching hands kneading sore breasts. Mark

had not been puked on, had not, once, miraculously caught spit-up midair with a burp cloth. Mark had not trimmed Bodhi’s nails

or given him a bath or kissed his tiny feet or made him laugh. How on earth could Bodhi be his?

Jinx and Ward were going through Jinx’s phone call to Mark and exactly what threats were made, exactly what wording used.

I couldn’t make myself listen or care.

“So basically,” Ward said, “you have to respond within thirty days using Form 220, and you have two options.” Ward flipped

a paper toward us and pointed with his finger. “You can propose a custody split to counter his request for full custody—maybe

he agrees, maybe not. The next option: you can request mediation, which means you both meet with a court-appointed mediator

and try to hash it out. If you come to an agreement, great. If you can’t agree, that’s when it would go to court.”

“The thing is,” Jinx said, “we don’t think he’s serious. This is a guy with a wife and kids. You can’t tell me this is what

his wife wants.”

“And that may be,” Ward said. “But in my experience people don’t go to the trouble of filing for custody unless they want

custody.”

Jinx was nodding, thoughtful.

“I mean, one positive thing is, hey, at least he’ll be paying child support!” Ward said. His eyes were a weirdly bright blue, like the ocean on a classroom globe. “Can’t establish paternity without signing up for child support!”

I didn’t know how to explain that Mark’s money was newly useless to me.

“So you can settle this through forms, don’t need me for that,” Ward continued. “Or you can go to mediation. In that case,

you would probably want to retain me so I can give you advice and help you prepare for mediation. I wouldn’t be present in

the room, though, it would just be you and Dad. Right? Mediation can drag on for months, all sorts of things can go into it,

and there’s things you can do to stack the deck in your favor.”

“Like what?” I asked.

“Like you can order a deposition. That means I get to sit down with Dad and a court stenographer and ask him as many questions

as I want. Doesn’t even have to be related to the case. And if he lies, it’s perjury. I mean, it’s a little pricey, but I’d

recommend it one hundred percent.”

“So what does the money side of all this look like?” Jinx asked. He was so good at this.

“Right,” Ward said, and launched into his fee structure and how much a deposition would be ($2k) and how much a trial might

be (upward of $40k). It had not occurred to me the price could be that high. I knew lawyers were expensive; I just hadn’t

imagined my entire bank account being emptied. One thing I knew: Mark’s pockets were deep. And if his intention was to hurt

me, he could drag this out long enough to bankrupt me. I might wind up needing that child support after all.

“What do you think, honey?” Jinx asked.

I shrugged again. Was this guy a good lawyer? He seemed no more ridiculous than good old Larry. Maybe all lawyers were like

this?

“Hey,” Ward said, and I looked up into his eyes. “This is the absolute hardest, scariest thing you’ll ever do.”

Fuck, he was gonna make me cry.

“It’s your kid. You know? It’s the greatest pain and the greatest love you’ve ever known. This is a bad situation where the other party seems to perhaps have malicious intent. If you feel overwhelmed, if you feel emotional, that’s only natural. My job, should you decide to retain me, is to be the one person in this who’s completely on your side. And that means telling you the truth, leveling with you, giving you the power to understand what’s going on. So I’m not just gonna tell you what you want to hear. Unless something powerful comes out in that deposition, there’s very little chance you come out of this with full custody and no visitation. Your one advantage here is that Bodhi is still very young, you are breastfeeding; judges would be sympathetic to you retaining physical custody on a temporary basis.”

One of Jinx’s hands landed on my back. Ward leaned over his desk, holding a box of tissues out to me. I took one and blew

my nose.

“It’s gonna be all right,” Jinx said.

“It will. It really will, sweetheart,” Ward said. “You want a donut? I think there’s donuts in the conference room.”

Ward went to get me a donut, and Jinx raised his eyebrows, silently asking what I wanted to do.

I hesitated, then nodded. The donut had clinched it. Ward was hired.