Page 5 of When I Picture You

Lola wasn’t hard to find.

She was so petite that she should have been swallowed by the chaos of the wedding guests, but Lola drew the light to herself as she floated around the hall. Her dress skimmed her figure, and wisps of chocolate-brown hair escaped her casually romantic updo.

In one slender, manicured hand, Lola held a flute of champagne that remained precisely two-thirds full. She never took a sip. It seemed like every few seconds, someone asked for a picture, and she expertly took their phone and snapped the selfie. Even from this distance, Renee could see that Lola wore the same smile the whole time, whether she was posing or not: a pleasant grin with a crinkle around the eyes.

Renee couldn’t figure out that smile: How could it look so real, but feel so fake? But Lola had always been like that: an ex-pageant kid, hungry for approval. She used to blush when she saidthe f-wordand go fully red-faced when Renee saidfuck.

Renee wondered if she still did.

Deborah returned to the table and thrust her phone into Renee’s face. On the screen was a blurry photo. “It’s Claudia and Josh! Don’t they look happy?”

“For now,” Renee said, fiddling with her dessert fork. Deborahfrowned. Renee didn’t understand how her mother could be optimistic about anyone’s marriage when her own had dissolved without warning. “What? I’m being realistic.”

Dave glanced up from Deborah’s phone to say, “Don’t worry, Renee. You’ll find someone.”

Renee gaped at him, horrified that he had unearthed such a traditionalist desire in her exceedingly rational comment. Dave had been her mother’s boyfriend for what, four years? He didn’t know anything about her!

“I’m notlookingfor anyone,” she corrected. “It wouldn’t be fair of me to get involved with anyone here. Once I get my thesis in order, I’m moving back to New York.”

Dave and Deborah exchanged a look laden with doubt. It was one Renee had seen many times in the last year, and it always made her shoulders curl into her chest.

In a feeble attempt at self-defense, Renee added, “The idea that the one for me might be inFellows, Michigan, is really hetero-centric. Queer people can’t just go into any straight space and meet someone because—”

“Oh, stop it,” Deborah cut her off. “Dave knows that. He’s an ally.”

Renee dug the dessert fork into the tablecloth. Dave was an ally, and so was Deborah—even if, when Renee came out, she’d been most concerned that being a lesbian would make Renee’s life harder. It took her years to realize that society was the problem, not her daughter. Last summer, Deborah and Dave had gone without Renee to cheer on Fellows’s quaint Pride Parade.

“Whatever,” Renee said sullenly, as the wedding DJ grabbed the mic.

“Listen up, party people! The sister of the bride requests that you make your way to the dance floor for a once-in-a-lifetime moment!”

Renee groaned. Kadijah was right: Lola was going to perform. Excitement swept through the hall as everyone hurried to the dancefloor, where a curtain had been strung up. It pulled back to reveal Lola Gray with her trademark lavender acoustic guitar slung over her shoulder. She looked radiant onstage, like she would have sparkled even without the lights.

That was Renee’s cue to hit the bar. She did not need to hear an ode to true love right now, and she’d seen enough Lola Gray performances in high school to last a lifetime.

Lola leaned into the mic. “You were probably expecting a toast, but since I’ve written a love song or two, I thought I’d play something instead. Claudia and Josh, this is for you.”

Renee ordered another Joshinator as the drink’s namesake led Claudia onto the dance floor.

Then Lola began to sing.

Renee’s gaze drifted past the newlyweds and back to the stage. Goose bumps rose on her skin. This wasn’t the Lola she remembered. That girl had always had an awkward eagerness in front of an audience, and her voice had strained at high notes. Now, Lola occupied the stage as if it were her domain, as if her nimble fingers on the frets of her guitar were weaving a spell over the room. Lola’s voice was liquid and rich, like warm honey, and it pooled deep in Renee’s chest. Renee was transfixed. Lola soared into the song’s bridge, the emotion in her voice like a tide pulling Renee out to sea. Lola’s eyes were half-closed, lost in the sound. When she lifted them, Renee could have sworn that Lola was looking right at her.

Renee stared back at the woman onstage.

Who had Lola become?

LOLA ONLY PLAYEDthree songs, but by the time she closed with a cover of “Stand by Me,” everyone with a date and the physical capacity to report to the dance floor was having the most romantic moment of their lives—Deborah and Dave included. As Lola leftthe stage, the DJ transitioned seamlessly to Bruno Mars. Those poor chumps were never getting back to their seats.

Renee would not be joining them. She leaned against a shadowed wall near the bar, hoping the half-drunk Joshinator in her hand made her look lessfriendless kid at a middle school dance, and moreconfident bad bitch.

“Could I please have a sparkling water?” a voice from the bar said.

There was Lola, squeezing a lime into her glass. Alone.

Renee should have said hello. It would have been the polite choice, but it was not the one Renee made.

This was her first close-range opportunity to see Lola since they were eighteen. Her large, dark eyes peering out from under the sweet curl of her lashes, the golden tone of her skin, her heart-shaped face. But there was an air of fragility about her too. The longer Renee looked, the more it seemed that Lola was tired, or a bit sad.