It pissed her off—she shouldn’t have to rely on a stranger like this, though he wasn’t exactly a stranger at this point. She didn’t know what he looked like, had never seen higher than his chin and mouth because his camera had been set up to focus on his hands, creating a kind of reverse Kakashi-sensei situation, but they’d “talked” almost every night after a couple of weeks of her lurking on his stream. She’d stumbled across it while looking for stuff to post on her fledgling website; his voice helped her focus as she worked late at night, searching for content and writing articles, figuring out how to turn her hobby into a hustle.
She had a great memory, but she hadn’t really known him then. It was her repeated bedtime listening sessions of his archived videos had led to her inadvertently absorbing things about him and his life. His relationship with his younger brother, who would sometimes walk around in the background of the videos and try to distract him. How often he mentioned his grandmother. His love of crunching on shrimp chips like his mic wasn’t picking up the sound, how he’d gone to school for architecture and been in between jobs. He’d also had a really nice mouth, not that it mattered. So he wasn’t a stranger, but she’d let herself turn his voice into a necessity, and now she was paying for it.
What if he says no?
She didn’t do panic—not since awakening in a hospital unable to move or talk all those years ago. She’d survived a brain virus and rebuilding her motor skills—she knew she could overcome most things life threw her way, so panic was a waste of time. But when insomnia came, it brought along its little friend anxiety, and Reggie needed to snuff them both out, NOW. So of course she had to email Kakuro and offer him money for recordings of his voice, so that she was never put in this position again. Of course, she’d used a years-old online handle and not her real name, which would reveal her business dealings and, eventually, her family wealth.
Problem solving with a side of common sense.
She dropped her head, reached out a hand that was shaking more than usual, and tapped the send button on the touch screen of her laptop.
There, it was done.
She rolled her shoulders to relieve the tension, then switched over to the video recording software on her laptop because there was work to do and it didn’t matter if her brain felt like lumpy grits. Her bullet journal list for the day had ten items, and at least five of those things couldn’t be put off.
Her own face stared back at her in HD—golden-brown skin, short rust-red kinky coils, large plastic-rimmed glasses that kind of hid the dark circles under her eyes. She wasn’t glamorous like Portia, but Reggie was cute. She’d throw a filter on it afterward, anyway.
She pressed Record.
“Hey, Lunettes! Check out what I got in the mail!” She unlocked the wheel brakes on her chair and backed up so that her office was visible and viewers could see the life-size Reject Squad Ultra cardboard cutout that she’d received from the show’s PR team. “I have not one, but two of these babies, and even though I ship PhilRora hard enough to keep both, I am a magnanimous fangirl. That means one of you can get in on this! Swipe up to enter to win on the site, and don’t forget to share on social media!”
She wheeled back to her desk and quickly clipped the video, uploaded it to InstaPhoto, and threw a filter on it before pasting the text she’d typed up earlier and adding a link. She then shared the fact that the video was up over all her other social media sites so that people who didn’t follow her on InstaPhoto would head over there.
She’d always been savvy, having grown up at the knee of two successful real estate investors and spent her formative years lurking in the comments and forums of various fandom sites, but this “being open” stuff still felt unnatural to her. It was something Portia had coached her on, and her twin was pretty damn good at putting her best face forward, even if she was bad at basics like calling Reggie regularly.
She’s improving.
She grabbed her phone to text Portia a reminder about turning in the next “GirlsWithGlasses: Travel” piece, but a text from her sister was already waiting.
Portia: Hey, I’ve been watching those Hot Mess Helper videos you sent. Thanks. I feel a little less . . . messy. Still hot, though.
The videos, designed for people with ADHD, had helped Reggie, too. She’d been pegged by everyone as the good, productive, and successful twin, but A LOT of work went into that, work that had nothing to do with physical disability and had everything to do with figuring out how her brain worked best. Reggie hadn’t shared her own struggles with anyone, but she’d thrown the clearly floundering Portia the videos as a lifeline. She was glad to hear they’d helped her sister, who she was more like than anyone suspected.
Portia: Anyway, I’ll be sending my next travel piece in a couple of days. Been a bit overwhelmed here with the whole secret duke thing, and we’re going to have to make sure this drops before tabloids get a hold of this. Are you up for breaking the story on your site?
Reggie: Oooo, I get to scoop the Looking Glass Daily Royal Beat? Good. They published some trash about Naledi, and I’ll enjoy crushing them beneath my wheels. Maybe I’ll start a GirlsWithGlasses royal watcher section just to mess with them.
Portia: Wow, glad you’re on my side.
Reggie: Of course I’m on your side, fool. Wonder Twin powers, remember?
Portia:
She was still groggy and irritable, but she was glad that half a lifetime later, she could talk to her sister without things being weird. The smile on her face faded when she scrolled down to the next message, from her mother.
Mom: Hi, baby! Just wanted to say again that we’re so proud of you for taking the next step with your website. We miss you at the office. Your sister is supposedly going to take your position, but I think we all know how that will turn out.
Reggie’s shoulders stiffened. She loved her parents, but the difference in how they treated her and her sister was frustrating. When they’d been younger, it hadn’t been so obvious, and Reggie had been able to deflect, or to misbehave to show that she wasn’t some golden child. After her illness, it was like they could only see the good things she did—and developed blinders that prevented them from seeing the same for Portia. She knew her parents loved them both, but they didn’t really act like it.
Reggie: You asked her to fill the position? I thought you weren’t going to do that because it’s not remotely what she wants to do in life.
Mom: She doesn’t know what she wants. Your father and I think it will give her stability, and she agreed. Though there is this swordbabe guy lined up, so maybe she won’t need a job. Is that what they call him online? Swordbabe?
Reggie groaned, both at her mother’s mangling of #swordbae and her parental cluelessness. Of course Portia had agreed. She would agree to anything she thought would make her parents happy, even if she ended up flaking out later. Reggie exhaled an annoyed breath, shook her head, and reminded herself that she wasn’t going to do this. She’d left her job with her parents because she believed in her website, but also because she needed solid boundaries with them, and she wasn’t about to let them get crossed now.
Mom: When I talked to her last week she said he was just her boss and was offended that I suggested she lock that down. Lord knows she wasn’t so picky before.