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Only a handful of us saw how it exhausted her sometimes, how her face dimmed like an extinguished candle once her back was turned. We understood it, sympathized—what woman, dabbing a layer of pleasantness onto every interaction and sprinkling exclamation points into emails to remain eminently palatable, wouldn’t?
also too real
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Sometimes it struck me, though, how convenient it was for Eleanor to have a non-white face in her inner circle. A deep prickle of insecurity, a question of whether on some level, perhaps subconsciously, Eleanor had been strategic in befriending me, practiced as she was at curating her appearance….
Too real
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