Love, Comment, Subscribe by Cathy Yardley

CHAPTER 24

A few days later, Tobin was still thinking about big spoons, jasmine perfume, and Lily’s smile. At some point in their collaboration, things had shifted, and he found himself zoning out and thinking about Lily. Remembering little things—like the way she’d smacked him around with the pillow, or their shared smiles at Asad’s house, or the way she’d stared at him for just a second when he’d stepped out in that suit, with a look that was just as heated as it was shocked. He hadn’t really registered it at the time, but now it was like catching Easter eggs from films he’d watched a dozen times that were only just starting to make sense.

He wasn’t sure what it all meant, but he was pretty sure it was a bad idea.

Tobin left for LA around nine thirty in the morning. He’d still catch some of the morning traffic—that couldn’t be helped—but by the time he reached LA proper, the worst of it would’ve dissipated. The only other alternative was to leave at five in the morning, and he was too much of a night owl to go that route.

Also, he didn’t want to seem too eager. Especially since when he woke up after their last video, Lily was gone, leaving a brief note saying “see you soon.”

This was going to be his second EverLily video. He wasn’t sure what she had in mind, but it couldn’t go worse than the stupid spooky games video. He’d managed to edit the clips so they were funny, at least, culminating in his face-plant, which actually was pretty damned humorous. She was also adorable, giggly, and obviously overtired, so her filter was disengaged. The commenters seemed to zero in on that, anyway. Of course, other commenters focused on “what is she doing in your house in the middle of the night?” but he had largely brushed them off. There was a contingent of commenters who were full-blown shippers at this point, and they were conjuring up scenarios where he and Lily were in a relationship. Said they were cute. There were some haters, but for the most part, there was just an unbridled, almost obsessive curiosity.

He could only imagine what their response would be if they knew Lily had spent the night snuggling with him—before vanishing the next morning. With a note, of all things.

Okay. It bugged him. He wasn’t sure why, but it did.

He wondered if Lily faced as many shipping comments on her own channel. He knew that he’d gotten a gratifying number of new subscribers after that makeover video, as well as some comments that made him blush uncomfortably. He had people post that they’d thought he was attractive before, and he largely brushed it off, but the fact that they were actively commenting on how he’d looked in the suit, or with the leather jacket, had been eye opening. Whereas previously he’d gotten “you’re so cute” comments, he was now getting “oh my God, I want you to break me in half” sorts of things . . . and while he supposed on some level it was flattering, it also made him weirdly uncomfortable.

Of course, on his channel, there were people who were saying similar things about Lily, except in reverse—“oh my God, I want to break her in half.” He deleted those comments. Those didn’t just make him uncomfortable. Those pissed him off. She was beautiful, no question, but that kind of thing was objectifying and vaguely threatening, and he wasn’t fucking having it. Not on his channel.

He also tried desperately to convince himself that there wasn’t any possessiveness or jealousy whatsoever. Because, you know, he had no right to feel those things, and it was getting weird enough with Lily as it was.

He’d made it past Camp Pendleton, headed for the 405 toward LA, when his phone rang. He groaned when his phone announced that it was his parents, which he should have known, because honestly . . . who called anymore, when texting was available? He weighed the pros and cons of just ignoring the call. It was his father. Finally, he sighed and accepted the call. He might get away with it, but the guilt trip that would come later simply wasn’t worth it. “What’s up, Dad?”

“We need you to pick up Aunt Helen from the airport on Thursday,” his father announced. “She’s coming in for a visit from Manchester—it’s a long flight, she’ll be exhausted, and she’s not renting a car or anything. I will text you her flight information, all right?”

Tobin blinked. “But . . . why do I need to pick up Aunt Helen?”

“Because your mother and I are working,” his father said, as if surprised that he needed to explain it at all.

“But I’m working too,” Tobin pointed out.

“Yes,” his father said slowly, “but . . . your schedule is obviously flexible. You have time.”

Tobin gritted his teeth. “I really need to work,” he said, keeping his tone civil. Or at least trying to. “I’ll send a driver to get Aunt Helen, okay?”

His father scoffed. “Why would you waste that kind of money? No. You’ll go pick her up.”

Tobin tried to avoid arguments with his parents; he really did. His mother would’ve gone the passive-aggressive route by now, saying “fine” and then freezing him out. His father was more like a bull, plunging forward and insisting as if there would be no argument. Which, frankly, was what caused the arguments in the first place. “Dad, I really need to work,” he said with a sharpness that surprised even him.

“Oh? Is there some kind of YouTube emergency that you desperately need to attend to?” his father asked sarcastically. “You have plenty of time to film your little videos. It’s just a trip to the airport, for God’s sake, Tobin. For family.”

“It’s an hour to the San Diego airport from Ponto Beach, and then another hour back, plus wait time. Not to mention possible traffic,” Tobin added, through gritted teeth. “Just tell her I’m sending a driver, all right?”

His father sighed. “Why do you always fight?”

Tobin choked at that bit of unfairness. “You yourself told me how important a work ethic is!”

“That’s when you have a real job!”

Tobin felt it like a slap. “I’m driving right now,” Tobin said. “I have to go.”

“So you’ll pick up Aunt . . .”

Tobin hung up before he could say anything else rash. He knew he’d hear about it later, but damn it, he’d deal with it later.

On the plus side, he wasn’t thinking about Lily anymore. He was too pissed off.

A little while later, he’d almost calmed down as he passed the 5-405 split, listening to his “chill out” playlist, when his phone rang again. He groaned, hoping it wasn’t his father. But it wasn’t. It was Jeffrey—which was just as bad, maybe worse, now that he thought about it. He was in no mood for Jeffrey’s shit right now, so he ignored it. Then ignored it again when the guy called back. On the fourth call, Tobin’s head hurt, and he was gripping the steering wheel like he’d like to grip Jeffrey’s neck. “WHAT, JEFFREY?” he snarled.

“Dude, do you never pick up your phone?” Jeffrey sounded high strung, like a Chihuahua on speed. “I’ve got big news!”

Despite himself, Tobin felt a prick of curiosity. “What?” he repeated, albeit less harshly.

“There’s a new animated series that wants you to do a recurring character!” Jeffrey sounded ready to pee himself. Maybe he was a Chihuahua. “It’s going to get plenty of promotion! It’ll be awesome!”

“What’s the character?” Tobin asked, a little excited despite himself. He didn’t do a lot of voice acting—mostly jokey dubs for other YouTubers, or stuff like Tater Theater—but he could see himself having some fun if the character was right.

“It’d be an old Chinese character, like a ninja master, I think,” Jeffrey said. “Except he’s sort of crotchety and over the top and funny, like the dad on Kim’s Convenience.”

Tobin paused. “You know, ninjas are Japanese.”

“So?”

“And the dad on Kim’s Convenience is Korean,” Tobin continued. “And I’m not Chinese, Japanese, or Korean. You know that, right?”

Jeffrey huffed impatiently. “It’s a cartoon character. And you’d still be Asian, and a diverse hire. Take the win.”

Tobin frowned, irritated. “Just curious—who’s showrunning it? Who’s producing?”

“Well, look at you, taking an interest,” Jeffrey said with approval. “Um, the showrunner’s the two guys who did that zombie Civil War miniseries on Showtime. That did really well—those guys are really hot right now.”

Tobin winced. “Those white guys?” he blurted out. He’d seen plenty about that on social media.

Jeffrey paused. “Problem?” he asked.

“Just . . . I remember the buzz on that. I remember seeing one episode of that show,” Tobin pointed out. “It was supposed to be funny, like Ash vs. the Evil Dead, but it had a lot of white-savior bullshit and its depictions of Black people . . .”

“You can’t honestly tell me you buy into the politically correct stuff,” Jeffrey said. “You’re a YouTuber. You know lots of lines get crossed. It’s just comedy.”

Tobin bit his tongue.

Jeffrey sighed. “Well, we’ll put a pin in that for now. And I’m sure we can get your concerns addressed in a way that works for everyone,” he said, in a super-placating tone that made Tobin want to break things. “There’s something else too. You’ve been invited to join a YouTuber tour—the Twisted Humanoids tour. We’re talking major cities—Atlanta, New York, Boston, Chicago, Seattle, San Francisco, Austin, New Orleans. It’s a good payday, and amazing exposure, and it could open some great doors. As well as give you other possibles to collab with. Win-win-win!”

“When would it happen?” Tobin asked.

“End of August. Three-week tour.”

Tobin felt a little bump of excitement, but he was already crispy around the edges. The thought of going and being “on,” in a live show, in front of hundreds of people . . . and then traveling, on top of all that?

“It sounds interesting,” he said with honesty, “but would you be okay with my audience numbers taking a little hit? Because taking three weeks off filming and posting would probably cause me to lose some people, and my new subscribers would definitely suffer.”

“What?” Jeffrey squawked. “Of course you’d keep posting! Are you kidding?”

Tobin swallowed. “So . . . you’d expect me to keep filming . . . while doing an animated series and going on a three-week tour?”

“It’s called time management,” Jeffrey said, and he sounded so fucking patronizing, Tobin wanted to punch him instead of just breaking things. “And what do you think the other YouTubers on the tour are doing? They’ll either have a stockpile of videos set up, or they’ll be filming while on tour—usually stuff about the cities they’re in. Hell, some of them film in their damned hotel rooms.”

Tobin growled quietly.

Jeffrey sighed. “Listen, Tobin. I know we have our difference, but this isn’t just me being an asshole. These are the facts of our business. Do you know how rare it is to make a living doing what you do?”

“Yes,” Tobin admitted.

“If you want to keep making a living at it, if you want to be the best, then that means making sacrifices and working your ass off. Okay?”

“I know.” Tobin sighed. “Let me think about it, all right?”

“You can’t take too long on this . . .”

“I need to take some time,” Tobin said, more sharply.

“Fine, fine. Call me soon, though, or I swear I will call you back repeatedly until you pick up.”

Tobin made a mental note to block Jeffrey’s number, then sighed. Guy would probably use all kinds of other people’s phones to get through. Jeffrey might be an asshole, but he was a persistent one. “Fine. I will call you back.”

With that, he hung up . . . and slammed on his brakes, as the traffic all around him turned into a parking lot.

“What the hell?” Tobin yelped. He turned to the AM station that had traffic alerts.

“An eighteen-wheeler full of chickens has jackknifed on the 405,” the alert said in cheerful tones. “Take alternate routes.”

He groaned. He was already too far on the 405 to back up. He pounded his steering wheel. Then he called Lily. She didn’t answer—like most normal people—so he left her a voice mail.

Then he told his phone to pull up his in-case-of-emergency angry playlist and seethed as the bass shook the windows of his truck. It was going to be a long fucking day.