Henry Davis serves as the catalyst for the novel’s plot, though he remains a largely enigmatic figure, characterized almost entirely through Lillian’s perspective. On the surface, he embodies the stable, successful, Ivy League-educated man Lillian believes will complete her life and validate her worth. Because the reader only sees him through Lillian’s eyes, he functions less as a fully developed character and more as a screen onto which she projects her desires. His preference for late-night meetings and his lack of a social media presence are recast, in her telling, not as red flags but as evidence of a serious, work-focused man cautiously falling for her. Beneath that projection, however, is a predator. Henry rapes Lillian, an act her narration strains to reframe as a murky, ambivalent encounter within an unfolding romance, smoothing over violence to preserve the fantasy of a courtship on the verge of becoming something real.

The full pattern of Henry’s behavior emerges only through Nora, who eventually reveals that he raped her in college as well. What is most damning is not the repetition but the way both women have quietly rewritten those assaults into the origin stories of their relationships with him, editing their own memories to make continued intimacy with him tolerable. Nora reframes her rape as the messy beginning of a serious partnership; Lillian reframes hers as proof of desire and imminent commitment. In this light, Henry’s death crystallizes the novel’s bleakest irony and its investment in Perception Versus Reality: The “prize” the two women compete over is a man who has harmed them both, whose Ivy League polish, family respectability, and curated secret Instagram—a nod to Performativity and Identity in the Digital Era—serve mainly to obscure what he actually is. The posthumous fight to define his memory becomes less a contest over a lost partner than a mutual, unspoken agreement to keep protecting the fiction of him.

Nora McCormick, Henry’s long-term girlfriend, functions as Lillian’s primary antagonist and foil. She represents everything Lillian covets: conventional beauty, a seemingly stable and committed relationship, and integration into Henry’s family. Initially, she is a disembodied rival Lillian discovers online, a collection of perfectly curated photos symbolizing a life Lillian feels entitled to. After Henry’s death, Nora steps into the spotlight and becomes an agent in her own narrative. Her viral Teen Vogue article is a masterful act of public grieving that allows her to control the story, casting herself as the sympathetic victim and Lillian as the villainous, predatory “Jane.” This action situates her within the novel’s exploration of Performativity and Identity in the Digital Era, as she skillfully monetizes her trauma for social capital and public support.

However, Nora is also a more complex and rounded character than Lillian’s biased narration allows. In their face-to-face interactions, she reveals vulnerability, insecurity, and a capacity for genuine connection. During their drunken night together, she admits that being free of Henry is “a little bit liberating” (216), confessing to the stagnation of their long-term relationship and revealing a flicker of self-awareness that Lillian lacks. This moment suggests the potential for a bond rooted in their shared experience of Henry’s deceit, a glimpse into the theme of Friendship Between Women as an Antidote to Isolation. Ultimately, however, their rivalry and Lillian’s inability to form a connection make any real friendship impossible. Nora’s decision to offer Lillian a night on her couch, despite her fear and suspicion, demonstrates a mix of pity, curiosity, and a moral compass that, while flawed, is more intact than Lillian’s.

Jamie is Lillian’s best and seemingly only friend, a static and loyal sidekick whose primary narrative function is to highlight the depth of Lillian’s self-absorption. She represents the potential for genuine, supportive friendship that Lillian consistently exploits and ultimately rejects. Jamie provides unwavering support in the face of Lillian’s emotional turmoil, offering a non-judgmental ear, a place to stay, and, most significantly, her credit card to pay for Lillian’s lawyer. Lillian takes this generosity for granted, viewing Jamie as a “sucker” and a reliable resource to be used and discarded at her convenience. This one-sided dynamic is an illustration of Lillian’s failed potential for Friendship Between Women as an Antidote to Isolation.

Despite her passive nature, Jamie undergoes a subtle but important transformation from a naive supporter to a suspicious observer. Lillian’s decision to kiss her is a purely selfish act, meant to distract herself and confirm her own desirability, which confuses Jamie and is a turning point in their relationship. The discovery of the incriminating Uber charge on her credit card statement forces Jamie to confront the dangerous reality of Lillian’s character. Her final confrontation with Lillian, in which she asks directly if she killed Henry, represents her breaking point. Her fear signifies the complete erosion of their friendship and the loss of Lillian’s last remaining tether to a moral reality.

Lillian’s mother is a minor character whose personality provides insight into Lillian’s own psychological development. She is a dramatic and self-absorbed woman who treats her life “like a telenovela” (10). Her immediate response to any phone call is to assume the worst, a catastrophizing tendency that mirrors Lillian’s own propensity for high drama. The story of Lillian’s conception, which her mother frames as a heroic personal choice, reveals a need to be the central figure in every narrative. Most importantly, her reaction to Lillian’s veiled confession about the night of Henry’s murder is one of swift, angry denial. By refusing to hear the truth and telling her daughter to “stop talking about it” (274), she demonstrates a learned family pattern of willful ignorance, choosing a comfortable fiction over a disturbing reality, a coping mechanism Lillian has perfected.

Hector Jimenez is Lillian’s affordable, and somewhat out-of-his-depth, lawyer. He is a recurring, external voice of reason and a representation of the objective reality that Lillian constantly tries to evade. Unlike Jamie or her mother, Hector is not easily manipulated by Lillian’s victim narrative. He provides pragmatic, if sometimes unwelcome, advice, urging her to lie low and consider a psychological evaluation. His growing suspicion of his own client is palpable, culminating in his direct question, “Did you kill Henry?” (239). This moment is a powerful external judgment that Lillian cannot easily reframe. His parting comment that a Latino man in her shoes would “probably be in jail by now” injects a brief but pointed critique of the justice system (183), showing the privilege that protects Lillian even as he suspects her guilt.