We Used To Be Magic

EZRA

‘ O H ,’ M AGGIE SAYS , EYES WIDE . ‘ Y OU ’ RE HERE .’

‘… Yes,’ I reply. ‘I was invited. You invited me.’

‘I know. I’m glad you came.’

‘You sound it.’

‘I’m a little surprised, is all,’ she offers, tucking a dark strand of hair behind her ear. Her engagement ring glitters accordingly, a diamond the size of a hazelnut. It somehow matches her heart-shaped face and dove-grey dress – makes sense, visually.

‘Are you going to let me in?’ I ask, and she blinks, like she’s forgotten that I’m standing in the doorway. Warm light and muffled noise spill out from behind her.

‘Of course,’ she says after a beat. ‘Come in.’

Her lobby is narrow, the party just beyond it. A coat rack beside me is laden with carelessly thrown garments. It looks like a bizarre sort of tree, a thin trunk struggling to support a luxurious mass of cashmere and leather.

‘It’s just – the dress code is semi-formal,’ she says, hovering. ‘It said so on the invitation.’

‘Hence why I’m wearing a blazer.’

‘A corduroy blazer. And there’s a mark on the collar.’

‘Yeah, I don’t know what that is,’ I tell her, pulling it out to inspect. ‘It was there when I got it.’

‘It’s second-hand?’

‘Vintage, if that’s more acceptable.’

‘How about you borrow something of Tom’s? He’s got a grey wool one that’s a little big – I think it’ll suit you.’

‘Seriously?’

‘I mean – if you would.’

‘Is it that deep? Is this party so painfully tasteful?’

‘No, but it means a lot to me,’ she says stiffly. ‘Which is why I’ll also ask you to avoid getting drunk, please.’

‘But the legal drinking age in New York is twenty-one!’ I gasp. ‘ We might be English but the law is the law, Mags. It’ll be lashings of ginger beer for me.’

I’m joking, obviously, but Maggie’s expression doesn’t flicker. Instead, she bows her head, twisting her ring around her finger, and her silence is enough to wound me. As demeaning as it is to be bossed around by my older sister at the grand old age of eighteen, my resistance was only ever playful.

‘Fine,’ I say quickly, embarrassed. ‘No drinking. New jacket. Whatever you want.’

‘Just – nothing like at my birthday, okay?’

Maggie’s twenty-sixth birthday was about two weeks ago. We went to a Mexican fusion restaurant in SoHo and I guess I had one too many grapefruit margaritas – I puked in a urinal and it was pink. The vomit, I mean. Not the urinal.

‘I’ll keep it classy.’ I nod.

‘Dad’s already here, by the way. Caroline too – Romy’s coming later.”

‘Guess it’ll be a nice surprise for them to see me sober and upright.’

And Maggie offers a brief smile, though we both know I’m not really joking.

Unsurprisingly, Tomas’s biggest jacket is still too small for me. Struggling to find clothes that fit comes with the territory of being six foot four – that and the shitty jokes about it. I tug at the sleeves as I wander the party, trawling for a familiar face. I probably wouldn’t have come if I’d realised that this was going to be a party- party as opposed to a smaller, more familial affair – the kind of thing where my absence would be conspicuous. But clearly the opposite is true: Maggie’s beautiful apartment is teeming with people I’ve never seen before in my life.

‘Champagne?’

I turn to see a guy about my age wearing a crisp shirt and tie combo, smiling faintly, proffering a silver tray of sparkling flutes. There’re a few others like him floating around with canapés, because of course this thing is professionally catered. Maggie’s not really a pizza and paper plates kind of person.

‘Sure,’ I say, taking one. ‘Thanks.’

Having a drink isn’t the same thing as getting drunk, and maybe I need to be a little less sober in order to be convincingly enthused about being here. This’ll be enough to soften the edges until I leave, which’ll be soon. Honestly, I doubt anyone’ll even—

‘Ezra.’

I still, panic flaring at the familiar voice. My first instinct is to hide the glass, which is stupid. I take a deep breath instead, forcing a smile before I turn to face him. He’s smiling too, which probably requires similar effort.

‘Dad,’ I manage. ‘How are you?’

He looks the same as he always does – tired and well-dressed, his jet-black hair swept away from his face. Maggie or Caroline or anyone else not on his payroll really ought to tell him that if he insists on dyeing it, it’s time to transition to a vaguely credible colour. At least he’s retained most of it, boding well for my future hairline.

‘Good.’ He nods. ‘Good to see you. All well?’

I notice his gaze scanning my face as he speaks, catching on my less-than-perfect nose. The doctor that set it post-break did a pretty good job but it’s still a little crooked, a small bump of cartilage at the bridge.

‘Yeah. All good,’ I reply. ‘Good’ is the only adjective that either of us know, apparently.

‘Settling into the new place okay?’

‘Yeah, it’s great. Thank you.’

Those words taste a little bitter in my mouth, but I don’t really get to be self-righteous when he’s bankrolling my existence. I couldn’t afford a subway fare without him, let alone a one-bedroom apartment in Midtown.

‘Great,’ he echoes. ‘That’s great. Caroline said she’d helped you pick out the furniture.’

‘Right, yeah. Have you seen her tonight?’

‘She went to get some air, I think,’ he replies, a frown tracing his features as his eyes drop to my cigarettes, not-so-conspicuously stuffed into the jacket pocket. He knows that Caroline and I both smoke, occasionally, but given that he himself smoked like a chimney for two decades before pivoting to green juice and jogging, I find the chagrin a little jarring.

‘Right, well – there’re a few things I’ve been meaning to mention to her,’ I lie, sensing the best chance I might get to jettison this conversation.

‘Sure. And maybe later, we could have a proper chat.’

‘Yeah. Sure,’ I say, surprised. He nods and claps a hand on my shoulder in response, a possible stab at paternal warmth. I offer another smile in lieu of reply, knowing full well that I’ll have left this party long before ‘later’ rolls around.

I find Caroline on the fire escape, alone and wearing the same blue dress she dons for every formal occasion. Her neck looks impossibly long, her dark, shaggy hair grazing her jaw as she turns to face me.

‘Nice jacket.’

‘Oh, this old thing?’

She smiles, stubbing out the remnants of a cigarette. I take one of my own and Caroline lights it for me with a paint-stained hand, the flame briefly illuminating our faces. I nod in thanks as I inhale, resting my elbows on the metal railing that stands between me and certain death. The traffic below is sluggish, a river of light snaking its way between buildings. I’m not sure that there’s such a thing as darkness in this city. Or silence.

‘I didn’t expect to see you here,’ Caroline says. ‘Especially not looking so dapper.’

‘Always happy to exceed everyone’s crushingly low expectations. Why’s Romy not here?’

‘Working. She might swing by later, depending on how crazy the dinner rush is.’

‘I wouldn’t bother. I have no idea who any of these people are.’

‘Obviously. They’re Maggie and Tomas’s friends, which means they either work in PR or … do whatever Tom does.’

‘We should bail. This is mind-numbing.’

‘It’s an engagement party, Ezra. Were you expecting balloons and a clown?’

‘Let’s head downtown. We haven’t hung out properly in ages.’

‘We’re staying. At least until the toasts are done.’

‘Toasts? Are you making one?’

‘As much as I love to share personal anecdotes in front of large crowds, I thought I’d let Dad take the wheel on this one,’ she says dryly. ‘Have you two spoken tonight?’

‘Briefly. He stared at my nose and concluded with the deeply ominous suggestion that we have a “proper chat” later.’

‘Ah.’

I frown. A single syllable and yet it sounds unnervingly matter-of-fact. Like she knows something I don’t.

‘Ah?’ I echo.

Caroline looks at me sideways, unsmiling. ‘He’s going to try and give you a job, obviously. You’ve been dicking around for months, now – I’m only surprised that he hasn’t tried to wrangle you into the office sooner.’

‘Fuck,’ I mutter, realising that she’s right. ‘ Fuck .’

‘Indeed.’

‘Well – I’ll just have to think of some excuse, won’t I? Tell him that I have a debilitating phobia of photocopiers.’

‘Except it’s not an entirely terrible idea, is it?’

‘You’re joking.’

‘I think a job might be good for you. Don’t you get bored, doing nothing all day?’

‘I don’t do nothing .’ I retort. ‘I read. Watch movies. Walk around the city.’

‘All day?’

‘It was good enough for Greta Garbo.’

‘Touché. Just don’t think you won’t get cut off eventually.’

‘You want to bet?’

‘Nah. I’d feel bad, taking your pocket money.’

I snort. Caroline turns to face me properly, leaning back against the railing.

‘Listen,’ she says seriously. ‘They’re always hiring at the restaurant. If I say the word, Romy could get you a job as a busboy.’

‘A what?’

‘A waiter, basically.’

‘Right.’ I nod. It always throws me when Caroline and Maggie use Americanisms. They’ve both retained their English accents, more or less, but I sometimes wonder if they still feel English. Caroline was about twelve when we left. Maggie was fourteen. I was seven, and remember the least. But I went back – was sent back, thanks to Dad’s ‘well-meaning’ intercession. And they stayed here.

‘It’s hard work,’ Caroline continues. ‘There’s no way it’ll buy you anything even close to independence. But showing a little initiative might get Dad off your back.’

‘Might make for a good chapter in my memoirs, too. Help humanise me a little.’

‘Is that a yes?’

‘Sure,’ I say impulsively, taking a drag of my long-neglected cigarette. ‘Why not?’

‘All right. I’ll talk to Romy tonight and let you know.’

‘How is Romy?’ I ask. ‘Like – in general?’

Caroline’s eyes narrow. Maybe she can tell I’m thinking about the fact that Caroline and Romy are approaching a one-year anniversary, outstripping all of Caroline’s previous relationships by a good six months.

‘She’s good,’ Caroline says. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘Just making small talk.’ I shrug. ‘I’m told it’s the done thing.’

‘Allegedly. You ready to head back in?’

‘In a minute. Go on without me.’

‘Ezra. Come on.’

‘What?’

‘You’re so obviously planning on waiting until I’m back inside to sneak off.’

‘Yeah, all right,’ I admit, laughing. ‘But I can guarantee that nobody else will notice.’

‘Maggie will.’

‘Nobody will care , then.’

‘Come on, Ezzy,’ Caroline says lightly. ‘Put your quarter-life crisis on hold for one night. You might even have fun.’

‘You’re not even trying to sound convincing.’

‘You can watch me have fun, then. And for the record, I like your nose.’

‘What?’

‘That thing you said earlier about Dad staring at your nose,’ she says. ‘Personally, I think it looks good a little bit wonky. Suits you.’

I open my mouth only to close it again, failing to conjure a witty retort. Caroline sees this and smiles, and there’s something about the way it colours her whole face that reminds me of Mum. It’s like a blow to the chest.

Fuck it. Promise or no promise, I need another drink.