Chapter 2
Amelie
The number of people pressed into the room has to be close to five hundred, and I know I won’t be able to tolerate it very long. The noise level and the God-awful smell of far too many people breathing, sweating, and eating in one place may just cause a panic attack. And I do not need or want one, especially in public.
Why the hell did I let Charlie talk me into this? Pressing through the throng as best as we can, Suzette and I bounce between bodies like we’re in a pinball machine as they writhe and dance and jump. Far too many people stand between us and the much less crowded VIP section all the way across the room.
Crowds aren’t exactly what I have a problem with… it’s more touching the people in the crowds as we walk through. I don’t like people touching me, so this is my worst nightmare as we make our way slowly towards the small cordoned-off area near the stage.
“Ope.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Pardon me.”
I give a different response to each person I accidentally run into, and I’m nearly out of words when Suzette and I finally stop in front of the bouncer person that stands sentry at the velvet rope surrounding the small section for the people who carry passes. He’s so tall that Suzette has to tap him on the arm to get his attention.
I’ve grown very little since puberty, and topping out at five feet garners more than a few strange glances in places that grant entry only to those over 21. Especially since I look like I could be 17.
“Badges?”
We flash the passes hanging around our necks, and he waves Suzette in but asks me for ID.
“The bouncer at the door carded me when I got here,” I reply, not frustrated but confused.
“I understand that. But we’ve been having a bit of a problem with nearly perfect fakes, so if you don’t mind, I’d like to have a look.”
“Oh sure. I get it. I look really young, but I’m not. I’m 28. I just never really grew much after high school.”
At this point, my talking turns into blathering, and I roll my eyes at myself. He flips my license from front to back several times. Then he flashes the UV light underneath it, feels the corners and edges, and even curves it until I’m afraid he’ll return it to me bent.
“Date of birth?”
I rattle off my birthday along with my full name and address for good measure, and apparently, I pass the test. He hands the card back, steps back, and lets me pass. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding and mutter a “thank you” as I walk towards Suzette.
The opening band exits the stage as we find two chairs next to each other and drop into them. Tucking my license back into my bag, I blow out a breath that pushes my bangs off my forehead.
“Well, that took entirely too long,” I say.
“You okay?” Suzette asks me.
I smile at her, a genuine smile, but a guarded one. “Yeah. I’m okay.”
“Prima!!!”
I stand and turn to see Charlie walking towards me. “Why are you out here? Y’all go on in just a few minutes, right?”
“Yeah, but I wanted to come see if you made it.”
I hold out my arms. “Made it. In one piece, no less.”
He chuckles and holds his fist in front of him, smiling down at me. I make my own fist and bump my knuckles against him.
“I’m really glad you made it,” he says, nodding towards Suzette. “Thanks for getting her here.”
“Of course,” Suzette says, a little tongue-tied and star-struck.
“Suzette White, meet Charlie G.”
Suzette reaches her hand out and smiles, shaking Charlie’s hand enthusiastically. “It’s great to meet you, Suzette. Hope you enjoy the show.”
She nods and smiles. “Thank you for the ticket. I’m sure I’ll love whatever you guys do tonight!”
“Alright, well I have to get backstage, but y’all enjoy. Open bar and any food you want is on Derek’s tab, okay?” He winks, showing his ever-present mischievous side as he offers up the lead singer’s tab for our food.
“Thanks, Charlie,” I say with a laugh, lifting my hand to wave as he makes his way through the VIP section, shaking hands and hugging necks.
What would it feel like to be that open? That receptive?
“Hey, are you Amelie?” I hear beside me.
I turn quickly and stare at the gorgeous woman in front of me. I recognize her immediately. “I am,” I answer.
“I’m Emily, Derek’s fiancée.”
She holds out her hand, and I freeze. Suzette comes to my rescue yet again, sidling up and reaching for Emily’s hand. “Hey. Suzette White, Amelie’s best friend.”
Emily shakes her hand, giving me one more quick look of confusion but hiding it quickly like it never happened. “I’m so glad y’all could be here tonight. Charlie told us he had a cousin who’d recently moved to town and he was going to try to get you down here for the concert.”
“I’m looking forward to it. I haven’t heard Charlie play in a long time.”
“Make yourselves at home. And please let me know if I can get you anything or make you more comfortable.”
Can you make there be less people here?
I smile regardless of the wayward thought. “Thank you.”
She makes her way across the VIP room and sits with a group of people who look so comfortable in their skin, and I shake off the vibe that I’ll never have that.
“Oh my God, we’re really here!”
Suzette proceeds to squeal and clap her hands together in front of her, jumping up and down in place. I’ve never really understood that whole excited thing the few women in my life typically do when they get…well, excited. I squint my eyes at the sharp pitch of her squeak and give her the same smile I gave the rather large bouncer just seconds before. One that doesn’t quite reach my eyes.
We sink back into the chairs, and I relish in her enthusiasm. Just because I don’t understand it doesn’t mean I begrudge her indulgence in it. She’s my very best friend, and we’ve been inseparable since third grade when she defended me and punched a kid on the playground for pushing me off the monkey bars.
Her excitement level is a product of all the other times she’s asked me to go out with her, and I said no. I often leaned hard on the excuse that I hated crowds and loud places to justify not going out with her, but with her wedding coming up in six short months, we’re staring down the barrel of the age-old predicament of one friend getting married and creating a new life that leaves less time for the other. So, here recently, I’ve leaned a little less into the I don’t want to excuse and sucked it up for the woman who’s been my constant since we’ve been little girls.
“We’re here. And don’t get any crazy ideas to go off and leave me here all alone.” I glare at her without much heat behind it. It’s Labor Day weekend in Nashville, Tennessee, and the biggest country band out right now is headlining an exclusive show for the holiday weekend.
If I had thought about it a little more, I’d have realized the place would be packed out for the holiday, but not thinking about things until they happened is kind of my shtick. “Future Amelie’s problem” are words that run through my mind far too often for a grown woman who should have it together enough to function outside of academia.
I just can’t believe I’m in a room with this many people. All my senses are on high alert.
“There’s gotta be five hundred people here, if not more.”
I look around and wave my hand at the crowd that presses ever closer to the small cordoned-off section where we sit.
“I know! Isn’t it great?” Not surprisingly, we view the sheer number of people in the room very differently. Nearly opposites. Our friendship makes absolutely zero sense to outsiders. She keeps talking like she didn’t see the look on my face. She often pushes me in social settings, and at times, I’m grateful for those nudges. I’d be a hermit if it wasn’t for Suzette.
And don’t get me wrong. I’m more than happy for Charlie and the band he’s played with for nearly two decades. “I’m happy they’re still killing it after all these years, for sure. I just don’t love it for me.”
The woman I’ve known longer than anyone else besides my family looks at me with a mixture of adoration and frustration. She’s grateful I came and brought her along, but I know she wishes I didn’t take so much work. I’m a tough friend. I know it. I just refuse to change myself to fit in — and honestly wouldn’t even know where to begin if I had the inclination to do it. Suzette loves me. I know that, too. So, even if I drive her insane. she’ll never ask me to change.
But that doesn’t mean she won’t poke and prod from time to time to make sure I don’t become a recluse outside of my practice.
“I know. And I’m sure it means that much more to Charlie that you came.”
My aversion to touch isn’t the casualty of trauma or anything sinister; I’ve just never been a fan of people touching me or getting really close — especially those I barely know. My parents didn’t know how to navigate the difference between me and my siblings, so they accommodated me the best they knew how. But when I started therapy after I left home for college to learn to cope with the proximity of roommates and classmates, I learned I had a sensory processing issue that had very likely been there since birth.
Not only is Suzette my best friend, but she’s also one of the extremely small group of people I allow to casually touch or hug me without losing my shit. Taking advantage of that, she wraps one arm around my shoulders and squeezes.
I try my very best not to flinch, because even though I allow the touch, it doesn’t mean that it’s always pleasant. The slightest tremor slips through, and the smile on her face melts a little before she can catch it. She lifts her arm from me and jerks a thumb over her shoulder.
“You gonna be good long enough for me to go grab a drink?”
“Yeah. I’ll be fine.”
“You want anything?”
Shaking my head, I smile up at her and say, “No, thanks.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket, grabbing my attention, and I see an email from a headhunter who’s been trying to get me to move all the way up the eastern seaboard to take a job in Boston. I did undergrad in New Hampshire and my graduate work in Boston, and I had enough of the cold. Matching to Vanderbilt for a fellowship gave me all four seasons without ridiculously extreme weather for months on end.
The job this headhunter offers doesn’t interest me, nor am I interested in moving away from the practice I’m building here. I’ve told her no twice already, but the lady just won’t give up. I mutter to myself as I draft a strongly-worded response.
And then I feel it.