thirty one #2
I shook my head and headed for the back, the quiet swallowing me again as the hallway narrowed. Every scuff on the paint had a story. Every rip in the runner knew the shape of my heels.
The dressing room door gave the same stick on the hinge it always had.
I pushed through and the smell hit-powder, hairspray, warm metal from curling irons cooling on the counter.
The lights were on over half the mirrors, but the room was calmer than usual.
No pre-shift sprint. Just a few voices, softer, like after a storm.
Mya spotted me first. "Well, look who finally decided to show her face."
Before I could answer, she pulled me into one of those hugs that knocked the air out of me. I laughed into her shoulder, because fighting it would've been pointless.
"You look good," she said when she let go, giving me a slow once-over. "Like you've been sleeping."
"I haven't," I said, smiling anyway. "But I'll take it."
Heather swiveled in her chair, a roller half-clipped in her hair, liner sharp enough to hurt feelings. "Is that a box?" She pointed at the folded crate under my arm. "Don't tell me-"
"Just cleaning out my station," I said.
Heather's hand went to her chest like I'd shot her. "You're quitting?"
Mya gasped, overdramatic as always. "No. No, no, no. Not you too."
I made my way to my spot-third vanity from the left.
The little chip in the counter was still there from the night I got too drunk.
The drawer stuck, same as always. Bobby pins.
Half a pack of foil lashes. A lighter in a color I'd never admit to liking.
I started dropping things into the box-stuff that felt like both props and souvenirs.
Mya hovered like I was donating artifacts to a museum. "So you're really leaving?"
"Yeah."
"For real-for real?"
I met her eyes in the mirror. "Yeah. For real-for real."
She let out a breath, pressing her lips together like she was saving the cry for later. "Okay. I don't like it, but okay."
We fell into an easy rhythm-me packing, them tossing memories back and forth like they couldn't help themselves.
"First Tati, now you," Mya said. "At this rate, I'm gonna be the last one standing and it's gonna be just me, Heather, and Tim."
Heather made a face. "Don't manifest that."
I pulled a photo strip from the holiday party out of the back of my drawer-me, Sam, and Tati mid-laugh, lipstick everywhere. My chest tightened.
And then, like I'd conjured her, Sam's voice came from the doorway. "Mira?"
I turned. She was standing there, cheeks pink from the cold, looking like she wasn't sure she should step inside. Our eyes locked, and something in me loosened and pulled tight at the same time.
"Hey," I said.
"Hey." She almost smiled.
We just stood there for a second, neither of us moving.
I gestured at the bench by my station. "You wanna sit?"
She did, and I sat too, the box parked between us like neutral ground.
"You look cute," she said.
"Thanks. So do you."
She was quiet for a second, like she was trying to choose between letting something go or saying it out loud. Then-"I owe you an apology."
I looked at her.
She didn't look away. "When Mariah called me that night, she was freaking out-talking about how you'd left here like something was wrong. Then you didn't answer my calls. I panicked. I had a thousand worst-case scenarios in my head, and instead of... I don't know, waiting for you to reach out,
I decided to storm over to Brooks's place."
"Sam-"
She held up a hand. "I know. I know it wasn't my place. That's what I've been sitting with. I crossed a line. Showing up unannounced? I wouldn't want someone doing that to me. It was me trying to fix something that wasn't mine to fix, and I'm sorry."
I watched her for a moment, the edge of my throat tightening. "I know you were scared."
"I was," she admitted. "But that doesn't excuse it. You needed space, and I made it about me instead. I don't want to do that to you."
I let out a slow breath. "I forgive you. And I never want us to fall out over something like this."
Her shoulders eased, just a little. "Me neither."
We sat with that for a beat, the air softer now.
"And I know our bond," she said quietly, like she was reminding herself as much as me. "We're still us. Always will be. Even if we're not here."
"I can't be mad at you for quitting and wanting better for yourself," she said. "Not when I'm graduating in six months and leaving too."
I traced the edge of the box with my fingertip. "I know, but it still feels like..."
"Like we're all scattering?" she finished for me.
"Yeah."
Her mouth pressed into a thin line. "Tati left and now you. I just keep having this feeling like you guys are gonna forget me."
I almost smiled, but it faded before it reached my mouth. "You're not gonna be forgotten."
"I know that in my head," she said, voice dipping, "but it's still scary. You get so used to this place being our... whatever it is. Our home base and then it's just not."
I nodded. "It's been ours for a long time I don't blame you. You're my girl, Sam. No matter where life takes either of us we're always going to have each other. One of us leaving this club isn't going to change that. It could never change that."
Sam quickly stood up, eyes glossy, pulling me into a hug. "I love you, girl. I hope you have the best time in Jersey."
I hugged her back. "I love you more. I'll make sure to invite you over once we're all unpacked and settled."
We let go, and fell into easy conversation while I went back to tucking the last few things into the box.
The goodbyes weren't dramatic. Just quiet, lingering, the kind you feel more than you say.
When the box was full, I slid my coat on and made one last sweep of the room with my eyes-the mirrors, the lights, the familiar chaos of it all. Then I stepped out into the main room, where the bar sat empty and Tim gave me a little wave from behind it.
Outside, the night air was cool against my face. Monte's car idled at the curb. He got out to take the box from me without a word, loading it gently into the backseat before opening the passenger door.
The drive was quiet in a comfortable way.
Monte kept the heat low, the city lights thinning until all that was left was dark highway and the occasional red blink of a taillight ahead.
I smiled to myself, leaning my head against the window until the familiar turn into Brooks's driveway made me lift it.
The front door opened before Monte had even rolled to a stop. Brooks was standing there, one hand in his pocket, the other holding the edge of the door like he'd been listening for the sound of the car.
I barely got two steps inside before he took the box from me, setting it on the side table.
"That the whole life of Dream in one container?"
I set it down on the console table. "Most of it. The rest is either in a trash can or still glued to the vanity."
He laughed, then hooked a finger in the strap of my bag and set that down too. "So? How was it?"
I kicked off my shoes. "Good. Bittersweet. Hugged everyone. Didn't cry. Almost cried."
He tilted his head. "Almost?"
"Almost," I repeated. "Holding it together for my dignity."
"Proud of you," he said, and I could tell he meant it. His hands slid around my waist. "Also glad you're back."
I looked up at him. "You saw me three hours ago."
"And?" His hands were warm at the small of my back. "That's not enough."
I pretended to think about it. "You're needy."
"Needy for you."
That got a laugh out of me. "That was so corny."
"Yeah," he said, leaning closer, "but you're still smiling."
"Barely."
He kissed me-slow and deliberate at first, then deeper until we both forgot what we were pretending to talk about. By the time we hit the couch, my sweatshirt was somewhere on the floor and his hands were warm against my skin.