16. Evelyn
16
Evelyn
“ A nd we’re mad about the flowers?” I ask Avery a second time as I run my finger around the rough edge of the lid of my cup from Love is Brewing.
The text I got a half hour ago, I’ve learned, would be very incriminating if Wesley suddenly disappeared. Especially after the incident during an after party in LA last night that led to him missing rehearsal this morning. It’s taken those full thirty minutes to get through the story as well as the tangents about the best way to dispose of a body if absolutely needed.
I’ve been slowly making my way along Main Street, window shopping and reading signs that I missed the other day when Garrett breezed by most of the businesses.
“I don’t think a dozen roses with a little card that says It wasn’t a threesome! are something to celebrate. How stupid can he be to think that I was worried about that . We have press and, you know, the tour with sold out shows that he refuses to come to rehearsals for starting in a little over a month.” She fumes as I reach the sandwich board declaring that Batista’s Blooms has discount sunflower bouquets. Flowers would look good in the living room. “If you’re going to send apology flowers, at least apologize.”
There are three other people in the flower shop. Two older men, one with salt and pepper hair and the other who’s gone fully white, are looking at peonies together, comparing two seemingly identical bunches. The other is the woman behind the counter with brown highlighted hair and smattering of freckles. I assume she must be Winnie from what I remember from Garrett’s tour. I’ve been putting off getting flowers for the reason of choosing between the two, but I guess it was an inevitability. I could go to both; I can afford the upcharge from whichever I choose second.
“What did you do with the flowers?” I ask.
“I threw them in the trash closest to his place so he could see them when he walked outside,” she explains.
“That’s one way to send a message,” I say.
I know she knows she’s mad about the not-threesome, but she’s trying not to be. Wes and Avery care about each other in this all-consuming way that leads them to pretend they don’t in acts of desperation and many public affairs that are largely publicized for each other’s benefit.
Two years ago, I helped her fake a couples’ trip that people had speculated she went on with a mysterious older actor. Her name was trending next to Pedro Pascal’s for weeks even though there was nothing to signal they had any association.
“If it wouldn’t end my career, I’d quit.” She would. That’s how she feels about him.
The thing is that Wes is a built in safety measure in my relationship with Avery. I won’t ever be her number one person because of him. Even if they despise each other now, they have space reserved for the other no matter what. I don’t feel my usual pressure to be the best and most around her because of him. I also know there’s no way I can let her down the way he did. Mostly, I hate the guy, but I do benefit from that slightly silver lining.
“I have a question for you. What if after this album, I stop?” I ask.
“Like take a break? Yeah, you deserve one,” she agrees as if I haven’t all but taken most of the year off to get “settled” after my move.
“I mean…just get a normal job again.”
“Why would you do that? You moved to make it easier. You’ve put in the work and have been bending the truth so hard any reality TV producer would be proud.”
There are two sides to this now that I’m standing on the edge. I take a leap and hope all the shit I’ve done will pay off or I take a dozen steps back before running in the other direction. I’ve put in the work. I’ve made a name for Lyla West. I’ve done the damage. There’s just the looming question of if that damage has been worth it.
“I guess you’re right. It doesn’t make sense to give it all up,” I say.
“And that’s the thing with this tour, too. I’ve worked too hard to back out. I’m not going to let a man get in the way of that. He can send all the flowers he wants they’re going to keep ending up in the trash.”
“Uh huh,” I mumble as Garrett turns fully in my direction, and we lock eyes, it’s more of a feeling than being sure that we are. It snaps through the air like a rope pulling taut.
He shakes his head in exhausted indignation, and I reply with an exaggerated shrug.
I have to wonder how many times things have happened to Wes and Avery and we’ve unknowingly been in similar positions with each of us hearing opposite sides of the same conflict. He doesn’t look away so I hold up my hand, splaying my fingers then pointing to the gazebo. I mouth “ five minutes” as dramatically as I can, hoping that will be enough time to ensure that Avery’s murderous intent has been forgotten for the time being.