39. Tom Cobalt
TOM COBALT
“You literally cannot be here,” I tell my carrot-orange-haired, diabolical little sister in my kitchen. The fact that Audrey is in New York and not tucked innocently away in her bed in Philadelphia is a major fucking snag in tonight’s birthday itinerary.
My birthday. The greatest day of the entire year. The day I can make everything about me and no one calls me out for it.
“I am literally standing right before your eyes,” Audrey pushes back.
Eliot squeezes my shoulder. “Okay, breathe, brother.” I do feel faint. But actually—no. Audrey isn’t going to ruin any part of today for me. She exists to terrorize me, and I exist to torment her, but she does not have the power to destroy all I’ve worked hard for.
The universe knows I can handle ultimate chaos. It’s why many monumental things are coinciding on April 21.
I turn twenty-two.
I’m throwing a party to remember in apartment 2166.
My sister showed up out of the blue.
And Silver Sweet just went live on all streaming platforms.
The label purposefully chose my birthday to drop the album. I thought it was smart. More eyes will be on my socials today. Including my own. I keep checking reactions. Mostly positive…I think.
Hard to tell.
People are talking more about Phoenix being gay and also his physical demeanor during Good Morning Manhattan. Specifically, his manspreading. Which, yes, very hot, but also, please listen to the album, thank you.
Audrey perches her hands defiantly on her hips. “You’re really this upset to see me?”
“Only in this context, Audrey Virginia.” I lace my fingers on my head, trying not to externally freak. The last time she was in New York, she OD’d on fentanyl at a frat party. Granted, it was because one of Ben’s ex-frat brothers told her it’d been Tylenol.
I like that she acts like that moment in time didn’t puncture, let alone scratch. I like believing that nothing could bring her down. The real issue is that Ben has taken extreme blame for our sister almost dying that night.
He wants to protect her, and having Audrey at this party might make Ben panic. My birthday is not going to be the day Ben spirals out of control.
Nope.
No.
I can’t tell if Audrey is in party-crashing attire. She always looks ready for an event: nails polished, hair blown out in perfect waves, dress steamed, and heels on. Right now, she wears a pink puffy-sleeved, princessy dress, and the long hem skates the tops of her white high heels.
She tilts her chin. “Can’t I just wish you a happy birthday, Tom?”
“I would’ve accepted an overly complimentary happy birthday over the phone—and only because this party is for legal adults, which I expressed to you and gave you my sincerest apology.
” I point at her. “Which you accepted.” I whirl to Eliot.
“Did she not?” He was on the phone mitigating this whole back and forth weeks ago.
“She did,” Eliot says, then asks her, “Why the change of heart, sister?”
Before she can answer, the door opens. Great, it’s Phoenix. Because today just needs a little more spark.
The thought almost makes me smile.
Phoenix enters this warzone with a water-repellent duffel bag and a backpack. His luggage for the tour. His brows crease in puzzlement at the girl in the kitchen.
Audrey lets out a delighted squeal. “You’re Tom’s drummer.”
He sets down his duffel and backpack, side-eyeing me before saying to her, “No offense, but should I know who you are?”
“None taken,” she says. “Tom is to blame for not describing me properly.”
Phoenix can’t restrain a laugh, not even on my fucking birthday.
I defend myself, “I described you perfectly. I told him you supply at least ten percent of drama to my life. Which, accurate.”
Audrey whips her orange hair over her shoulder as a fuck you to me. Then she outstretches a hand to Phoenix but makes no move toward him. “I’m very pleased to finally introduce myself—”
“Audrey Virginia Cobalt,” I steal her thunder with pride.
She humphs but keeps her palm extended.
It forces my drummer to bridge the distance. He shakes her hand. “Phoenix.”
“I know.” She grins. “You’re trending all over social media, but as your stage name, which is your middle name, I’ve heard.
It’s exceptional, really. All the videos dissecting your little finger twitches on your knees.
They say you’re holding yourself back from touching Tom romantically.
Est-ce vrai?” Is that true? She adds, “J’ai entendu que tu parles francais.
” I heard that you speak French. Then she gasps.
“You brought luggage! Are you spending the night?” She gasps again.
“Where will you sleep? With Tom? In the same bed?”
Eliot opens a box of cigars with an amused grin.
Phoenix gives my sister a sharp look. “Am I under investigation?”
“Possibly. I did hear you have an arrest under your belt—”
“Hey, I have a birthday wish,” I cut in before Phoenix can speak. “Don’t aggravate my drummer before we leave for our national tour.”
“She’s fine,” Phoenix says, unperturbed. “Your parents were more intimidating.” His jaw muscle tics.
“Wait.” I hold the marble counter behind me, so I don’t fall over. “You’ve met my parents? When?”
“Like two minutes ago,” Phoenix says. “In the lobby.”
Holy shit. My parents are here. He had a full-blown interaction with them and I wasn’t there? I need a play-by-play. My head spins, especially as I stare right at my little sister and her shrewd smile. “Did you ride here with Mom and Dad?” I ask.
She never mentioned them.
“Yes,” she confesses. “We’re briefly stopping by to wish you a happy birthday and a deep congratulations on Silver Sweet. Then we’re leaving to spend the night at The Plaza.” Audrey loves that hotel.
“So you never intended to crash my birthday?”
“No birthday crashing will be had,” she confirms. “I promised you I would skip this one on behalf of Ben’s emotional state. But the next one, I will be in attendance. You can’t cast me out forever.”
“We would never,” Eliot declares.
She got us good tonight. I’m impressed.
I begin to smile, and Eliot and I exchange proud grins. We applaud Audrey with hearty claps.
“Well done, sister,” Eliot says.
“Masterful tomfoolery,” I add.
“I only learned from the best.” She curtsies.
Eliot slings an arm over my shoulders. “They grow up so fast.”
“But not too fast,” I say, then glance over at Phoenix.
He’s taking this in like he’s watching a foreign film that’s not French. “You said the Cobalt Empire has a ton of online Wiki pages?”
“I’ve only told you this like a thousand times, yes,” I say.
“Is there a part in there that says you’re all really fucking weird?”
I laugh. “It’s not every day someone gets one over on me and Eliot, Phoenix.”
“Somehow I don’t believe that.” He sweeps me head-to-toe. My face burns, but I’m smiling even more.
Until I hear a perfunctory knock. Then the door opens to reveal my formidable parents.
My mom, in her classic black dress and matching heels.
My dad, in navy-blue slacks, a leather belt, and a lighter blue button-down that molds his fit build.
They carry themselves like they’re about to enter a boardroom. Which they do on the daily.
I wonder if Phoenix shit his pants when he saw them.
I wonder if they grilled the fuck out of him.
I hate that I missed it.
Why can’t I be in five places at once? Life is truly cruel to me.
Mom glares every which way, even at the furniture like she’s scouting for predators in our den. “This looks relatively tame.”
“The whores come out at midnight,” Eliot says, cutting the tip of a cigar. “And by whores, I mean me, myself, and I.”
Audrey laughs, but our parents ignore Eliot’s quip.
Dad says a warm, “Joyeux anniversaire, mon fils,” to me. Happy birthday, my son. While Mom says an icy, “Happy birthday, gremlin.” In heels, she’s not much shorter than me, and I give her a side-hug and silly air kiss on each cheek.
She clutches my arm to keep me still. Her yellow-green eyes can decay, but all I see is ultimate strength. “I know you have many benchmarks, but you completed an enormous goal. I am very proud of you.”
My grin reemerges, stretching to extreme heights.
It feels good to hear, even though I’ve always felt her pride in me.
“Thanks, Mom. We’re still waiting for the embargoes to lift on press like Pitchfork and Rolling Stone, so we’ll see how it’s being critically received soon.
” These major music critics were sent the album weeks ago.
All reviews are supposed to be posted by tonight.
Phoenix is rigid near the dual espresso-coffee machine. “They might not have even listened to Silver Sweet,” he reminds me. “There’s no guarantee, Tom.”
“Yeah, I know, we might not even be notable enough to be reviewed.” It’s not killing my self-esteem. It’s driving me to want to reach a place where we’re worth a review.
Dad echoes this feeling in me. “Then be someone who can’t be ignored,” he says. “The best you can do is try. The worst you can do is give up your passions. Que serait la vie sans elles?” What is life without them?
“Froide,” I say more to Phoenix. Cold.
He stares deeply into me. I barely hear him murmur, “Oui.” Yes.
“May I cut in please?” Audrey asks with prayer hands. “We haven’t received a definitive answer about the Wolfgang St. Pierre theories, and I, for one, find them very compelling and cute and skewed toward romantic.”
“Wow.” Phoenix’s brows jump, because if she were wrong, she’d be inserting awkward tension within The Carraways. “Bold.”
“Thank you.”
“Wasn’t a compliment—sorry,” he immediately apologizes to my mom who looks like she’s about to rip out his jugular.
My dad isn’t that happy either, but that’s less noticeable.
Phoenix smears his hands down his face. “I should let you all talk alone—”