56
Lillian
Emelia’s hair is in a ponytail, some falling around her face, messier than she likes it.
She looks flushed from dancing, and I know exactly how her mouth would taste right now.
I know how her shoulder would feel against mine if I was standing beside her and that she’d complain about the spikes on my jacket.
Not serious complaining, but she’s short and the spikes are in her face.
I know that she needs a glass of water but doesn’t want to leave her friends to get one.
I’d normally go get it for her without her asking, and she’d smile at me.
It’s a smile I’d die to have turned my way.
I did not start dating Emelia because she played bass and sang and leveled up Wavelength substantially, I swear. I started dating Emelia because she was the loveliest person I’d ever met.
Now I’m still holding Sasha’s hand, not sure what it means or how I want Emelia to feel about it. I can’t let go without looking guilty and giving her some stab of hope or satisfaction or pain. With her just a few feet away from me, I can’t stop myself wanting her in my arms, wanting Sasha in the same place. It’s cacophony inside me, like I’m a record someone’s trying to play forward and backward at the same time.
People are talking, Cyprus, TJ, Jemma, even Sasha. But not Emelia, not me.
“You guys sounded great.”
“I love your boots, Sasha.”
“Thank you. I’ll trade you for yours.”
“That last solo though.”
“Orgasmic.”
“Eww.”
“It’s sex-positive.”
“It was a guitar solo.”
“Solo?”
“I love the new Wavelength beanies.”
“Quinn made them.”
“Sh… he’s so good.”
“Does he design for other bands?”
“Noah wants pins for the new EP.”
“I’m pretty sure Quinn could do that.”
And the whole time Emelia and I are pretending to follow the conversation while watching each other. I’m soaking up her presence. My body screams.
Safety.
Heartbreak.
Home.
Emelia recovers before I do. She has more social grace in just the way she stands than I’ve ever had altogether. But when she speaks now, her voice is the draft from the door. Slight, only a moment. Then she closes off her hurt to keep the warmth in.
She talks right past me to Sasha, which there’s nothing wrong with except everyone here knows about me and Emelia. There’s six of us and we can all see she’s not talking to me. It’s like she’s grabbing Sasha by the collar, interrogating them.
“You can really sing. Where’d you learn?”
“There was a great music program in my old school,”
says Sasha, which I’ve never heard them mention before.
“Did they teach you to be a rock star too?”
“Hardly. Just musicals, mostly.”
“Don’t be modest. When you made everyone be quiet? That was wild. You must have learned somewhere.”
“I doubt it’d work again,”
says Sasha.
“I just had a good feeling.”
“I didn’t even know you’d be playing.”
Emelia says it like it was a pleasant surprise and like Wavelength isn’t on the event page or the poster. She says it to Sasha but means it for me. To hide that she came to see me? To demonstrate that she wouldn’t have if she’d known?
“I’m glad you were here,”
I say, but it comes out wrong. It was supposed to be to everyone, but it sounds like it’s just to Emelia. She can’t ignore me anymore.
All the eyes on us, expecting something gladiatorial, and I’m remembering our last conversation in the elevator and how she heard me sing the song about it tonight.
Cyprus checks the swarm of messages on her phone.
“Quinn says Noah wants to talk to us about opening a show.”
I can see there’s nothing from Quinn.
“Noah should open for us, am I right? We’ll bury him if we go first. Jemma, I’ll text you about that festival. Good to see you guys!”
We’re out of the circle.
To me, this is the equivalent of diving into traffic to push me out of the way of a speeding car. Saving me and Emelia before one of us made things properly awkward or ugly.
“I am so sorry about that,”
I say to Sasha the instant we’re out of earshot.
“She’s a bit much.”
I hate that expression. It’s almost always sexist and I’m using it to brush off Emelia. I add.
“I should have gotten us out of there quicker.”
There, I’ve released Sasha’s hand. Mine are both in my pockets now. I’m willing myself smaller, done being somewhere where everyone knows me. Done being seen.
“It wasn’t bad at all,”
says Sasha.
“I’ve been in worse.”
I feel like I want something from Sasha. For them to say either cruel things or charitable words about Emelia. Or maybe to not have been so friendly.
“Still an awkward situation,”
I say.
“You replacing her in Wavelength. I pushed for that. I shouldn’t have frozen up.”
Maybe I want Sasha to hate Emelia because they see how remarkable she is. Because her and I used to be together. I want all that could come with Sasha feeling that way.
Sasha just says.
“We’ve all got skeletons.”
“Not invertebrates,”
says Quinn, joining us from the merch table.
Cyprus says.
“Lillian ran into Emelia.”
Quinn feigns astonishment.
“But, but … she survived.”
Cyprus puts her arm through mine without making me take my hand out of my pocket.
“Nope. This one’s dead on the inside now.”
I mean, true, but it annoys me.
“Don’t patronize me.”
“I would never,”
says Cyprus.
Sasha laughs.
“What?”
I say. They’re all smirking a bit.
Sasha explains.
“Last rehearsal, Quinn said that there are five guaranteed ways to kick-start Lillian. One of them is patronizing.”
Nothing will embarrass you and make you feel safe like being known. I’m in that space between wanting to be mad and wanting to hug everyone and cry. It’s time for me to get home.
“What are the other four?” I ask.
“So we got paid.”
Quinn waves a packet around.
“In a classy envelope of cash. This is the big time.”
“What are the other four?”
“And we sold merch,”
continues Quinn.
Cyprus looks up from her screen.
“To who? Who bought shirts?”
“The new smoldery guy who just started shooting music videos for all the good bands.”
Cyprus stands on tiptoe, which really puts her a head above the people milling about.
“Where is he? I’ve been meaning to say hi to him. Are you into him, or are you saying I’d be into him? Either way I want a look.”
“Maybe I’d be into him,”
says Sasha.
“I like some smoldery guys too. Lillian, you interested in a smoldery artsy guy?”
Which reminds me that Sasha’s not mine, not like that. Other people must have noticed them onstage. I’ve seen some people check them out tonight. Before the Pilgrim finally starts to clear out, a friend of an acquaintance asks how long Sasha and I have been together. Sasha says.
“Tangibly or spiritually?”
and sidesteps the whole question.
When I look back for Emelia, she’s already left. Eventually, with the lobby cleared and the venue winding down, we do the same.
In the back seat of the station wagon, I say to Sasha.
“You’re not going to tell me the other four, are you?”
They shake their head.
“To the grave.”
This is legitimately going to keep me up at night.